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“What you are, Doctor, is a scavenger.”
“Sorry?”
The Doctor spoke distractedly, his words somewhat muffled by the side of Sherlock’s neck as he mouthed and nibbled at the pale, sensitive skin. Not much about Sherlock was sensitive, he had decided quite soon in their… relationship, but his body was. Probably John’s handiwork, that, trying to instil a little human in his practically alien lover. Not that Sherlock was an alien, the Doctor had already checked. And not that he was John’s lover, not anymore. After what had happened on the rooftop… It was too hard for both of them to bear. And the Doctor, John had decided, as another doctor, would be much better at taking care of Sherlock than he could ever be anymore.
For some reason Sherlock had agreed, and had taken to travelling with the Doctor with aplomb. In fact, the Doctor was starting to feel that Sherlock was stealing his thunder just a little bit, coming to conclusions or theories even before the Doctor did and impressing Amy accordingly, which was the Doctor’s job. Of course what ego he lost on the field of battle he made up for in bed, when he had discovered quite by surprise on Oradu IV that Sherlock did in fact actually have a sex-drive, it was just somewhat difficult for someone who was used to normal, vanilla, human relationships to understand. An immortal who had seen it all was much more helpful. And so the Doctor had offered to help and found out that yes, he did rather prefer sex with his wife, but if she was going to sleep around quite to the content of the both of them then the Doctor could enjoy doing so with Sherlock, too.
Of course by now the sex was already over. Quick, precise, very emotional for Sherlock, and damned good. Jack would have been bored – he’d been hitting on Sherlock for months, now – but the Doctor liked it. And so did Sherlock, who had deduced the fact early on and seemed curiously surprised that the Doctor had taken kindly to the accidental compliment. But the Doctor liked pillow talk – or pillow play – and while Sherlock was analysing their intercourse and how it rated against last night and whether running for their lives half an hour ago had enhanced it at all (the Doctor was no longer offended) he was nuzzling into Sherlock and losing himself in that gorgeous human body. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to voice his thoughts out loud.
“Hungry like a scavenger, to be precise.”
The Doctor sighed dramatically and eased off his exploration of Sherlock’s body to look him right in the eye, ignoring personal space as much as Sherlock did. He was confused; he didn’t think so well after sex. There was a reason that River had managed to leave him handcuffed to so many beds. And once to a shower. Though Jack had been the one to handcuff him to a lamp-post, naked, and well-fucked. Last regeneration, mind you. His eleventh incarnation preferred to keep the kinky stuff to inside the TARDIS – or at least inside buildings – thank you very much.
“And why is that?”
“Your lovers. Those that I know of.” Sherlock steepled his fingers patiently, with an air of smugness that River had expressed a desire to wipe off his face. Wifes, thought the Doctor, grinning both at the thought and at how he’d picked such a smart companion, this time. The quicker they solved mysteries the quicker they could find and solve new ones, and the higher Sherlock’s libido grew. The problem with John, though Sherlock still loved him in his own way, was that twenty first century London was never going to yield enough stimulation. And so of course he knew a place was always welcome for him on the TARDIS, when he and Sherlock were ready to try again. “Myself, Amy, Jack, the Master.” The Doctor winced; Sherlock was not a subtle man, nor one to mince his observations with niceties. “All second-hand and left behind.”
The Doctor pouted, and closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s adam’s apple and ignoring his rising sense of guilt. “Was there a point to this deduction?”
“Merely information which I find fascinating. Much like your…” Sherlock nodded down at the Doctor’s naked lower half, smirking further. The Doctor rolled his eyes.
“You’re worse than Jack.”
“And Amy informs me you are worse than everybody’s aunt.”
The Doctor laughed, “She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
“If it’s any consolation…” Sherlock frowned, “…John says I should develop more people skills.” The Doctor stroked Sherlock’s chest encouragingly, if slightly awkward. He always was a bit like a giraffe with too-long legs, even in bed. Especially in bed, probably. “If it’s any consolation I am almost certain there are quite a few places in which you are better than many aunts.” Sherlock turned quickly, pinning the Doctor to the bed and whispering into his ear, both seductively and scientifically. “Shall we commence the control test?”