The Doctor

"Why did you stop?"

The Doctor isn't sure he can answer that question. Not because he doesn't know the reason, but because he is literally gasping for air, never mind his superior physiology. Tegan has just been demonstrating her own physical fitness and even though he isn't ready to climax he does feel as if he has just run down a thousand miles of corridor with the Daleks in hot pursuit.

In short, he is overwhelmed, and he is definitely not used to feeling this way.

Then again, he is also far from used to the feel of a naked woman enveloping his cock as she sits astride his lap and bounces and wiggles and makes enthusiastic noises while her hands dig into his shoulders with unexpected strength.

When he finally has the breath to speak, he answers her question with a question of his own. "What are we doing?"

She gives him a look, and he knows it's a stupid question, but he has to hear her answer. So he waits.

Finally she sighs and rolls her eyes before looking at him again. "Having sex," she bites off, wiggling her hips as best she can while he is holding her so firmly in place. Then she clenches her interior muscles and he feels his hands loosen their grip just the slightest bit at the pleasure such a simple muscle movement causes. But he refuses to give in, not just yet. Not until he's certain they both understand what is happening between them.

"And what," he says quietly, peering intently into her eyes so as not to miss a single nuance of her expression, "do you think will happen afterwards?"

She stills as the realization of what he is asking sinks in. Wide-eyed, she stares at him, her tongue darting out nervously to touch the corner of her lips. He really, really, wants to follow it back into her mouth with his own, but manages to control himself. Just.

"I suppose," she begins, sounding as nervous as she suddenly looks, "I suppose we…we just…go back to the way things were?" He can tell it is meant to be a statement but it comes out a tentative question instead.

"And how do you propose we do that?" he asks. "This," he nods down at their joined bodies, "changes things, doesn't it?"

"Does it have to?" she counters, and he feels an eyebrow lift in surprise. It isn't the answer he expects to hear.

A dimple appears in her cheek as she processes his surprise and responds to it with a small grin. "Look, Doc, I know you think I'm going to tell you I'm in love with you and expect some kind of, I dunno, romantic relationship with you from now on, but we both know that isn't how it works. It can't work that way, can it? You're a Time Lord and I'm a Human, I won't live even half as long as you already have."

"Spending time in the Vortex does slow down the Human aging process a bit," he feels constrained to point out, while part of his mind marvels that she is allowing him this discussion. Who stops to thrash out the details of their relationship in the middle of sex?

Well, he does, apparently. No matter how overwhelming his desire for this woman, he doesn't want to mislead her into thinking this is something more than it is, that they can be more than just a man and a woman giving into their body's demands.

Of course, that doesn't mean they won't give in to those demands again, but he wants to be sure she understands that's all it is, all it can ever be.

Because sooner or later, no matter how close he and his companions become, everyone leaves. She will leave him, find somebody to fall in love with or get unbearably homesick or find a higher purpose or simply get sick of him.

Or die, but he refuses to go there. The thought of a Universe without her vibrant, noisy, irritating, incredibly sexy presence doesn't bear thinking about.

While these thoughts flit through his mind, she is speaking again. "Fine, so I'll live a bit longer than people who stay on Earth. But I still won't live as long as you. I know," she says softly, reaching up to caress his face with one hand, "there's no happy ever after for us. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy one another for as long as we do have together, right? As long as you promise not to stop doing…this…" another clench to emphasize her point, and his hands tighten and a muscle in his jaw contracts to indicate point taken, "with me, Doc, then I promise not to start acting like some lovesick teenager." She turns serious. "And if I do," she says, "you can feel free to plunk me back down on Earth in 1984 London." Her grin turns impish. "Heathrow, if you like. Deal?"

He returns her grin, pleased and relieved by her answer. "Deal," he says, leaning forward to seal their bargain with a kiss, tender at first, but met by a more demanding response as she opens her mouth beneath his and invites his tongue to enter – no, insists on it, her arms crossing behind his neck so she can pull his torso tightly against hers.

His hands finally slacken their grip enough for her to move again, although she takes her time, no longer riding his cock like some wild thing, instead wiggling and teasing and clenching those damned, incredibly tight interior muscles against him. His hands slide downward, clutching her bottom, raising her up and then suddenly slamming her back down so that she gasps in surprised pleasure, throwing her head back as he repeats the movement again and again.

His annoying mind satisfied, he now concentrates on doing the same for his body. The feel of Tegan's slick wetness encasing him is the only thing he wants to focus on, that and the way her breasts are pressing against his chest, the nipples taut and hard and feeling as if they are trying to bore their way inside his body in order pierce each of his racing hearts.

As if sensing his sudden, laser-sharp focus on what their bodies are doing – and really, why wouldn't she be able to sense it, since she is as intent on the act as he is? – Tegan begins pumping herself up and down on him with increasing urgency, letting out a series of guttural moans as she leans her head down and begins nipping and sucking at his throat the way he had been doing to her before allowing his cursed stupid intellect to get in the way.

He feels a pleasurable moan escape his lips at the sensation, his hands moving from her buttocks up her back to stroke their way to her shoulder blades and back down again.

This time when he interrupts her increasingly frantic movements, it isn't because his mind has decided to override his body, but a simple case of him suddenly wanting – needing – to demonstrate a bit of primitive male dominance.

In short, he wants to be on top of her, to feel her body beneath his as he slams into her, to see her face looking up at him as he brings her to the fulfillment he senses is very close for both of them.

Also, to prolong that moment as long as possible. He is impatient for orgasm, but not so impatient that he isn't willing to put it off just a little bit longer. There is something else he wants to do, an experiment he is aching to perform with tongue and lips and fingers and a certain portion of Tegan's anatomy…

He grins in what he knows is a predatory manner; her eyes widen and he sees she is about to object when he slows his movements for a second time. He is gratified to hear her whimper in protest as he encircles her waist with one arm and heaves her effortlessly out of the spa and lays her on the floor.

Tegan

Not again! is Tegan's first, frantic thought as the Doctor abruptly stops moving, releasing his hold on her hips. What now? She opens her mouth to ask, but instead gasps in surprise when his arms encircle her waist and he lifts her up and out of the spa until suddenly she finds herself lying on the cool tile floor.

He continues to grin down at her, a wolfish grin, then licks his lips and rakes her body with his gaze. She sucks in a breath; had he somehow read her mind earlier? Because now he is moving with deliberate slowness down her body, kissing and licking and sucking various points – most notably her breasts – on his way to points south.

She moans as his tongue delves into her navel, swirling and teasing, and moans again as his mouth continues its downward journey, coming to rest in the hollow between her thigh and her absolutely soaking wet (by no means all from the waters of the spa) pussy. He licks her there in an experimental manner and she moans louder. "Cripes, Doc, don't just…you can't…" she manages to gasp out in protest.

She feels his lips move against her skin and suspects he is smirking; when she raises her head to glare down at him she is certain of it, just by the gleam in his impossibly blue eyes when they meet hers. Then he lowers his gaze and shifts his mouth to the left and her head thunks back onto the floor and her eyes squeeze shut as he finally starts giving proper attention to the most overheated part of her anatomy.

The Doctor

The Doctor is very, very pleased with himself. It has been a long time since he indulged the physical side of himself in this manner, but it is quite apparent he hasn't lost his touch. When he teases the opening to Tegan's sex with his tongue, her head drops back onto the floor and the noises coming from her throat are extremely gratifying.

He delves a bit deeper, spreading her apart with careful fingers as his tongue strokes the moist heat of her vulva. The noises she makes increase in both frequency and volume as he thrusts his tongue deep inside her, curling it at the tip before dragging it back out and probing more delicately at the sensitive bundle of nerves contained in her clitoris.

No, that's his intellect inserting itself again; now is the time for visceral reactions, not intellectual. Her nub, he corrects himself absently as he once again rakes his tongue over that particular feature of her anatomy. Her hidden pearl. Her clit.

He is rewarded by a sort of mewling cry that bursts from her lips as if rocket propelled, by the way her hips buck beneath his ministrations, by the growing moisture pooling and spreading beneath his fingers. While his tongue is busy investigating her most sensitive spot he inserts a single digit deep inside her and her cries increase. Good. He inserts a second finger, moving them rhythmically as he continues to lave her nub and is further rewarded as she bucks beneath him and virtually screams out his name, her hands scrabbling on the floor before one of them latches onto his hair, her fingers digging into his scalp as she mindlessly tries to force his face closer.

He allows the movement, reveling in the taste and feel and scent of her pussy as his tongue and fingers move with increasing swiftness. Her climax is near, she is about to come; there is a subtle change in taste and then nothing subtle about the way her hips lift off the floor, the way her body goes rigid and her fingers on his head dig in painfully hard.

Even less subtle is the full-throated scream that emerges from her throat. He spares a moment to hope that Turlough is far, far away from this part of the TARDIS, then allows his mind to completely turn itself off as he spends another few seconds milking Tegan for every ounce of satisfaction that he can before she becomes over stimulated and inevitably starts to pull his face and hand away from her.

He times his removal well; her fingers have just stopped pulling and started pushing when he removes his face from its very, very pleasurable resting place and allows her a moment's recovery time.

He studies her face as he does so, even more pleased by what he sees. Her eyes are clenched shut, her mouth twisted in an expression that could be interpreted as pain if one didn't know what has caused it to look the way it does. She is sweating and red and her arms are thrown limply over her head as her body spasms and shakes and otherwise recovers from what he smugly knows has been a shattering orgasm.

Which, he thinks with equal smugness as he lowers his body over hers and guides himself into her, will only be her first of the evening.

Tegan

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod…

His tongue, his lips…ohgodohgodohgod…where did he…who taught him…how did he know…

Nothing. No thoughts, no room for anything except primal, raw sensations as pleasure explodes through her body, the release she's been aching for and denied for far longer than simply the time it takes for him to haul her out of the spa and plant his face between her legs. She shudders, shakes, screams until her throat is raw, then collapses bonelessly onto the tile floor as her body shivers in the aftermath of an orgasm more powerful than any she's ever experienced in her life.

She opens her eyes when she feels the Doctor's body above hers, looks into his eyes and absently notes the smug smile plastered on his face as he lowers himself onto her and presses himself into her still-quivering opening.

She is about to protest that she's not ready, not recovered, but then he starts to move within her and the words are strangled beneath a guttural moan. His mouth descends, slashing over hers, his tongue and the taste of herself on his lips invading her mouth and her eyes close as she revels in the feel and taste and scent of their mingled flesh.

He moves slowly against her at first, as if unsure of how fast he can comfortably go, but instead of rubbing her raw it feels as if he is soothing away any lingering sensitivity from that cataclysmic orgasm.

She wants more, and she lets him know by thrusting her hips up to meet his with eager impatience, by running her fingers down his back and up again, raking him with her nails and nipping at his throat with her teeth as their frantic kiss ends because of their mutual need to breathe.

He hisses at her feverish, unspoken demands, thrusts into her with the same pounding fury he demonstrated in the spa. He is holding the bulk of his weight off her by resting on his elbows but she wants him closer, wants to feel him fully against her and tugs at him, impatient that he understand her need as he's so exquisitely demonstrated his ability to do so almost every step of the way along this erotic journey.

He complies without breaking the increasing rhythm of their hips and groins, gasps as she wraps her legs around his waist and tilts her hips to allow him deeper penetration. She feels his chest pressed against hers, revels in the sudden weight as his hands dig into her shoulders, shudders as his lips find her earlobe and give it the same attention she gave his earlier.

Every nip, every lick, wrings a moan from her. The moans increase into gasps as she feels herself spiraling, sprinting, racing toward a second climax. Impossible, she's not multi-orgasmic, never has been, but tonight, with this man, this Time Lord, she is, she is, she is…

She cries out as the wave overtakes her, a tsunami of sensation that overloads her mind and sends her reeling consciousness far, far away for an impossibly long moment. Then his body tenses and shakes and she dimly recognizes that he has come with her, that his seed is spilling into her, filling her, and a third climax shudders over her hard on the heels of the second at the dizzying realization that she has brought him to this state.

She, Tegan Jovanka, mere Human woman, has caused the high and mighty Time Lord to moan and sweat and shake above her, caused his eyes to glaze over as he climaxes. She feels a smug smile form on her lips and understands his own earlier smugness, although she believes her own is far, far more justified.

As he drops his head to her shoulder, gasping, as his body finally stills, she feels her smugness fading beneath a moment's panic; what next? Will he withdraw from her body and flee, mortified that he's allowed this to happen, that he's lost control so thoroughly and in such a base, Human way?

Will he try to let her down easily, apologize for taking advantage of her, promise – threaten – that it will never happen again?

No, of course not. They've already had that discussion, right in the middle of things, which was quite irritating at the time but now she is rather glad he took the time for them to hash things out before reaching such a mutually enjoyable conclusion to their activities.

As if once again reading her thoughts, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her lips. "We still have a deal, Tegan, do stop worrying about it. No stopping…this…" he squeezes her bottom to emphasize his point, "as long as you don't start acting like a lovesick teenager who needs to be let off at Heathrow. Remember?"

She nods, not trusting her voice. Because of course she knows that eventually she will start acting like a lovesick teenager, is already desperately in love with him, but has privately resolved that if – when – she does, he won't need to be the one to leave her behind.

Because she will make it quite clear that it's time for her to leave; she will shake his hand and give her best stiff upper lip and tell him good-bye without resorting to expressing an emotion she knows he will never be able to fully return.

Until that moment, however, which she secretly hopes is far, far in the future, she will live in this moment, enjoy being with him in whatever capacity he can manage.

And God, if the sex continues to be half as good as it has been tonight, she will be absolutely certain to make herself available for more as frequently as possible.

The End

A/N: Well, there ya have it, folks. A chemical romance in three parts, each with it's own song. How'd I do?