“How are we gonna do it?” Billie asks him between giddy laughter, referencing the vague script containing their second kiss for an international audience they were scheduled to film in only a day’s time. She’s been too nervous to bring it up through most of the shooting, surrounded by more co-stars than they’ve ever had in the revived series, intimidated now that David’s name owns the show and she’s technically just as a guest star today, same as anyone else. But now too much chocolate’s churning in her gut, the excess glucose rushing through her system mixes with the intoxicating effects of his company and the question is pouring from her mouth before she can stop it.
“Do what?” he responds with a question of his own, oblivious and still fighting to hold back giggles like a twelve-year-old. Hips twirling around, feet shuffling on the TARDIS floor, hands grabbing at anything he can reach to distract themselves, she knows he’s high on sugar and the madness of the set and, she hopes, her presence, too.
“Tomorrow, the scene on the beach.” She’s not making eye contact, eyes on the floor or wandering about random bits of the TARDIS set, picking up spare parts lying around out of sheer anxiety. Refusing to consider why she’s feeling anxiety around her best mate.
“You mean the kiss?” he cuts straight through her nervous ambiguity, as he always could.
“Yeah.” She reaches to pick up a circular knob from a precipice between them and his hand covers hers, her eyes flashing up to him in an instant to find he’s already staring at her.
“I don’t know, Bill,” he lowers his voice, grazing his fingertips across her hand in a way that sends a shiver up her arm. “You’ll have to wait and see.” His inflection paired with his light touch already has desire pooling in her stomach, mind wandering to the days when they could constantly sneak away from the crew between scenes for a snog in one of their trailers.
“Says I’m supposed to kiss you.” She raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk; she’s always had a skill for covering up anxiety and she’s confident he doesn’t notice how she’s already turning to putty under his gaze.
“Weeell,” he drawls out, his Scottish brogue the only thing distinguishing him from the Doctor when he’s in costume, the fanboy he is, and her other hand nearly reaches up to smack him for daring to entice her using his character’s charms.
“The Doctor isn’t going to be completely passive about it, though, is he?” he asks rhetorically. “Rose may initiate it, but there’s two years of build-up to this moment. Certainly he’s going to be excited about it.” His hand draws away from hers in favor of leaning on an unoccupied spot on the console.
“Oh, definitely.” He’s teasing her and they both know it, and her stomach flips when she realizes how much she enjoys it, still-digesting chocolate only heightening the sensation.
“What’s he gonna do, you think?” She toys with the lapels of his jacket, and his eyes widen as they follow her hands’ trail across his chest before scanning the surrounding area to ensure no one is watching them too closely. She can’t help it anymore, he started it and she needs to touch him somehow. It’s the lighting, the cameras, the pinstripes, all of it’s bringing old excitement to the surface, and for a few minutes she needs time to reverse, for it to be just the two of them, to pretend she never left.
“I don’t know yet,” he shrugs, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, fingers lingering behind her ear as he tucks the strands away, playing her game. “I’m just gonna react whatever way feels right. I guess it sort of depends on you, in a way.”
“This new Doctor use tongue, you think?” His words swirl through her head but she skips over them because they aren’t what she wants to hear, and as her eyes suddenly lock onto his lips she can’t think of anything but testing out just how he plans to ‘react’ in a more removed location. Laughing in earnest at her lack of concern for his responses, his feet dance along the floor as his hips sway back and forth, and maybe no one else is suspicious but she positive he’s fidgeting, nervous and over-stimulated as she is.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The words resound from his throat as his voice dips too low again, kindling the already sparked need in the pit of her stomach. With a purposeful, deliciously inappropriate flash of his tongue from between his lips, he has her glancing apprehensively around the crowded console room for watchful eyes. On finding none, she turns back to him, and he’s wearing a delighted smirk and wagging his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms in victory. It’s too much, a witty repartee evades her as she considers the worst consequences that could arise from shoving him back against the console to take back the control, imagines all the things he could do with that gorgeous tongue. A tongue she’s intimately familiar with. Different memories flood her mind, ones where their innocent snogging transitions into something more, a tangle of limbs on his couch, costumes thrown to the floor next to them, gentleness giving way to desperation as their sighs and groans crescendo in shared bliss…
“Next scene’s in ten!” A hand slaps her on the shoulder and she turns in her startled jump the same moment she recognizes the voice as none other than John Barrowman’s. His mouth is full, more of the little chocolate eggs the whole cast has been munching on throughout the day in his other hand as he talks through the goopy mush.
“Oh, and David, they need you back in the brown getup again.”
“Right, I forgot, thanks.” David’s hands find his pockets as he nods to his costar with a smile, completely at ease.
“So what are you two whispering about over here?” John asks, making her muscles go rigid. He looks back and forth between them for an answer as he pops more candies, but David only rubs at his neck and she shrugs noncommittally.
“Can I get in on it?” he winks at her and nudges David’s shoulder with his elbow, and red-hot blood fills her cheeks that she prays vehemently the gratuitous work of the makeup crew is covering up.
“Hah,” she laughs uneasily, still surprised at just how like Torchwood’s captain he could be, but as she shakes her head and stares to the floor again she realizes it’s probably the other way around.
“Well, I better go and change,” David says, interrupting her musings regarding John and Jack. His thumb jerks to their left and he’s pushing away from the console and strolling away from them both. Well, if he really thinks he can leave her hanging, and with the king of inappropriate conduct to grill her about it, he has another thing coming.
“Yeah, I’ve – got to go to the loo,” she swallows hard before sauntering off on David’s trail without another glance to the man in the flowing blue coat she’d normally fancy a chat with anytime, regardless of his reputation for toeing the line between joking and sexual harassment. It doesn’t threaten her, it’s mostly funny, even a little endearing, but she can’t stand the thought of staying with him this moment. Her eyes are zeroed in on the stride of the thin, blue pinstripes and she’s thinking about the best way to reveal the lean form beneath them without tearing apart seams or popping off buttons. Can’t have costume design asking questions.
He knows she’s following him by the way he’s strutting through the crews and the extras but she can’t be sure, but she stays a few paces behind him because she’d rather no one saw them leave the set together and inspire rumors they were back at their old adolescent antics.
After dozens of familiar faces she has to smile and make small talk with for too many seconds, she’s panicking because their time is dwindling, though she won’t need much with how she’s strung out but she lets out a sigh of relief when she’s finally out of the building. She knows his trailer and spots it immediately, finding the door wide open, waiting. Oh, he knew the whole time. A quick overview of the surroundings confirms the coast is clear and she darts across the pavement, practically leaping through the doorway, slamming it with the force of her weight behind her.
“Bill,” he gasps with an absurd façade of surprise that’s nullified by the arrogant smile on his lips. “What are you doing here?” She steadies her breathing and readjusts her clothes before answering.
“I think we should practice.” Her voice is calm, if not a bit demanding.
“Practice what?” His grin widens like he knows exactly what she’s talking about as he leans back against a countertop of the cramped kitchen as he crosses his legs and arms in tandem, toe of one shoe resting on the cheap tile, and she sighs internally as she wonders whether he did this before he was the Doctor.
“You know what.” Her arms shove away from the door as she takes a few steps toward him.
“I can’t,” he holds up his hands, confessing he knows. “I’m serious. I think spontaneity will be the best way to go.”
“C’mon, we practiced loads before the first one. And it’s a good thing, too, ‘cause if I remember correctly, it took you a few tries before you could stop slipping your tongue in my mouth.” She’s right in front of him, fingers tracing over front of his jacket and circling the buttons, and though blue has replaced brown for the time being, it feels exactly like she remembers it, starchy and too tight against his lanky frame.
“Well, if I remember correctly,” he says, manacling her wrists in his hands to pull them away from his clothes. “You liked it when I did that.” Just when she thought she had the upper hand. Her lips purse to stop from smiling because, damn it, he’s right. She huffs to the ground, breaking away from his intensely arousing brown eyes.
“Thought so.” She rolls her eyes but he can’t see them. “But I still say, Rose’s kiss has to be a bit impetuous. And so does this human Doctor’s reaction to it.”
“Okay, forget about the Doctor and Rose, then,” she decides the same moment she tells him, head jerking back up to unleash the heat of her persuasive gaze. Her hands clamber to the counter at his sides, trapping him between her arms.
“What if it’s just you and me?” She presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw, light and chaste, searching his eyes for signs of rejection. “I’ve missed you, Dave,” she says with despondent puppy eyes she knows he can’t resist, before leaning in to touch her lips to his throat, tongue just grazing his skin for a moment, and he caves.
His hand is on her chin, lifting her head until his lips brush against hers, and she drinks in his kiss like cold water on a blistering summer day because she’s forgotten just how good he feels. Soft lips that move perfectly with her own, the taste of him that she’s never been able to forget, that she’s dreamed of tasting again so many nights since their career paths parted ways, the touch of his tongue against hers that promises a night of indulgence. A hand buries the hair at her neck as he deepens the kiss, the other wrapping around her back to draw her in, and her hands move from the counter to grasp his hips as she pulls herself snugly against him.
Just once, she rolls her hips forward, chasing relief from the throbbing in her core, and they both gasp as their lips reluctantly part.
“Bill,” he breathes against her cheek. “Right now?” he chuckles but there’s frustration in it, the same irritation and unbridled need in his tone that she feels building in herself.
“Please.” It’s a desperate sigh, hardly recognizable as a word.
“We’ve only got… six minutes,” he argues, glancing at the clock on the microwave across the counter.
“You’ll just have to be quick, Teninch.” One hand leaving his waist, she snakes it between them to stroke along his namesake a few times, and as he groans in defeat he’s tugging her arm away. Deftly he flips them around, bending to lift her off the floor from under her thighs and in a second she’s on the counter, her lips eager and insistent on his while he’s struggling blindly with the button of her trousers.
Batting his hands away, she unhooks it herself, unzipping them quickly and instantly his hands grab at fistfuls of the fabric, pulling them down while she lifts herself to make his job easier. He shoves them down to the floor as she’s wriggling out of her knickers, and as they fall to join the slacks his hands move to his own trousers, but she stops him.
“We don’t have much time,” she whispers, placing both hands on his cheeks. “But I think you know what to do.” She reels him in and as their mouths crash together she latches onto his tongue, sucking it into her mouth to tell him exactly what she wants until he’s moaning against her lips.
The moment she frees him he’s dropping to his knees, fingertips digging into her thighs as he pulls her to the edge of the counter and she spreads herself for him. He doesn’t tease her, there’s no time for it. Her fingers tangle in his perfectly mussed hair as he dips into her folds, tasting a slow line from her entrance with the flat of his tongue before circling over her clit with the tip. Her cry is far too loud and she prays the entire set didn’t hear her even through two sets of walls.
His technique is maddening and she can’t bloody remember why they ever stopped doing this because they are brilliant together. His mouth remembers all the right moves and he’s using them, rough strokes alternating with soft brushes of his tongue, occasionally latching softly onto her flesh with his teeth before soothing her with his lips. His sideburns tickle the insides of her thighs, hands circling and squeezing her arse and she’s arching into him as her hands tug roughly at his hair, nearly pulling out his roots as profanities tumble from her lips.
He doesn’t let up, his lips and tongue only gaining momentum and enthusiasm with time, fueled by the sounds she’s making and the way her nails scrape along his scalp as she pulls at his hair. Every muscle in her body tenses as her insides are coiled like a spring too tight and he feels it, bearing down as she presses herself against his mouth and with a few more swipes of his tongue over her clit she comes. Her hands grasp at bunches of his hair and she’s writhing around him but his hands hold her in place, carrying her through the waves of pleasure with his tongue until her moans quiet and she shudders under his touch, too sensitive to feel any more.
Lazily her hands slip from his hair as he presses soft kisses to the inside of her thigh before he stands up. His mouth finds hers and his kiss is passionate, contented with his skill but not yet satisfied himself, and she tastes herself on his tongue and she knows David is the only one that can make her enjoy the flavor.
“That was fast,” he smiles as he breaks from their kiss. He glances at the clock. “Three minutes. How long’s it been, Piper?”
“Too long, Teninch,” she giggles before pulling him in again, reeling his bottom lip into her mouth and smoothing her tongue along it as she hungrily accepts a deep groan from his chest. She continues to tantalize him this way, wanting to make him ask for it, and she isn’t disappointed. He’s pushing back after less than thirty seconds with a hand on her shoulder.
“Isn’t there a better use for that tongue?” he huffs, and it’s all she needs before she trails a hand down along his chest and stomach, palming his rigid length just once and watching his eyes close in release. Quickly she unfastens her only obstacle as she jumps from the counter, and easily pulls the trousers and the pants down, freeing him from their confines, and they’re bunched up on his thighs but neither of them can be bothered.
Sinking to her knees, she strokes him slowly a few times until he falls back against the counter, gripping the edges for support as her name ghosts across his lips. If this were two years earlier she’d be torturing him, tracing her lips along his stomach and his hips and between his legs until he was thoroughly begging her, but they lack the luxury of time so her mouth descends on him swiftly. His hands course through her hair and she feels him slam against the cabinets beneath the counter, fighting every urge to push into her mouth and she realizes he’s as loud as she is.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he chokes out through a long groan, and she has to stop moving as she breaks into laughter around him, and he’s laughing with her because this whole thing is completely mad and it was such a superficial thing to say but she knows it’s not how he meant it, because Dave’s the sweetest bloke she’s ever met and it’s never just about sex with him. Except for right now, when it has to be because they’re both too randy to stop and the crew’s probably waiting for them inside already.
Their chuckles diminish as her mouth moves again, her tongue stroking along his length as she does, and she’s following her mouth with her hand the way he likes and curses are falling from his lips in seconds. His hands tighten in her hair and he’s pleading with her incoherently through gasping breaths as she swirls her tongue around his head. When his hands start to guide her, just prod her to pick up her pace she knows he’s close. Carefully she takes him all the way into her mouth, caressing the sensitive mounds of flesh under him with her other hand as she travels back up his length, hollowing her cheeks to create suction as her teeth just graze his skin. She has only to repeat this technique twice before he’s crying her name as he shudders in front of her, steadying himself with his hands on her head so he’s not thrusting forward as he finishes on her tongue, warm and salty.
She works him over languidly as he softens in her mouth until he’s nudging her forehead with his fingertips. She presses a kiss to him that makes him laugh again and drags up his trousers as she stands, covering him back up before meeting his waiting lips for a kiss that lingers too long, both of them basking in their brief post-climactic paradise.
“Oh, no,” she gasps, pulling back to check the time.
“Shit,” he says under his breath as he turns to follow her gaze. He’s pulling down and trying to shake off the blue trousers she’d just pulled up as he hops across the room towards the brown suit on a hanger by the couch. She throws on her bottoms and smoothes out any obvious wrinkles and by the time she turns David’s wearing her original Doctor’s suit again, and she can’t hold back from kissing him again before he can swing the door open as the fond memories of filming the second series start to return again.
“We have to go!” He laughs as he pushes her back delicately.
“I know, I know!” She agrees, and they both hustle through the door and jog their way back to the set.
“Can I come over again tonight?” she asks him before they open the door to where the TARDIS will be filled with impatient guest stars and waiting cameras. He pauses with his hand on the door before answering, eyebrows rising in disbelief as he sees the sincerity in her eyes, and he’s nodding fervently before any words escape him.
“’Course you can.” He smiles, and butterflies flood her stomach, despite what just happened between them.
She’s already fantasizing about how much more they can do when they can take their time as they walk in to greet the others, struggling to act casual and not overtly euphoric. Again she’s asking herself why they broke it off when she left, and hoping they never decide to do it again as they take what they remembered their places to be around the console with the others, ready to fly the Earth back home, as it were.
“Uhm, hang on a minute, guys, I think we need hair and makeup for the Doctor and Rose real quick.” John’s gesturing to them both as they stand dazed next to each other, both of them reddening as they turn to find both of their hair in thorough disarray of each others’ doing. The cast groans collectively as they find someone from said department to come over and tidy them up, and the offender saunters over to them with a large grin of success on his face.
“So, what’ve you guys been up to?”