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A Guilty State of Affairs

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Never let it be said that he isn’t versatile, never let it be said that he can’t adapt. He’s never done this before, not really – not if fumbles don’t count, but he’s a fast learner and desperation is a powerful motivator.

…A very powerful one.

The Doctor was not expecting the kiss, he could tell, but that didn’t stop the man from leaning into it. From sliding those hands, such talented fingers, up into his hair and pressing, so he could feel the throbbing of those two hearts, up against him and even moaning, so softly, into his mouth. It was a delicious sound, thrumming against his lips.

…Inspiring a sickly, guilty feeling in his stomach.

It was a quick trip from the console room, fumbling and tangled, to his rooms – almost the Doctor’s rooms, but he was swiftly assured that the bed was in no suitable state. The door was stumbled through swiftly, locked with the press of bodies against it. The sheets were tumbled into just as fast, legs already twining together. He pinned the Doctor’s arms high above his head, the Doctor only laughed.

…He wondered if the man would laugh if he knew why he was truly doing this.

Getting clothes down while holding wrists was difficult, almost impossible, but he was determined and young and so wriggling his way out was perfectly manageable. It only required a quick shove of his trousers down, after all, a similar fumble at the Doctor’s before naked skin slid against naked skin in such a glorious way.

…And it shouldn’t have been glorious, it shouldn’t. But he could hardly help it at the time.

The Doctor was bendy, as expected since his body looked so very young if you avoided the eyes. As such it was easy to guide those legs around his waist, easy to slide into the thoroughly slicked hole and feel the Doctor groaning around him. Thy fucked quickly, harshly - so hard that he was trembling on every thrust only a few moments in.

…While holding back tears, maybe.

When he came he saw white, when the Doctor came he only flopped back into the covers with a blissful smile upon his face. With his blonde hair and soft skin he looked almost like an angel after the act: ever so innocent, ever so easy to corrupt.

…Ever so easy to betray.

“I’m sorry,” he couldn’t help but whisper into the Doctor’s collarbone as he pulled out, slumped alongside that sweaty form and tried not to die from guilt as a warm arm slung around his shoulders, “I’m so sorry.”

…And the Doctor only gave him a mildly curious look, and stroked him as he choked back any sobs threatening to burst loose.

Never let it be said that he isn’t versatile, after all.