Title: Obsessions
Author: Van Donovan
Characters: The Second Doctor, Jamie McCrimmon, Victoria Waterfield
Pairing: Two/Jamie
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count this chapter: 4,116
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.
--
Interviewing the townsfolk was not easy.
The list of names Milyan had written up for the Doctor was accurate as far as he could tell, but actually locating the people was completely different than simply confirming their names were correct. When the Doctor asked as to the location of the home of one Miss Butterfield, he was directed to her distraught family. They in turn informed him of the safe house she was being cared for at.
Expecting to find a great deal of obsession sickness sufferers at the location, the Doctor was then disappointed to learn that the facility had been shut down due to overcrowding and the patients spread to private facilities around the city. The result was similar across the board. No one was where he or she was supposed to be, and most of the few he did end up meeting were far too gone to provide useful information to him.
By the time the sun had begun to set, the Doctor had only crossed half the names off on his list. Most of them hadn’t yielded fruitful interviews.
He reluctantly ate while he was out, hoping the food on the streets might be less contaminated than that in the castle, but found it neither filling nor satisfying. He returned with his escort shortly before the royal guards closed the castle gate for the evening.
He found Jamie and Victoria sitting together in one of the large studies, enjoying the warmth of a blazing fire. Jamie had dozed off in a plush armchair, but Victoria was contentedly weaving flower crowns out of a large stockpile of daisy-like flowers. She looked up when he entered, smiled upon seeing him, then instantly sobered and got to her feet. “Doctor, what is it?”
The Doctor put a hand out to steady himself against the back of a couch. “I’m fine, Victoria, just a little tired.”
“You look absolutely dreadful,” she breathed. She took his hand and quickly led him around, settling him in the seat she’d just vacated. “What happened?”
The Doctor mopped his face with his handkerchief, settling in the chair and closing his eyes wearily. He felt absolutely drained. “Well, I visited just about every home and shop in the town proper, some of them twice. I interviewed the people I could find, and got the information I more or less expected to get, which wasn’t very much, I’m afraid.” Cracking open an eye, he focused on her. “Did you two fare much better? I’m pleased to see neither of you dead or missing.”
Victoria perched neatly on the arm of the chair, speaking softly so as to not rouse Jamie. “Well, you didn’t leave us with questions to ask them, so we had to come up with our own. It was very peculiar though—your friend must have listed his friends or only the people he knew, because we met lots of servants clearly not affected with the sickness and who were worried and upset that their names weren’t on the list.”
“Oh dear,” the Doctor said, rubbing his face. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He contemplated the news for a bit before shaking his head. “Well, what did you learn from the ones you were able to interview?”
“Not much. Most of them simply confirmed that they weren’t obsessed. But we did find something interesting about the people whose names weren’t on the list.”
“Oh, really?”
Excitedly, Victoria shifted closer to him. “Yes! Almost all the names not on the list were new transfers to the castle, instated to replace those servants who had been relieved of duty due to the illness.”
“Well now, that would be a fascinating list to peruse.”
Victoria’s grin broadened. She reached down into her flower basket and withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper. Handing it to him, he saw it was filled with her flowery script. “A list of all the new servants and their job functions,” Victoria proudly said.
“Very good!” the Doctor cheered, looking it over eagerly.
Toward the end of the list his eyes began to glaze over. Whatever burst of energy he had managed at Victoria’s revelation was quickly leaving him. He shook his head to keep himself conscious and then forced himself to his feet. “Well, I must admit I’m a bit worn out right now, my dear Victoria. I hate leaving this until tomorrow to sort, but I simply must get some rest right now. It looks like Jamie’s already beaten us both to it.” He glanced to the sleeping boy again and his pulse instantly quickened. Swallowing hard, he looked away. “So, goodnight my dear. Tell Jamie I’m sorry I missed him. I’ll see you both for breakfast.”
“Oh. Well,” Victoria stood dumbly in the middle of the room as the Doctor scurried out. “Goodnight then, Doctor,” she called weakly.
--
The Doctor closed the door to his room, set the list of new names down on the dresser and immediately splashed his face with the cold water that was in the basin. He took in his reflection in the mirror and immediately winced—the face peering back at him was blanched, old and grey. He felt weak in a way he hadn’t ever felt weak before. It was as though his head had been stuffed with cotton and he was moving slowly through molasses. His eyes felt gritty when he blinked and when he moved too fast, his hearts seemed to stutter as though unable to keep up.
In the bureau drawer he found a warm cotton nightgown to wear and barely managed to change into it before he collapsed into bed. He lay face down on the quilt for several seconds. His mind was still operating at normal capacity, but his body seemed filled with lead. He knew the source, but squeezed his eyes shut and vainly hoped that he’d be able to sleep most of the effects off during the night. He absolutely had to be more functional than this in the morning.
The kerosene lamp on his nightstand was still burning bright, but he couldn’t find the strength to roll over and turn it off. He barely managed to raise his head to one of the pillows before sleep and exhaustion finally took him.
Hours, or maybe minutes, later he awoke for no discernable reason.
He was vaguely aware that the light from the lamp had been dimmed, but his sleep-addled mind chalked it up to the oil being diminished. Something had woken him, and as he turned his head to look around to figure out what the source was, he realized much of the cottony feeling in his head had subsided.
He rolled onto his back and sat up, putting a hand to his brow. There was still residual, throbbing pain, but he had to admit it was much improved. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the light, and sighed in minor relief as more of the pain cleared.
“I thought as much.”
The Doctor started as Jamie stepped out from the shadows beyond the canopy of the bed. The boy eyed him for several seconds before stepping closer to him; he was still dressed in his daywear, booted feet ringing out softly on the stones. The Doctor surmised rather quickly that not much more than an hour could have passed since he’d collapsed in the bed. “Jamie, you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“And jus’ what good t’ us do y’ suppose y’ are half dead? Victoria told me how y’ looked when y’ came in, and I half suspected I’d find as much.”
“Jamie,” the Doctor said, almost warningly. “Please go. I’ll be fine. You really don’t need to worry about me.”
“Och, don’t I? If I don’t, who will? You’re certainly not worrying about yourself.” He moved closer until he was standing directly in front of the Doctor. “I know what’s going on here, Doctor. I’m not stupid.”
“I never imagined you were,” he said, averting his eyes and trying to control his rapidly accelerating heart rates.
“Yes y’ do. Y’ do all the time.”
“Not when it matters. And it matters now, Jamie. So, please: go back to your own room and let me get some sleep.”
The Doctor realized he was shivering for several seconds before he realized quite why—it was in anticipation of Jamie’s touch, which came after the boy spent several moments contemplating his next course of action. Warm fingers brushed against the Doctor’s skin before Jamie’s hand cupped the Doctor’s face, palm against his cheek.
The Doctor’s eyes slid closed at the touch. He shuddered once more, quite noticeably, and then stilled. He couldn’t look at Jamie. It was hard to humble a Time Lord, but he felt properly brought down. What Jamie seemed to be doing was almost beyond his ability to comprehend. He wasn’t sure why, though: Jamie frequently, eagerly risked his life for the Doctor’s. How was this any different?
“I know you’d do th’ same, if it were me,” Jamie said, gently rubbing his thumb against the Doctor’s cheek before pulling his hand away.
“Oh, no—” the Doctor protested before thinking. Losing contact was like having his oxygen supply shut off, like being forced underwater without preparation. Jamie still stood right before him, but the Doctor found it increasingly hard to breathe.
At last he opened his eyes. He found Jamie watching him closely. The Scotsman didn’t smile or flinch, simply waited until he was certain he had the Doctor’s attention and then easily shrugged out of his leather vest, letting it drop to the floor with a soft rustle. As the Doctor watched, Jamie unthreaded his silk ascot and let it flutter away before starting on undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. He kept solid eye contact with the Doctor the entire time, undressing with a fluid purpose.
“Jamie,” the Doctor tried one last time, but instead of coming out as the warning he’d intended, it was more like praise.
Once Jamie’s shirt fell to the floor, his hands dropped to his waist, unfastening his sporran quickly and efficiently before loosening his kilt. The garment fell to the floor with a soft thud. The air in the room was cold, but it was the Doctor in his cotton gown who was shaking, not Jamie. It took only a few seconds for Jamie to pull his shoes and socks off and once he had, he wasted no more time, stepping forward confidently to touch, tilting the Doctor’s head back to kiss him.
Fire raced through the Doctor at the contact and he reached out, grasping Jamie and pulling the boy to him. The kissing was fierce and this time Jamie seemed far more in control of himself and the situation than he had been the previous night. They ended up on the bed, Jamie straddling the Doctor’s hips, the Doctor’s back pressed against the headboard and a pillow.
While they kissed, Jamie fumbled with the Doctor’s nightgown, fussing with the rough cotton to no avail. At last he broke the kiss, leaned forward and heavily panted, “Take this off,” into the Doctor’s ear.
It required some slight rearranging but at last the Doctor managed to unseat himself and tug it over his head. Jamie settled back into his lap when the gown was gone, pressing the back of his thighs against the top of the Doctor’s before bending to kiss him again. The Doctor caressed Jamie’s sides and back, looking up at the boy glowing by the dim light of the kerosene lamp in wonder. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“Should I stop?” Jamie asked, matching the Doctor’s tone.
Closing his eyes, the Doctor almost whimpered. “You can’t ask me that.”
“Sit up,” Jamie coaxed, shifting his weight so the Doctor could. When the Doctor compiled, Jamie resettled astride him. “Look at me.”
The Doctor obeyed at last, pulling his eyes off Jamie’s torso to look up at his face.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my travels with y’, Doctor, it’s that y’ can’t let a foul situation rule y’.” He reached down between them and let his warm hands find the Doctor’s hardened length. “Better t’ rule it instead,” he said, watching the Doctor’s face closely. He shifted closer, until he could grasp both himself and the Doctor in his hands, pressing and rubbing them together. “I own this moment,” he said in a slow, drawn out voice. His body began to undulate with the ministrations of his hands. “It doesn’t own us.”
There were things the Doctor wanted to say, praise he wanted to heap and wisdom he wanted to impart, but those functions of his brain had shut down when the rest of him had awoken. His hands gripped Jamie’s hips tightly, fingertips pressing hard into the boy’s supple flesh. In his hearts, he felt joy and pride and a great deal of humility in Jamie’s presence. He couldn’t form the words to properly thank and repay him, so he tried with his body and his hands and his mouth and his tongue and his lips.
He knew what Jamie had been intending, but unseated the boy fairly easily, putting him on his back effortlessly. He covered Jamie with his body, replacing the boy’s hand with his own. It wasn’t right to suffer the illness and have Jamie do the work. If the boy was going to willingly submit to this, the Doctor wanted to make sure it was the best he could make it—after all, it was sex with Jamie that he was obsessed with, not Jamie seducing him—though he realized in his current state there wasn’t much of a difference in how it made him feel.
He let his hand make Jamie writhe in pleasure for a bit before he gently tugged the quilt off the bed. He was a bit rough with Jamie, turning him over somewhat forcefully, but by the time Jamie was able to protest, the boy had rolled right onto the silk sheets and the retort that had begun to form on his lips broke into a strangled groan of ecstasy.
The Doctor marveled that he didn’t lose him right there.
“Doctor,” Jamie moaned out. His hands reached out for him, and the Doctor found them, letting Jamie cling to him as he covered him again. Jamie’s hands massaged the Doctor’s shoulders and back as the Doctor worked him slowly with his hand, placing kisses on the boy’s open mouth whenever the urge for such a thing grew too great to resist.
At last Jamie’s back arched, his body tensed and his hands gripped the Doctor. He shuddered once as he gurgled out a cry of release and then stilled, face buried against the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor kissed the top of Jamie’s head, cradling him close for several seconds while the boy came down from his high.
When one of Jamie’s hands fell off the Doctor’s back to run against the silk sheets, he determined he had recovered enough. “All right?” he asked in a soft whisper. Jamie replied simply by nodding his head, his face still buried against the Doctor’s shoulder. “Shh,” he cooed gently, sensing the boy’s sudden embarrassment even through the mists of his own arousal.
The Doctor fumbled for a moment until he found his discarded nightgown, and then very deftly wiped Jamie down with it. He tossed it aside when he had finished, shifting until he could kiss Jamie again. “It’s all right, my boy.”
It took several more seconds for Jamie’s former bravado to return; the Doctor judged the very moment it occurred: Jamie’s hand, in affectionately running the length of the Doctor’s body, encountered his still firm erection. In that moment Jamie realized that his job wasn’t done. With some effort, he forced himself to sit up.
He met the Doctor’s eyes somewhat shyly, but broke into a laughing smile at the silly, kind expression the Doctor gave him. “Och, stop it, y’,” he protested.
“This sort of thing should be fun,” the Doctor said. “Not done in silence like a chore.”
“Aye, but it’s hard work,” Jamie protested.
The Doctor bent forward to kiss Jamie’s shoulder and effectively pull him up into a sitting position with him. “Did you all enjoy that?”
Jamie nodded, but said nothing.
“Then it should be fun.” He shifted until he was against the headboard again, pulling Jamie’s hand closer. “Come now, I should like some fun too.”
“Demandin’ little chappie, aren’t y’?” Jamie mocked as he complied.
“Oh, I am fond of commanding,” he said, then helped Jamie into position. “Like you were,” the Doctor urged, finally getting Jamie to straddle him like he had been. He enjoyed this position immensely—it afforded him a wonderful view of the object of his affection, illuminated by the wan golden light, and the headboard gave him support to stay upright. Jamie’s weight pressing down on him was wonderfully heavy and he only lamented he hadn’t thought to be better prepared.
“Good boy, Jamie,” he coaxed.
Jamie seemed to instinctively know what to do. His hand dropped between them again, finding he Doctor’s length. For several moments he simply held it, visualizing what he might want done to him, were the roles reversed. Then he clamped down securely and began to pump his hands.
The Doctor let out a strangled cry of delight and immediately placed his hands on Jamie’s shoulders for leverage. It was hard to work his hips against the weight of Jamie on top of them, but he found that made the sensation even better when he succeeded. Due to their placement, the Doctor was able to lean forward, pressing his forehead into Jamie’s shoulder as the boy rapidly found the right track to take him to the edge.
“Someday,” the Doctor panted in bliss as he neared the end, “I will show you a more effective way of going about all this.”
Jamie didn’t say anything in response, merely concentrated until he felt the Doctor tense against him. The man didn’t cry out as he came, but pressed his face against Jamie’s shoulder again, sagging heavily, gratefully, into the boy.
Relief like he’d never felt before flooded him, seeming to magnify the sensations he felt tenfold. One of Jamie’s hands wrapped around the Doctor’s back, holding him tightly until he had settled. Then he sat back on the Doctor’s thighs, found the crumpled nightgown and used it to clean the Doctor up in the same way the Doctor had used on him. He tossed it off the bed when he was done, but instead of climbing off and departing or going to sleep, he draped his arms over the Doctor’s shoulders, peering down at him.
“I do wonder what you’re thinking,” the Doctor said after he came to, feeling a wave of nervousness fluttering in the depths of his belly as he looked up at Jamie. Satiated now, he found he was in complete control of his faculties, and determined Jamie was too. It was a strange contrast compared to the hazy, pressing need of the night before.
“Curious a wee bit as t’ how y’ came up with this sort of thing t’ be obsessed with in the first place,” Jamie softly admitted.
“Oh, come now, Jamie. You don’t honestly think I chose this on my own?” Off Jamie’s skeptical expression, the Doctor said, “Well, you’d never seen silk before. You didn’t choose that, did you?”
“No, I suppose not,” Jamie admitted. “Though if I’d had t’ pick, I couldn’t’ve chose a better one.” He looked at the Doctor for a moment before at last sliding free of him to settle on the sheets. “Could I bring a set back t’ the TARDIS? Would spruce up my room a fine bit,” he said.
“Well, I suppose we could ask,” the Doctor replied, stretching out now that Jamie’s weight was gone. His brow furrowed. “Hasn’t your room got sheets like these?”
“Och, of course not.”
“No, not your room on the TARDIS, I mean the chambers you’ve got here.”
“Oh, aye. I mean, no. They’ve not got silk sheets, just the regular cotton ones.” Jamie was fondly stroking the fabric.
“Well, then how on Earth did you know these were?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Doctor.”
“Last night you were in my bed because the sheets were silk. But why were you in here in the first place?”
“Oh, that.” Jamie lay down beside the Doctor on the bed, modestly pulling the sheets up over them but wriggling his legs in delight as he did. “I came in t’ talk to y’ ‘bout what happened t’ Victoria. I overheard the maids talkin’ ‘bout her and was a wee bit worried. When I heard y’ were in th’ bath, I decided t’ wait, and came over and sat on th’ bed. That’s when I noticed th’ silk pillows.” He studied his hand where it rested on the sheets for a few moments. “I don’t remember a whole lot of the rest, t’ be perfectly honest.”
“It’s all right,” the Doctor said, settling down to pillow his head against one of the soft, silk cushions. He felt rejuvenated but still weary from the day’s activities. “Getting a large dose of your obsession probably helped you face the day better. Being denied it makes you weak.”
“So I noticed,” Jamie said, rolling on to his side to poke the Doctor in the arm.
They smiled at each other for a few seconds.
At last, as if sensing the surrealness of the moment, Jamie propped himself up on his elbow, sobering quickly. “I had better go now,” he announced. “I don’t want t’ be around if y’ wake up as grouchy as y’ were yesterday.”
“I was concerned about you!” the Doctor protested. “We let the sickness overtake our rational thoughts.” More gently, he added, “I didn’t want you to be upset with me.”
“And why should I have been?” Jamie scowled. “After all, it isn’t you what’s doing this, but th’ sickness, right?”
“Jamie, don’t use that tone right now.”
“But it is a sickness, right?”
The Doctor sat up, sighing. “No, it is not a sickness. Jamie, what have you been reading? Enjoying silk isn’t a sickness, and neither is picking flowers. Having sex with someone you care deeply about is never a bad thing, in moderation. It’s the all consuming need that makes it dangerous.”
Into the silence, Jamie said, “Ben said this kind was a sickness.”
“Ben?” the Doctor echoed. “You’ve talked about this sort of thing with Ben? When was this?”
“When d’ y’ think, Doctor? When he was still on board the TARDIS.” Jamie sat up. After their tryst, Jamie had ended up on the left side of the bed, but his clothing was still in a heap on floor on the right side. He looked over, contemplating how to best return to them.
“Jamie, I had no idea you were curious about such things. You should have asked me.”
“Och, forget it,” Jamie said. “You’ll be all right alone tonight, won’t you? I don’t want t’ have done all this jus’ t’ find y’ weak and useless again in the mornin’.” He decided to crawl over the end of the bed to reach the right side.
“I’ll be fine, Jamie,” the Doctor said. Before the boy hopped to the floor and retrieved his clothes, the Doctor put a hand on his back to still him. In a quieter voice, he added, “But I’d consider it a kindness if you would stay.”
Jamie looked at him over his shoulder, his dark eyes glittering gold from the lamplight. After several moments of consideration, he said, “I hate that I don’t know if it’s just th’ obsession that’s makin’ y’ say that.”
The Doctor smiled softly, pulling Jamie gently back toward him. “And how should I know if you really want to stay with me, or just to sleep on my silk sheets? Let’s not argue this. I’d like you to stay, if you’d like to.”
Jamie struggled with the choice for a few seconds before submitting. “All right.” He crawled back across and settled down beside the Doctor, but reached down and pulled the quilt over them as well as the silk sheets. He let out another contented murmur as he did. The Doctor blew out the lamp before nestling in close beside the boy, but he did not touch him.
“Cured or no, Doctor, I want t’ leave this place tomorrow,” Jamie murmured into the still darkness.
“We will, Jamie. I promise, we will.”
--