#datattore

Greedy little thing, you are on your knees, barely tall enough to be able to press the lower half of your face to the apex of his thighs. The air in this place is cool, and the Doctor notes the thin goosebumps that prickle your exposed skin. But his focus is soon back on you, the way you palm his glistening slit, finger coaxing his essence to slick up your digits, the rush of energy and euphoria that threatens to blind him…

“You’ve worked so hard,” you croon in a murmured whisper, making a show of licking his juices from your hand. “You deserve a reward.” It’s downright lewd, and all Dottore can think of is how much he longs to kiss it from your lips. But that would be going against your little experiment - you want to see the type of pleasure he can experience in this new body. 

And who is he to deny his darling their quest for knowledge?

Apparently satisfied with your toying, you press a chaste kiss to his swollen lower lips, once, twice, then again, at the very top, where a prominent peak of nerve endings reacts immediately to the gentle brush. The Doctor groans, throwing his head back, fighting the temptation to grab your hair and keep you in place. Instead he clenches and unclenches his fists as you continue, peppering the inner flesh of his thighs with similar attention and lapping up the slick that coats them. 

“I didn’t think you’d be so…needy,” you tease, and Dottore can hear the cheeky smile in your words. “You don’t have other more pressing matters to deal with? The whole of Sumeru trying to stop you, for instance?”

“Is that your way of…of saying you wish to stop?” the Doctor grits out, failing to avoid bucking into your face. You laugh and cup his cunt in response, plunging one of your fingers into his glowing entrance. The sound that dies in his throat is obscene as it echoes about the walls.

“The experiment isn’t over yet,” you reply simply; though, perhaps sensing his impatience - or the increasing tremble of his knees - you opt to be merciful and begin to move your finger. You add another, in and out, in and out, scissoring and stretching, gauging his reaction. Dottore is sure he looks veritably debauched in your eyes; quaking and gasping and writhing, all the more with every motion of your digits within his walls. 

Suddenly you press the flat of your tongue at the tip of his entrance, and this time he positively whimpers. The vibrations of your chuckling only add to that buzzing sensation in his core, burning and all-consuming, the wet sound of your tongue and fingers intermingling with his pants and whines. He is close, so close, pressure in his lower half unbearably tight and yet too good to let go of -

When you circle your lips about that little bundle of nerves and suck, Dottore’s vision whites out. Pressure gives way to release, your knuckles crooking in come-hither motions as if coaxing the orgasm out of him. It is all he can do to remain standing, and despite your differences in strength, the Doctor is quite sure you are the only thing holding him up as the waves of pleasure crash over him again and again. 

Your suckling slowly melts into languid kitten-licks, the curling of your fingers to gentle stroking, just before you slip them from your lover’s walls. The Doctor is still fighting for breath, recovering his senses, when he glances down to find your face covered with his juices. Unfazed, you make a show of licking your lips. 

And you smile.