Coming of Age
The Castellan's Tardis rematerialised in the docking hall. The doors opened and Nyssa emerged, flicking her hood up, as her husband joined her, locking the doors behind him. He paused for a moment, looking up at the ship, his hand lingering on the marble column the Tardis became.
"I had forgotten how exhilarating piloting one of these can be," he murmured, momentarily forgetting the presence of his wife, until she stepped up beside him, and took his hand.
"Maybe you should do it more often," she suggested quietly. He turned to her quickly.
"I will not become a renegade like the Doctor,"
"I wasn't suggesting you should. But perhaps you can understand him better, why he chose to travel rather than to remain on Gallifrey all his life,"
"Perhaps. Sometimes I think of Gallifrey as an insect trapped in amber; frozen, unable to move forward. The Doctor was of a sect too deviant and hot-headed to ever exist in harmony here," the Castellan continued quietly, before he sighed tiredly and turned away from the Tardises. "Come. It is late,"
Together they left the docking hall, hurrying past the Doctor's Tardis, quietly ticking over, humming in its storage cubicle. They slipped through the corridors of the Citadel, remaining undetected, until they reached their quarters, slipping inside. The lights flickered on, and Nyssa felt that same warm feeling welling through her whenever she stepped onboard the Tardis. She was home.
She slipped her cloak off and draped it over the end of one of the sofas in her sitting room, wearily rolling the tired muscles of her shoulders. She was exhausted, the fatigue running bone-deep, coupled with a wild exhilaration. It had felt good to be back in a Tardis, travelling if only for a short time. She turned to face her husband, who had followed her into her rooms, his face in shadow. She could sense his gaze on her, feeling heat prickle her skin. Memories of their kiss surfaced, and she suppressed a shiver. For some reason she felt strangely shy of him. Gathering her courage, she walked over to him, and placed her hand on his cheek.
"Thank you for taking me to Traken. For allowing me to say goodbye," she whispered. She couldn't see his eyes but she stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. His arms came around her, pulled her to him, and she sank willingly into his embrace, eager to learn more of this new interaction between them. Was this passion? This all-consuming desire for physical contact, for the simple communion of lips against lips, body against body?
Scientific curiosity mixed with heady desire enthused Nyssa's body, as her hands slid from his chest to his hair, twining her fingers in the tawny mass. His hands, encircling her waist, tightened abruptly, their kiss increasing in intensity, as if he wanted to consume her. She sensed he desired something from her; to appease the possessiveness stirring in his strong frame, in the steely arms holding her captive. He pushed her back a few steps, until she felt the edge of the sofa against her legs, and she let herself fall back, lying down, taking him with her, their lips still locked.
She felt his weight atop her, and a wave of hot pleasure rushed over her skin. She enjoyed the feel of him, that strong, hard body that she suspected was just as lean and toned as the Doctor's was. She slid her hands down from his hair, over the broad line of his shoulders, feeling the muscle bands beneath her fingers tense at her touch. He broke from her lips, captured her hands and pinned them either side of her head, breathing heavily. Nyssa's own was not much better as she looked up into his eyes, and saw the fire flickering there. He seemed to sense her confusion, the silver orbs above her darkening when she tried to moisten her dry mouth.
"Don't. This….desire is difficult enough to control as it is," he murmured against her lips, his voice harsh and gravelly.
"Is that what this is? Physical desire?" she asked, completely and utterly breathless. She arched slightly beneath him, operating on pure instinct.
"Yes. It is not…something I am used to dealing with," he ground out, sounding as though he were speaking through gritted teeth.
"Why not? I understand about the Pythia's curse, but-" her question was cut off by her husband's mouth taking hers, releasing her wrists with a groan. Nyssa blinked; did her oh-so-controlled husband just groan?
But then all thought was wiped away by the sensation of her husband's lips against her neck, as her breath stuttered. She felt his hand shift, sliding beneath her back and pulling her up against his body slightly. Nyssa arched and let herself be devoured, feeling his hands leave her back, and slide down her leg, following the curve through the silk of her dress.
The Castellan paused as his lips reached the hollow at the base of her neck. Was he frightening her? The strength of his need for her unnerved him; an emotionally controlled, eight hundred year old Time Lord, and how easily it undermined his control. She got under his skin, making that physical reaction to her rise in his blood. The feelings were so compulsive….so primitive, but he could not even contemplate turning his back on such emotion. It was too insidious to ignore.
Nyssa was drowning in pleasure, and the feel of his breath caressing the bare skin at her throat, no longer cool but as warm as her own made a soft moan escape her lips. At that her husband's lips returned to hers, fiery and aggressive. Nyssa buried her hands in his hair again, returning his kiss avidly, her mind a blank sheet.
An alert ripped them from their need, their kiss interrupted. The Castellan closed his eyes, fighting back the frustration and the need that threatened to overwhelm them both. He brushed one last kiss across her lips, before his weight left her, and she sat up slowly. She felt completely shaken, awash with emotions she had never felt before. She felt her husband's fingers on her jaw, and looked up. His face was once more in shadow, his eyes burning. She leaned into his hand and smiled reassuringly, sensing the concern in his eyes.
"I have work to attend to, Nyssa," he sighed, his voice a low growl.
"Go. I should rest," she replied quietly, wishing that the interruption had never occurred.
"We will continue this discussion later," he said, as he gently caressed her cheek, before turning on his heel and leaving her rooms. Nyssa watched him go, feeling a denied yearning fill her soul. When the door closed behind her husband, she sighed and retired to her bedroom.
The Castellan leaned on the wall of his office, his hearts still labouring. The temptation he had seen in her eyes was still potent; urging him to ignore the alert from his wrist comms unit and go back to her. He sighed, before walking to his desk and touching the intercom.
"Yes, Maxil?" he asked, irritably. It was rather late at night, even for a Guardsman.
"Castellan, evidence has been discovered of a potential attempt on the Lord President's life."
Nyssa changed for bed, slipping beneath its covers gratefully. Feeling her kiss-swollen mouth with her fingers, she smiled and lay back against the pillows. She wasn't too exhausted yet, maybe she would read.
Her mind was too full of all that had occurred, the passionate need she had discovered in her husband, and in herself. Why had he done that, taken her to Traken? Why had he kissed her?
Nyssa's hand absentmindedly reached for her book on astrophysics, and felt the crackle of paper against her fingers. She looked at her book, and noticed a small scrap of paper poking from the side of it. She frowned; she hadn't left anything to mark her page. She opened the book, and took out the paper scrap.
It was a folded piece of white paper, and as she unfolded it, she paled. Reading the words on it, her hand started to shake, and the book dropped to the floor.
The Doctor was alive.
