Title: Obsessions
Author: Van Donovan
Characters: The Second Doctor, Jamie McCrimmon, Victoria Waterfield
Pairing: Two/Jamie
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count this chapter: 4,090
Notes: Set during the changing period in "Fury From the Deep." Slash warning for Doctor/Jamie.
Summary: Obsessions are hard to ignore.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I made no money, but if you want to hire me, I'm cheap. Betaing provided by the wonderful Starkiller, some story concepts/elements thanks to Maccine. I apologize for the clichéness, it ran away with me. Hope you'll like it anyway.
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The dining hall when he arrived, was empty. Nearby laughter, however, told the Doctor that Reginald hadn’t gone far. He followed the noise to the throne room, where he found the Prince Regent sitting on an ornamented chair on the dais, telling crude jokes to an audience made up of loyal but oddly disinterested servants. Neither Jamie nor Victoria was in the crowd.

After a lull in the forced sounding laughter, the Doctor pushed his way forward and demanded, “Where is Victoria?”

“Pardon me?” Reginald asked, a frown on his face forming at the unexpected interruption.

“Victoria, my companion; the girl who was having dinner with you! Where is she?”

“How should I know? Do I look like her butler?” the Prince snapped. “I’m entertaining right now, if you’ll please.”

The Doctor scowled and wrung his hands again. He knew he should have made Victoria follow him! Now he’d misplaced both his companions. “Oh dear,” he muttered.

“Sir?”

Once of the scullery maids was tugging on his coat sleeve. “What is it?” he asked.

She averted her eyes and curtsied greatly. “I couldn’t help but overhearing, sir. I don’t mean to be intrusive none.”

“Go on, dear.”

“But your young friend, Miss Victoria?”

“You know where she is?”

“I do, sir. I saw her step out to collect some flowers from the garden soon as you left, sir, though I didn’t mean to peep.”

“The garden?” the Doctor exclaimed. “But it’s the middle of the night!”

“That’s what I thought, sir. Much too cold out there for a young lady, but she insisted, she did. I heard her arguing with the head maid about it. She’s got a cloak on now, I do believe, sir, but that’s not much.”

“Thank you, my dear, if you’ll just be so kind as direct me to these gardens?”

Around them the crowd broke into hollow, uneasy laughter again at one of the Prince’s jokes. The scullery maid led the Doctor down a corridor and to another empty hall. It had large windows that overlooked the courtyard. In the middle of the far wall were two large doors that opened out to the gardens. “Saw her go out here, sir,” she said, curtsying again.

“Thank you.” He gave her hand a fond squeeze before drawing his coat about himself and heading out into the night alone.

“Victoria?” he called. “Victoria, can you hear me?”

Receiving no answer only worried him more. He passed the fountain full of red fish and started into the garden proper. The grounds were vast and poorly lit at this hour. The weather was chilly and his breath crystallized on the air before him as he searched. “Victoria! Young lady, if you can hear me, you had better answer!”

He was met with the rustle of leaves as the wind blew through them.

Concerned now, he crossed his arms over his chest tightly and hustled along the garden paths, looking for the girl. He tried to remember what she was wearing. His companions had an impractical habit of changing their clothes all the time. It made identifying them somewhat difficult. Victoria was prone to wearing little dresses from the 1960s—probably to please Jamie, as the Scotsman had taken a shine to that era, no doubt influenced by Ben and Polly.

Now, Jamie at least always wore the kilt, which was always red, and easy to identify. It also showed off his muscled calves quite nicely, and swished in a particularly delightful way when he broke into a run. The Doctor grinned brightly at the thought.

He stopped in his tracks and slapped himself. “Concentrate!”

Shaking his head, he focused on the cold and Victoria. He was a Time Lord, after all. He could ignore this silly obsession sickness, especially when what he was obsessed over was something as absurd as wanting to sleep with Jamie.

“No, no, no! I must stop thinking about it. Victoria! Victoria, where are you!?”

He should have taken the scullery maid out with him, or asked to get the groundskeeper to escort him. The path he was on finally emptied out onto a lake, and there he saw Victoria, quite a ways away yet, calf deep in the water and pulling lilies to her chest. Her basket of flowers sat on the shore and was positively overflowing with flora.

“Miss Victoria Waterfield!” he yelled, hustling over to her. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

She snatched the last flower off the last lily pad and beamed at him. “Oh, look Doctor! Aren’t they splendid?” She gestured to the sodden mess of flowers in her arms. One dropped to the water and she nearly lost the whole bunch trying to reclaim it.

“Out of there with you!” he chided. Once he reached the shore, he sloshed into the water beside her, took her by the arm and began pulling her ashore. “It’s freezing out here! What were you thinking? Well, I suppose you’re not at all, are you?”

Victoria easily shook his hand off her arm and knelt by her basket to sort her new flowers into the ones she’d already collected. Her cloak was heavy and wet as were the ends of her skirt. She’d lost her shoes somewhere. “Don’t be silly Doctor,” she said. “I’m perfectly content. Besides, there are all sorts of flowers that only bloom at night. I must get them now if I want to see them at all.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said. “You’re soaking wet. We’ve got to get you into a hot bath and into dry clothes. Come along.” He reached for her arm again.

“Doctor, I simply won’t go. You can’t make me.”

“I’ll not leave you out here alone, and certainly not wet and aimless as you are. Now don’t make me force you, Victoria.”

“I’ll scream if you make me, Doctor, I really will!”

He took a deep breath, calming himself. “There are all sorts books in the library you know. Books on flowers, I’m sure. We could find you a nice book to read.”

“I don’t want to read books, Doctor!”

He was getting quite cold himself—his trousers were soaked up to the knees, and his feet squished out water from his shoes as he walked. He forcefully hauled Victoria to a standing position. Immediately she began to scream. “That’s quite all right,” he announced loudly. “Scream as you like, you’re still going in.”

Victoria had quite a lovely set of lungs on her, and her screaming undoubtedly woke up the castle, but she wasn’t very strong physically. The cold, whether she admitted it or not, was also affecting her. By the time the cloisters of the courtyard were in sight, she’d ceased resisting at all and was simply shivering and whining softly.

Two men rushed out as soon as they saw the Doctor approaching with her. After assuaging their fears with a wave of his hand, he explained. “She fell into the lake and is very cold now. She needs a hot bath and a change of clothing, please.”

“I’ll fetch the maid, sir,” one of the men said, hurrying off.

The Doctor got Victoria inside and quickly brought her to a fireplace that was burning in one of the study halls. Not much later one of the maids arrived with a large wool blanket. She draped it around Victoria. “There, there, love, no need to cry,” she said.

The Doctor had let Victoria bring her basket back, but most of the flowers had fallen out on the way to the castle—their loss was what Victoria was sobbing over.

“A hot bath for the girl, please,” the Doctor said, standing near the fire himself. “Warm clothes and something warm to drink, I should think. And can you have someone watch her? I’m afraid she’ll try to wander off again.”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” the maid said. “I’ll send Maggie down to show you to your quarters too.”

“Very kind of you, thank you.”

He watched Victoria as she was led away and tried to resist the urge to follow and make it up to her. He had not wanted to hurt her, and seeing her crying pulled at his heartstrings. She was such a fragile little thing and had seen far too much death in her short time with him. He wanted to show her the splendors of the world, not bring her to tears.

Maggie arrived moments later, approaching so silently he hadn’t even heard her. “Take you to your rooms, sir?” she said.

“Oh? Yes, yes, thank you. I must be a dreadful sight.”

“Heard you rescued Miss Victoria from the lake. Very brave of you, sir,” she said as she led the way.

“Well, I’m sure anyone would have done the same thing in my place.”

“Could be, but no one else thought to go looking for her. Poor girl. She’s a bit ill, isn’t she?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Seems like whatever is affecting your King has affected my friend. I do hope she’ll be all right.”

“I’ll check on her in a bit, see that she’s settled, if you’d like.”

“That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

They continued in silence for a while longer. At last they stopped in front of a large oak door. “Here we are, sir. I’ve laid out some fresh garments for you, courtesy of the Prince himself, and the bath is drawn and should be hot. You ring the servant bell if you need anything, all right?”

“Yes, thank you very much Maggie.”

He opened the door to his chamber and gave the room a cursory glance. There was a large canopy bed that dominated most of the room. It was decked out in expensive looking fabric and made of highly polished wood. There was a large oak desk and chair and a dresser with an extravagant mirror above it. On the dresser was a set of combs and brushes and a basin for washing. Two nightstands stood on either side of the bed with fancy kerosene lamps perched on them. A large velvet curtain was drawn over what he presumed to be a window or balcony.

To the left was a door, which he went through—it led to a private bathroom. The castle was relatively primitive but there was some measure of technology—at least the bathroom was fairly well plumbed.

He fingered the silk dressing gown that had been laid out for him before disrobing and slipping into the water. He sighed as he sank into the warmth, not realizing how cold he’d been. There were things he ought to have thought about, clues he ought to piece together, but he decided against it, instead clearing his mind. He needed to relax and keep his wits about him. Victoria’s scare by the lake had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

He soaked for a long time before finally scrubbing himself clean. He thought about emptying and refilling the water and soaking a while longer, but a noise in the main room drew his attention. “Maggie?” he called, wondering if the maid had returned with a report on Victoria’s condition.

He received no answer. Concerned that the maid might not want to interrupt him while he was in the bath, he got out quickly, dried off with the large plush towel that had been laid out, and slipped into the dressing gown. He was tying the cord around his waist when he stepped out, looking for the maid. “Maggie?”

The door to his chamber was open, which he found unsettling. A quick glance around the room, however, revealed no maid. He shut the door slowly, but turned quickly when he heard a noise behind him.

There was something moving under the covers of his bed.

“Hello?” he cautiously asked.

The lump in his bed shifted a little, and the soft groan of a man’s voice wafted to him. It made him halt in his approach. He knew that voice. “Jamie?” he snapped. “Jamie, are you in my bed?” he demanded.

He wasn’t going to think about what he’d just said.

Another groan from the bed definitely identified it as Jamie. “You must get out of my room this instant, Jamie!” It was clear that the boy either couldn’t hear him, or was too busy doing—well, whatever it was he was doing—to bother replying.

The Doctor considered just turning on his heels and stalking out of the room. It would probably be the safest thing to do. One of the maids undoubtedly would have agreed to let him stay in another room, and if not, well, he could go read in the library all night. Approaching Jamie was not a good idea.

And yet, he did. Curiosity drew him, perhaps, and although he tried to deny it, his obsession sickness drew him, too. He was desperately eager to find out what Jamie was doing, and partially terrified to see.

“Jamie, I know you’ve got your own room,” the Doctor said, approaching cautiously. “You really should return to it. It’s . . . it’s not safe for you to stay in here.”

He was standing beside the bed now, able to see Jamie’s head where it peeked out from beneath the covers. The boy’s cheek was pressed to one of the pillows, his eyes closed, while the rest of him squirmed beneath the covers. He approached, ready to pull Jamie’s arm and drag him out of the room like he’d dragged Victoria, when he tripped on Jamie’s kilt.

He stared down at the pile of clothes at his feet in horror.

On instinct he took a step back, but found he could go no further. Seeing Jamie there, and thinking about him writhing in his bed without any clothing on, had completely shut down his mental processes. All he could do at present was watch. It was a great strain just to remain standing.

His hearts pounded so loudly in his ears he couldn’t hear Jamie anymore. In a way, that helped. He managed to squeeze his eyes tightly shut and thought about ripping toenails off. He thought about eating moldy food and pouring salt on open wounds. He thought about rotted corpses and income taxes. At last, he felt he had control of himself.

Without opening his eyes he reached forward, found Jamie’s arm and yanked him out of the bed. The boy let out a yelp and staggered against him, but the Doctor pulled away quickly before the boy could cling to him. “Put your clothes on, Jamie,” he said in a very slow, controlled voice.

“Doctor,” Jamie said, and his voice was low and thick, full of admiration.

“Jamie, it’s vitally important you—” but Jamie’s hands fell on the Doctor’s shoulders and began to run in small, worshiping circles. Whatever the Doctor was going to say died on his lips. Jamie’s hands traced down the Doctor’s chest, warm palms pressing against his flesh. The silk of the dressing gown made Jamie’s exploration easy and exquisite. “What’re you doing?” he managed to hiss in a whisper, not daring to open his eyes.

“I’ve never felt anything like it, Doctor,” Jamie breathlessly said. His hands were running over the Doctor’s sides now, over the curve of his waist, making more small circles as he rubbed skin to silk to skin. “Your whole bed is made of it.”

“What?” the Doctor gasped. He opened his eyes at last and, despite telling himself he wouldn’t, immediately looked down.

Jamie, mercifully, was wearing the pair of silken underpants the Prince had given him.

“Silk!” the Doctor blurted. “You’re obsessed with silk!” Just beyond Jamie the Doctor could make out the tousled bed, and sure enough he could see silken sheets, gleaming in the light. “And I’m wearing it!” He immediately made to disrobe, but stopped himself before he managed to, realizing what that’d leave him with.

Jamie’s hands hadn’t stopped exploring. They were starting to work their way back up to the Doctor’s shoulders.

The Doctor took another step back, but Jamie seemed to move right with him. “Jamie, you have to get out of here,” he demanded, but his voice sounded weak even to him. “You’re very sick. We’re both very sick. You have to stop touching me.”

“But y’ feel so nice, Doctor. The way it jus’ glides against th’ skin. Isn’t it wonderful?”

The Doctor found he was quite positively trembling. He stomped his foot, but that didn’t help much. “Jamie, please,” he begged. “Listen to me. Listen to me!”

At last Jamie obeyed. His head snapped up, eyes focusing on the Doctor’s instead of watching his hands on the silk. “Doctor?”

Whatever the Doctor had intended to say was utterly lost as he found Jamie looking at him. He had had some measure of control when he was staring at the sheets or the floor, but now Jamie was looking at him with heated desire in his eyes, and all the Doctor could think about was how very much he wanted—needed—to be with Jamie. The boy was nearly naked, touching him rather intimately of his own accord, and the bed was probably still warm from his body.

Why was he supposed to be resisting this?

Before he thought about it, his hands were on Jamie’s chest, pressing into the warm flesh in a way that meant only one thing. He half expected revulsion or confusion to skirt across Jamie’s eyes, but found none. Emboldened and excited by the progression of events, he breathlessly asked, “Have you ever made love on silk sheets?”

“No,” Jamie answered, his eyes hooding slightly.

“Neither have I,” the Doctor admitted, pushing Jamie backward until the boy encountered the bed and was forced to sit down on it. “I think I should like to.”

Jamie’s hands slid from the Doctor’s shoulders, down his biceps and to his hips, where his thumbs rubbed little circles against the fabric. “Think I would too,” he whispered.

The Doctor cupped Jamie’s face, letting his fingers brush through the shaggy hair at the nape of the boy’s neck. He moved closer to the bed, positioning himself half between Jamie’s legs, scarcely able to breathe from his overpowering want. “I need you, Jamie,” he said in a small voice. He wanted to kiss the boy desperately but instead buried his face in the curve of Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie’s hands slid off his hips to cradle his back as he pulled the Doctor up against him. He let out a groan as the Doctor’s silk robes pressed against his bare skin, fluttering his eyes closed at the sensation. “It’s all right,” he breathed, drawing whorls on the Doctor’s back. After several moments like this he said, “Doctor, you’re trembling.”

This close to Jamie, skin pressed against silk pressed against skin, with Jamie’s scent filling his nose, Jamie’s voice filling his ear, Jamie’s breath on his neck and his hands on his back, the Doctor was lost. His want was so strong he was paralyzed by it. “Jamie,” he breathed into the boy’s neck, before pressing his lips against the hot skin.

Jamie’s back arched at the sensation, which was all the encouragement the Doctor needed. He was beyond rational thought, letting his body ride solely on impulse and the obsession. He kissed a line up Jamie’s neck until he reached the curve of his jaw. There he stopped and opened his eyes. He found Jamie watching him with a mixture of desire and confusion.

It was easy to tell that the silk was what was arousing Jamie, but that the kissing wasn’t bothering him, only adding to the sensation. Jamie’s hand tightened on the Doctor’s back, grasping the silk fabric possessively. “Doctor?” he questioned, scooting back a bit on the bed, encouragingly.

“It’s all right,” the Doctor whispered, pulling back to look Jamie’s body over again. For several seconds he didn’t touch Jamie at all and the deprivation of his body was almost painful. “It is all right, isn’t it?”

Jamie nodded, scooting back further until he was on the bed properly. He stuck his feet under the covers, making a little noise of pleasure as his legs slipped between the silk covers. “You’re warm,” Jamie said, reaching out for him.

The Doctor complied, crawling not only onto the bed, but over Jamie as well, into his arms. He pulled the silk sheet over them, slowly, blissfully settling his weight against Jamie’s body. The boy arched up against him, arms tightening to hold the Doctor closer, and when he did the Doctor bent and kissed him at last. He had never thought very fondly of kissing; in the past he had shared less than wonderful examples of it, and found the practice overall to be messy and unnecessary.

This time it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Jamie was fevered and kissed him back with wild abandon, as though he’d been holding back his own desires for such a coming together between them for a long time. The kiss was messy, like the Doctor had experienced, but he found now that that lead to his enjoyment of it. Jamie’s taste invigorated him, Jamie’s tongue sent sparks shooting down through his body into his groin. He wanted to be part of Jamie in a way he’d never felt he needed to be part of someone before, and the kiss, and the way the boy kissed back, only seemed to heighten his need for an even more intense union.

The sensation of warm silk all around was too much for Jamie and he groaned and gave himself over, returning the Doctor’s kiss with great vigor. He rubbed his body against the sheets and the Doctor’s silken robes. It was easy, after that, for the Doctor to get what he wanted. Jamie didn’t need much stimulation to go from enjoying the silk to being sexually aroused by it. He was young, easy to please and eager to please in return. Neither of them thought much about the situation, far too gone on reaching the heights of joy with their own obsessions.

To the Doctor, touching Jamie was like drinking water after days without. Jamie’s body was hot to the touch, but refreshing and cool all at once. All the stress he’d piled on over the last few hours drained from him as he gave himself over to his desires. Each kiss was like a breath of air when he’d had none.

For Jamie, every sensation was just an extension of his love of the feeling of the silk. It was hard to tell the difference between the Doctor’s soft mouth and the warm sheets beneath him. He had been close on his own, but with the Doctor’s body pressing into him, and the Doctor’s mouth and hands caressing him, it was as though he’d stepped into a pool of silk and was now drowning in the most delightfully exquisite of ways. As the silk stayed all around him, he found no reason to complain when the Doctor gently divested him of his silken boxers. To him, it was all an extension of the pleasure he felt from being between the sheets. Whatever chill he might have experienced was quickly overridden by the Doctor’s deft, warm hand.

It was finally being able to give up control of a situation that did it for the Doctor; allowing himself ride out a pent up desire to its utmost end was not something he often allowed himself. Jamie, however, was willing and encouraging, and the Doctor found touching him, making love to him, was like fitting pieces of himself, ones he thought he’d lost forever, back into place.

Having the boy was fulfilling a gut-clenching needed, satiating him in a way he’d never been satiated. He flooded with such relief when he finally reached the end that for several moments he couldn’t even move. It was only Jamie softly stroking the silk on his back that finally brought him around and let him finish properly.

When it was over, he collapsed atop Jamie, silk robes still loosely tied about his waist. He rolled off the boy, feeling sticky and sweaty and wonderfully relieved, but Jamie just pulled him close again, not yet willing to lose the warm silk body so close to his.

The Doctor complied contently. He was utterly blissful and fell fast asleep with his arm around Jamie’s shoulder, and Jamie’s head pillowed against his chest.
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.. to part three