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Sub Rosa

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There's bad traffic on the M4, and it's late by the time he reaches Cardiff. John loves driving, but he loathes traffic. He just wants the bastards out of his way. There isn't even an accident, just too many cars trying to wedge past construction. He should have grabbed something to eat before he left.

He tries to shake off his mood as he walks to David's flat. He really doesn't want to ruin their weekend, not when David has his usual punishing schedule. What he wanted to do was arrive early enough for beers and a curry. He should have called David, had him order ahead.

His stomach grumbles as he reaches the door. He raises his hand to knock, out of habit, then stops, smiles to himself as he pulls out his keys. He'll have to get used to that, having a key. He supposes that makes this a proper affair. He unlocks the door, opens it, and finds the lights on, the telly on, and David stretched out on the sofa, drooling on his arm, glasses crooked. He looks knackered, and John closes the door quietly, not wanting to wake him just yet.

He puts his bag in the bedroom and goes to the fridge, and there isn't curry but there's pizza, and he's too starved to be picky. He's eaten half a slice before he opens a beer, pausing after the loud hiss, but David's out like a light. He grabs the remote from where it fell to the floor, settles into the chair by the sofa. Lets out the tension from the long drive.

When he turns off the telly, David stirs. Rubs his face, stretches, yawns. Adjusts his glasses and blinks at him, then smiles blearily. "Hey," he says, sitting up.

"Long day?" John asks, conversationally.

"Bugger of a week," David says. Looks at the clock. "When did you get here?"

"Just arrived. Maybe fifteen minutes ago," John says. "I helped myself to your fridge. You want anything?"

"Nah," David says. He's still groggy; it always takes him a while to wake up, once he lets himself sleep. His hair was mashed by the cushions, and it's sticking up in a way that makes John want to smooth it down.

"C'mere," John says, leaning back. David comes over and leans on the overstuffed arms of the chair, kisses him. Keeps kissing him. It's hard to stop once they start. David slips from a crouch to his knees, thighs pressed against the chair between John's spread legs, John leaning forward, carding his fingers through David's wild hair. Even after Makeup washes it out, it has a life of its own.

"Missed you," David murmurs.

John agrees with another long kiss, more possessive than before. He hasn't just missed David, he's been aching for him. The end of his latest job couldn't have come soon enough.

As long as the drive was, he's not so tired that he can resist when David's on his knees. He slides his hands under the layered shirts he's wearing, caresses the bare skin beneath. David's warm from sleep, so good to touch. They're probably not going to make it to the bedroom until after.

David's hands are busy too, slowly working at the buttons of John's shirt, sliding his fingers against his chest. Pushing aside the open shirt and then breaking the kiss to lean in and taste his body. John lets out a long breath, pushes David's shirts up his back. He's almost certain that David's going to suck his cock from the way his mouth is hungrily moving over his skin. He shifts, feeling his jeans tighten.

"In a rush?" John asks, amused, when David undoes the button of his jeans.

"I was dreaming about you," David says, looking up at him, eyes dark. "I've been dreaming about you all week." He rests his hand against John's chest, makes him lean back in the chair.

"About sucking my cock?" John asks, voice lowering.

"Amongst other things," David says, slyly. Cups the bulge in John's jeans with his long fingers, gives him a squeeze.

John bites back a groan. "Not yet," he says, barely believing his own ears. But he has something else in mind first. David's not the only one who's been dreaming.

David pouts. "Why not?"

"Because you promised me a call," John says, trying to be stern and not entirely managing it.

"I did?"

"Two weeks ago," John reminds him.

David frowns, then realizes, winces. "Oh. I forgot. Sorry."

"Only you would forget about phone sex."

"I barely remember to put my socks on most days," David protests. "I've been falling asleep on set. I'm actually starting to envy anyone headed for prosthetics because they get to nap in the chair."

"Which is why it's my turn tonight," John says, narrowing his eyes. "I want to see what I've been missing."

"As opposed to my mouth?" David asks, mischievously.

"If you beg nicely," John says, and sees a spark of lust in David's eyes. "Go back a step, then take off your shirt," he orders, making himself comfortable.

David gives him a look but obliges, pulling off his shirts and tossing them onto the couch. John takes a good long look, enjoying the view of David's body, thin but strong, a trail of crisp hairs leading down into his jeans. He holds John's gaze, aroused, expectant.

"You're on set," John tells him, voice slow and even, narrating. "On location. There's some problem with the wiring so you have time to sneak away. It's one of those factories, pipes everywhere. It's night."

David nods, closes his eyes, picturing the scene. John watches the subtle shifts in his body language, his face. He's still fascinated by the way David throws himself fully into his roles, the way he craves performance. It's no wonder he thrives on his workload, despite his exhaustion. Makes sense, since the acting bug bit him when he was three.

"Take out your phone and call me," John says.

David fights a smile, then pulls out an imaginary phone. He makes a ringing noise. John gives him a much-deserved glare, but of course he's kept his eyes closed. He stretches out his leg and gives him a prod. David snorts, opens his eyes and winks at him. John rolls his eyes. He's fucking impossible, he is. He's about to tell him just that when David speaks, voice low and sultry.

"What are you wearing?"

It's the cheesiest line, an absolute classic, and it shouldn't work. But David sells it the way he sells every cheesy line of technobabble. It makes John's cock twitch.

"Wouldn't you like to know," John replies, giving a bit of his own back.

But David stays in the scene. "I've been waiting to call you all day," he says, voice thick with want. "I kept thinking about your fingers inside me."

Fuck. John's temper evaporates. He didn't drive hours to waste this. "Can anyone see you?"

"Don't think so," David says.

"Good. Good. Open your trousers." John pictures David in his Doctor costume, long coat obscuring his hands as he unzips. Watches David in front of him, bare-chested, thumbing open his jeans. Stares as David slides his hand inside and lets out a groan, as his forearm flexes as he touches himself. John's fingers grip the arms of his chair, then relax.

"Tell me what else you've been thinking about," John says, voice low, quiet.

"Kissing you," David says. "Pinning you down. That look you get when... when I make you struggle." He takes a ragged breath.

"Are you hard yet?"


"Take out your cock," John tells him.

David obeys, brings out his cock to jut out into the air. Pushes his jeans and pants past his hips so he can touch his balls, framing himself. John has to adjust himself before he can continue.

"I think about you in bed," David continues, his body subtly flexing as he explores himself. "I can't sleep at first, so I think about you."

"Do you now?"

David's mouth curls in a little smile. "Yeah."

"And then?" John prompts.

"This," David says, stroking his cock. Moving into his hand. He brings his other hand to his mouth, sucks on two fingers. Holds John's eyes in a heated gaze as he reaches behind himself, pushes slick fingertips into his arse. "And this."

A jolt of lust makes John want to reach out and take David and throw him down and fuck him right on the rug, but he restrains himself. He pictures David lying in bed, naked, night after night, with his head full of John and his hands just like this.

"I want to hear the sounds you make," John says, low and even.

David squeezes himself and moans. He tilts his head back and swallows, his breathing loud and ragged as he shallowly fucks himself with his fingers, as he works his cock. He makes exquisite noises but they're always held back, never loud.

"You do this in your trailer," John realizes. "You naughty boy."

David grins, moans intentionally louder. Quickens his hands. John is torn between enjoying the show or taking matters into his own hands. Oh, but he wants this to be what he thinks about in bed himself, wants a picture of David coming all by himself. He's certain he can think of something later to make up for not touching him right now.

"Show me how you come when you're alone," John tells him, and that makes David whimper, bite his lip. Makes him abandon himself to the task, wanking with steady determination, well-practiced in finding his own sensitive places.

There's a faint sheen of sweat on David's brow as his breathing quickens, as his hips jerk between his hands. His lips peel back into a grimace, his eyes almost close, air hisses through his teeth. When he comes his whole body tenses, he grunts and then whimpers and gives soft cries with each pulse of his cock. He's caught his come in his hand and it's dripping from his fingers as he pants, calms.

John sees the sudden dark gleam in his eyes, but before he can think clearly enough to ask what it means, David has crawled forward, roughly unzipped him and tugged down his clothes. John's so hard that it's pure relief when his cock is drawn free, and then pure pleasure as David gives it a few hungry strokes. And then takes his wet hand and wraps it around the shaft, smearing him with come, slicking him from root to tip. For a moment John thinks it's because David wants to be fucked, but then David leans down and takes him all the way into his mouth and sucks.

John curses, groans, thrusts forward and grips at his hair. David's cheeks are hollowed from the strength of his hungry sucks, his tongue laving his cock like a lollipop, broad swipes and little licks at the head that makes John's eyes roll in his head. He can't help but thrust shallowly, but David just rides each one, grips the root of his shaft with a slick fist.

It only lasts a few minutes, but John's amazed that he even makes it that long. It's only sheer force of will that holds back orgasm, because it's too fucking good to not draw this out. He comes with a buck and a too-loud shout, bites his lip and shudders as David sucks him through climax and doesn't stop until he starts to soften. John is breathing hard when he pulls David up by his hair, when he pulls him into a rough kiss, tastes both their come on his lips, in his mouth. Fuck.

"What you do to me," John murmurs, sated and wrung out and wanting to do it all over again.

David grins, laughs and kisses him again.


The next morning, John wakes first. David is wrapped around him like a gangly limpet. It's actually really nice, cozy, but last night's beer is pressing at his bladder. He eases out of David's grip and goes to the toilet to piss.

When he gets back, David has somehow sprawled enough to take up the entire bed. John gives a soft snort of amusement and goes to make tea. Brings back two mugs and sets them on the bedside table, then moves David's outstretched limbs enough so that he can slide back under the covers.

David stirs, grumbles and snuffles into the pillow. Opens one bleary eye, shuts it again. Shifts enough to wrap himself around John again and then drops back off to sleep.

John sips his tea and lets himself be cuddled. Watches the Cardiff skyline through the window.

Eventually David stirs again, this time giving him a sleepy smile. "Tea?" he mumbles.

John reaches for the second mug, but David takes the half-drunk one in his hand and gulps it down before he can protest.

"Mm, that's better," David sighs.

"That was mine," John says, more amused than anything else.

"Oh, was it?" David says. "Sorry." Though he doesn't sound particularly apologetic. He stretches widely, rubs his eyes, and then crawls on top of him and starts nuzzling at his neck. John can feel his erection brushing at his thigh. Not the worst wake-up greeting.

Tea is forgotten as they kiss, wrap around each other and tumble into the centre of the bed. It's slow and sloppy and perfect, warm under the sheets and the morning light casting on the wall.

They rub against each other unhurriedly, and David licks and sucks at his neck, his collarbone. When they look at each other, his eyes are unfocused, myopic without his glasses or contacts and hazy with sleep and desire. It's about touch, hands wandering all over each other, legs shifting restlessly. They could stay like this forever, if the world let them.

It's breakfast that makes them stop, or more specifically David's rumbling stomach. "God, I'm starved," he says, the words muffled because he's busy tasting John's body. "Make me breakfast?" he asks, looking up hopefully. His lips are dark and swollen from use.

"Do you normally ask your guests to cook for you?" John replies, unwilling to let him off the hook just because his mouth is so fuckable.

"When they're better at it than me, yeah," David says, fluttering his eyelashes.

"All right," John agrees, ego stroked. "But I think..."


"In exchange, I get to fuck you first," John says, smirking.

"I fail to see the remotest problem with that," David says, and rolls off him onto his back. His cock tents the bedsheets. "Don't be long," he says, giving him a heated look.

John gives him one right back, then stands, heads for the kitchen. There's bread in the freezer and ham slices in the fridge, and surprisingly enough some fresh tomatoes next to the stove. He makes them a plate to share, butters the toast, and brings it into the bedroom.

David's sitting up against the pillows, slowly stroking his cock. Just enough to keep himself hard, nothing more. John rather appreciates the effort. He takes a piece of toast and feeds an edge to David, who devours it hungrily and licks the butter from his fingers.

They take turns feeding each other. Finger licking quickly turns to sucking, which turns into a teasing demonstration of each other's desire. John can't get enough of the arousal on David's face as he laves his tongue against his fingers, of the promise in David's eyes when he hollows his cheeks around John's. It's been too long since they sixty-nine'd, and he makes a mental note to fit that in before their weekend is up. Maybe tonight, or Sunday morning.

For now, he knows what he wants, what he's been aching for for weeks. As soon as breakfast is done, he sets aside the plate and grabs the lube from the bedside table. Pushes back the covers and pushes David onto his front, nudges his legs apart. He indulges himself in David's arse, gripping each cheek and kneading them, spreading them. Bends down and licks at his arsehole, clean from last night's shared shower. David moans as he pushes his tongue inside, as he sucks at the sensitive rim, stretches it with a hooked finger. Fucks him with his tongue until he squirms, until he's kneading at the pillows, then slicks his fingers and pushes lube into his arse.

David groans and ruts against the mattress as John fucks him with his fingers. John rests one hand flat against the small of his back, holding him down, keeping him from getting ahead of where John wants them to be. John takes his time, enjoying the long tease, the sight of his fingers sliding in and out, two and then three. The stretch of David's arsehole as he prepares him to be fucked. The restless whimpers David makes when he doesn't stop.

"You're driving me mad," David groans.

John just chuckles, curls his fingers until David gasps, moans. Hooks him and makes him rise up on all fours, pulls his fingers free and gives his arse a smack. David yelps, so he gives the other cheek a smack for good measure. Two pink handprints blossom on his pale skin.

"Lovely," John says, caressing the warming skin. Giving himself a few strong strokes with his slick hand and then easing his cock into David's tight arse, teeth clenched with pleasure. He sinks in until he's halfway, then grips David by the hips and fucks him until he can fill him to the root.

David clenches around him and they both groan. Fuck it's good, just pure fucking, just bodies pressed tight together. John loses himself in it, find a steady rhythm and holds it, revelling in it. His fingers slide on David's skin and he grips harder.

The bed creaks in time with their fucking. David whimpers and moans and rides each thrust, pushing back to meet them, to take all of John's cock. He loves it, is a slut for it, a bitch in heat. John fucks him harder.

John reaches for David's cock, but David bats him away. "No," he gasps. "After this... my turn."

John curses at that. Shifts positions so he can hit those places inside that make David quiver. It's tempting to fuck him so thoroughly that he comes untouched, but that would be terribly wasteful.

"Want to fuck me?" John says, breathing hard. "Like this?"

David just moans, incoherent. Claws at the bedsheets. Clenches tight around John's cock until John is the one who's quivering. Until John can't hold out any longer and buries his cock in David's arse and comes, one hand gripping his hip, one pawing his chest, pulling him closer even though they're already pressed tight together. He's whimpering and gasping and sweaty as climax trails off, cock in deep, still hard. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want these seconds to end. David squeezes around him again, and he groans helplessly.

They stay this way until John's cock softens, slips out of its own accord. John falls back on his arse, wrecked, and sees the slickness dribbling from David's arse, come and lube dripping down his balls. He gives a snarl of lust, forcing him onto his back, thrusting his fingers into him as he kisses him. David moans into his mouth. His cock is dark and thick and straining, his arse loose and slippery.

"Fuck me," John groans. "Fuck me, fuck me, god, David."

"Yes," David breathes. Kisses him passionately, tugs him over him, pulling his hand free. Somehow finds the lube and has his slick fingers pushing into John's arse before John can even blink. John pushes against his hand, spreads his thighs further. It's giving him aftershocks and he can't get enough.

Too soon David pulls out to slick his own cock, but that's all right because seconds later John is sinking down onto it, moaning as his arse is filled and stretched, eyes locked with David's.

"Like this?" John asks again, breathily, and starts to fuck himself on David's cock, rising up and sinking down and clenching until they both moan. He's not sure where he's getting the energy for this but he damn sure knows where he got the motivation. David's fingers are the ones digging into his hips now, but he's still the one being driven mad.

David gathers his wits enough to start fucking him properly, and they rise and fall, meeting with each thrust, bottoming out as John pushes down and squeezes. David's eyes are wild with lust, burning with desire, like fucking John is the only thing in the world that matters. There could be an apocalypse and the Doctor wouldn't notice, because he's too busy burying himself in John's body.

He sees the shift in David's body before it happens, and holds on as David growls, as he grabs him and flips him onto the bed, not missing a stroke. Grabs him by the waist and hitches him up with his deceptive strength, and John grips him with his thighs. David's in charge now, pounding into him, setting the rhythm. There's so much need in him that John can only take it, hold on while he's fucked into the mattress. David goes wild when he's like this, teeth clenched, eyes wide, every breath a snarl, a growl. Ferocious with need, a storm in his eyes that John can't look away from.

But that kind of ferocity can't last long. David loses the rhythm, whimpers and moans and clutches John tight and comes with a sob, panting, whimpers from the back of his throat. For a moment, all his feelings are there in his eyes, all the raw emotion of it, and it's so strong it's hard to look at.

David blinks and it's gone. The storm recedes, his grip relaxes. He collapses onto John with a moan, slipping out of him, sprawling limply. His head is a heavy weight on John's chest. He closes his eyes and doesn't move for a few minutes, until John nudges him, tugs him off and up beside him. He flops back down again and wraps an arm and a leg around John the way he did in his sleep, pulling them closely together, holding him tight. Not letting go.

John strokes his arm reassuringly. Blinks drowsily and sighs. Falls into a light sleep in David's embrace, and dreams of the storm in his eyes.