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Yaz can’t sleep. It’s been two days since their trip with the witch hunts and she’s been restless ever since.
She’d been scared a few times, had her life in danger too, but that wasn’t what was getting to her.
She’d nearly- they’d nearly lost the Doctor.
She’s tried convincing herself it stems from being worried about getting trapped in the past, surrounded by strangers and unfamiliar environments. She’s tried that, and for the past two days she’s convinced herself of it.
Yaz’s mind replays it all, disjointedly, as she lies beneath her blankets and stares at the simulated night sky of her TARDIS bedroom ceiling.
The Doctor had stripped her long coat from her shoulders and Yaz had barely even had a chance to give the woman a - hopefully - surreptitious, admiring look before she dived headfirst into the water. She’d done it absolutely without a second thought. That time had been stressful enough.
Yaz tries hard to not think about the Doctor’s dripping wet form as she stood on the bank of that lake, her clothes hugging her body in places they don’t usually. She’s sad. She’s sad and scared right now, thank you very much, brain.
But the second time she’d gone in the water, accused of witchcraft… That had been really, really frightening. Yaz hadn’t known she was holding her breath standing there until her lungs started burning and she was gasping for air, and still, there was no sign of the Doctor. She remembers wanting to jump in after her but knowing that was a useless thing to do, so she just. Stood there. Useless. Praying, wishing, hoping beyond all hope for indication that the Doctor was alive.
And then, relief. Utter, pure, blinding relief as a soggy blonde head made its presence known.
She’d felt like crying, like breaking down and taking the Doctor in her arms, but she stayed strong.
She hadn’t even noticed the clinging clothes that time, or the way they made her look tiny, or her drenched hair, or the droplets falling down her collarbone that Yaz would very much like to follow with her tongue down beneath the neckline of her soaked shirt, or-
Damn it.
She huffed at the stars and rolled over, trying to get back to thinking about the peril her friend had been in, but it was too late now.
She was meant to be with Ryan and Graham, but she’d left something back in the village. She can’t even remember what it was anymore. She’d headed back, telling them not to wait and that she’d catch them up.
She’d almost reached the village when she heard the Doctor’s voice. She’d turned to it, wanting to check up on her friend while she was there.
The Doctor’s head came into view, and then she heard another voice, probably the King’s, she realises now, but as she took another step she stopped in her tracks.
The Doctor’s arms were… chained? tied? above her head. Yaz couldn’t quite tell from that distance, and honestly she didn’t really care.
She knew she should’ve done something, rushed in and helped, or gone back for Ryan and Graham, or something, but the truth, the embarrassing truth is that she’d just. Looked on.
Some ancient reptile part of her brain had clawed its way into the light and hooked itself onto the image before her of the Doctor - the energetic, powerful, mysterious Doctor - restrained and motionless.
So.
Well.
Okay, so, maybe she wasn’t restless from fear of losing the Doctor, then.
Yaz feels her face burn at the memory. She’s young, but she isn’t inexperienced. She knows what she likes. And that? That was exactly what she likes.
She’s embarrassed about the fact that she’d fled the scene and left her friend there, scared of being caught lurking in the woods like some kind of creep instead of just helping. Ryan and Graham teased her for not returning with what she’d left for but that was all soon forgotten with the Doctor’s dunking and the fight on the hill.
And she’s ashamed. That’s her friend she’s thinking about, tied up and at her will, straining at her restraints, begging for-
Yaz sits up. She has to stop. This has to stop. It’s been happening more and more lately and she needs to get the hell over it. This is the Doctor she’s talking about here, for God’s sake.
She swings her legs over the side of her bed and slides her feet into the fluffy pink star slippers the Doctor had given her. She smiles warmly at the simple gift, wilfully ignoring her body’s responses to the memories.
She heads to the kitchen, thankful that the TARDIS has decided to locate it only a few doors down. Tea, she thinks. A cup of tea and perhaps a wander should take her mind off of… things.
She takes herself through the familiar motions, keeping her mind firmly on the task and militantly ordering it to stay there whenever it tries to stray to traitorous thoughts of blonde hair or hazel-green eyes.
By the time she’s poured the milk and blown on it enough to drink, she allows her rigorous control to slip a little as she leaves the kitchen and wanders the halls.
She runs her free hand along the walls as she walks, not heading anywhere in particular, marvelling at how warm it feels. The TARDIS hums at her touch. The Doctor has told them many times that the ship is alive, and most of the time it’s difficult to comprehend, but at times like this she can almost believe it.
She smiles again, feeling soft and happy. She loves this place. These people. She loves her family back home, sure, but they can get too much sometimes, and it’s great that she can get away for sometimes weeks on end, but have her family not know about it.
She’s drawn from her reveries by a clinking, clattering sound. She starts and turns to face the source of the noise.
She finds herself standing in the doorway to a room she’s never seen before.
She can’t quite make out the room’s purpose. There seems to be a toolbox over by the far wall, various equipment spilling out and making a hazard on the floor. There’s something that looks like a large sofa, or maybe a daybed, pushed against the wall on her left, and to her right is a low, but long, bookshelf. She steps into the room, craning her head this way and that, intrigued and still curious about the noise, and notices a section of the wall by the toolbox is missing, opened to reveal an alcove of some kind.
There’s another noise, this time a thud, followed by a soft ‘ow’, and Yaz feels her face light up.
“Doctor? Is that you?”
“Ah! Yasm- ouch, Yasmin Khan it is me indeed! No one else daft enough to take apart their own room now is there?” The Doctor’s head pops out of the alcove as she finishes, goggles atop her head and forehead scrunching as she rubs at her elbow, clearly the site that had caused the ‘ow’ or the ‘ouch’. Or maybe both.
Yaz’s face tightens slightly and she feels herself stiffen as she realises where she is. And what she’d been thinking about not even an hour earlier. And what that is now causing her brain to think about.
She pushes the thoughts down, and sets her nearly-empty mug down on some shelf or table, and picks her way through the tools to try and reach the Doctor, who is inspecting her elbow.
“Any damage?” Yaz asks lightly, knowing full well the woman before her is fine.
“Bit of damaged ego, bumped my funny bone there as you showed up. Guess now you know I’m not the invulnerable amazing Time Lord I let on to be eh?” She winks at Yaz and Yaz feels her smile grow impossibly wider as the Doctor strides to meet her.
She has her coat off, low-cut red rainbow-striped shirt on, and the long sleeves of her white undershirt rolled up. Yaz tries not to let her gaze linger on the exposed forearms or collarbones, but she can’t help herself. If the Doctor notices, she doesn’t let on.
“Actually Yaz, glad you showed up just when you did. I’m trying to get into some tricky stuff back here and I just don’t have enough hands for it. Actually, I think there were a few Time Lords who regenerated with extra hands. Maybe I’ll try for that next time. Not that hoping for anything ever helps. I mean look at me now: still not ginger,” she says, taking Yaz’s hand in hers while gesturing to herself with her free hand.
Yaz has absolutely no idea what the Doctor is waffling on about, but she doesn’t much care, not while she’s in the Doctor’s room, and the Doctor’s warm hand is dragging her towards a very small-looking alcove.
“Doctor-” she starts weakly, trying to protest but giving up entirely as the woman before her picks her way through the tools and debris and equipment, all the while going on about which of her favourite alien species have more than two arms and why does she only get two if there are so many other species that have four or six or even ten?
Yaz is pulled bodily into the alcove and is disappointed to see that it’s no bigger inside than it had appeared from the outside (honestly, she feels let down. Isn’t that kind of the point of this ship?). It’s filled with a low light, but she can’t make out the source, and it doesn’t do much to help the space they’re in seem any bigger.
“Right, if you could just pass me a few things and maybe hold a few other things, that’d be a big help Yaz,” she says as she sets her goggles back onto her face
Yaz nods and begins handing the Doctor various bits and pieces as instructed.
“Alright, Yaz?” the question comes as she’s handing the Doctor a long, thin tool she couldn’t name if she tried.
“Of course, I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been having trouble since we got back, I guess. I think I was a bit shaken.” She crosses her fingers behind her back, a habit she’d never grown out of, hoping the Doctor wouldn’t be able to spot her lie. Or. She thinks to herself, half a lie? Mostly the truth, really.
She doesn’t turn to look at Yaz, busy with unscrewing a panel above her head, but her attention shifts.
“I’m so sorry Yaz. I wish you hadn’t been put in those situations. I hate seeing you frightened or hurt.” Something in Yaz stands up and notices that the Doctor hadn’t mentioned the boys, and it makes her brave.
“No, Doctor. It’s not that. Of course I was scared, but… not for myself. Watching you go under the water for so long, I didn’t like that.” She speaks quietly, but it seems loud in her ears in the small space between them.
The Doctor makes to reply but is cut short as her tool drops from her grip with a word that Yaz doesn’t understand, couldn’t pick which language it was, but is pretty sure is a curse. She watches it roll towards her, stopping at her feet. She bends to retrieve it at the same time as the Doctor, and they meet halfway, almost banging heads. Their fingers brush on its handle and Yaz feels something in her shift as she looks up and meets the Doctor’s eyes. They really are beautiful. The low light somehow makes them look greener than ever, and Yaz watches, entranced, as they watch back.
There are definitely galaxies swirling in those verdant pools.
It’s clichéd, she knows it is, but she thinks she feels a spark there, briefly.
She almost misses it as the Doctor begins to withdraw, and it could be a trick of the light, but she could swear she sees the Doctor’s gaze drop briefly to her lips before it returns to the panel above her.
Yaz swallows, hoping the Doctor doesn’t have some crazy alien ability to hear heartbeats, because hers is working overtime.
“Thank you, Yaz.” The Doctor’s words are soft, almost reverent, and Yaz closes her eyes at the softness she hears in her friend’s voice.
The moment passes as the Doctor clears her throat and asks Yaz for the next tool, this time flat and wide and flashing with green and red lights. Their fingers brush again in the exchange of tools, and this time Yaz is sure the Doctor lets her hand linger a little longer than necessary, and Yaz feels like her heart is seconds away from bursting. Or failing.
She holds her breath and tries to steady her breathing as the Doctor works. There are no more words exchanged between them, except to ask for tools or clarification.
Usually their silences are comfortable and warm, but now Yaz feels… on edge. Something isn’t right. She is acutely aware of the mere inches between them.
She could reach out and put her hands on the Doctor’s hips if she wanted to.
And oh, does she want to.
She wants to put her hands there and find the edge of her shirt. She wants to run her hands up the Doctor’s back. She wants to pull her closer and to kiss her till neither of them can breathe. She wants.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she just stands there, waiting for whichever instruction might come next, her mind running wild with half-imagined fantasies that she squashes before they can fully form.
She’s getting warm, her heart won’t stop racing, and she’s suddenly aware of how loud her breathing has become. All at once she’s glad for the alcove’s darkness. Her flushed face is better hidden, and if the Doctor notices her dilated pupils when she occasionally turns for some reason or another, she can blame it on the lack of light.
A quiet clang fills the space and Yaz is surprised she heard it over the thundering of her own heart.
The Doctor takes her hands away from the panel, clearly expecting it to hold itself in place, but it doesn’t.
It falls between the two of them, narrowly missing Yaz’s nose, and the thick silence between them is broken as Yaz yelps, jumping back as best she can in the small space.
The Doctor, however, is not so quick. Wires and cables come tumbling out of the revealed space, coiling themselves all over the Doctor.
Yaz hears the same word again, this time clearer. That is definitely a curse, she thinks to herself.
She tries to hold back a laugh but fails, her giggles spilling from her like the cables had. The Doctor gives her a fake scowl before bursting into laughter.
“That was not supposed to happen. That panel was meant to stay there until I was ready for it.” The Doctor tries to turn to shake her finger crossly at the panel, but instead finds herself getting more tangled, much to Yaz’s amusement.
“Did you tell it that? Because it clearly didn’t know your plan for it.”
“Rude, Yaz! She knew exactly what I was trying to do, she just likes making trouble, don’t you old girl?” The Doctor begins to try untangling herself as she speaks, but it really is just not working. She sighs.
“My coat’s on the back of my door, Yaz. Would you mind fetching my sonic? We’re not going to get me out of these without having to do a bit of jiggery polkery.”
Yaz nods, still giggling to herself, bending to pick up a few tools as she goes to clear some space for them to untangle to Doctor.
It isn’t until she reaches the other side of the room that she realises.
We’re not going to get me out of these.
This is bad. Really bad.
She almost stumbles over her own feet, and stops, and hopes the Doctor can’t see her.
But she’s left the Doctor like this before, she can’t do it to her again. Besides, this time the Doctor knows she's here. There's no coward’s way out of this.
She fishes through the Doctor’s coat, trying not to think about whatever that furry, sticky thing is, and that bendy rubbery thing, before withdrawing the sonic screwdriver and holding it firmly in her grasp, as though thinking about the task in hand would help at all.
It doesn’t.
She pauses and gulps down a big breath of air, trying so hard to prepare herself for what she’s about to see, inches away, first hand, in the flesh, before she returns to the alcove.
She holds that big breath as she steps back inside.
And once again she finds herself frozen. And her heart is pounding in her eardrums, in her chest, in her sweaty palms.
Somehow, the Doctor has managed to get her hands stuck, and tangled, directly above her head, in a mirror of the other day, just completely straight out of Yaz’s (very, very recent) fantasies.
The Doctor looks up as she hears Yaz return, her face flushed in embarrassment and - Yaz hopes, really, really hopes - something else. She really does look rather sorry for herself. There’s a wry little smile playing across her lips, and it’s honestly so stupidly cute given the situation that Yaz’s heart does a double, triple backflip.
“Um… I tried to stick all the cables and stuff back in but, well. I should’ve waited. I got tangled. Sorry…”
The “sorry” is a quiet little thing, pitiful and soft and it trails off as the Doctor meets Yaz’s eyes directly.
Yaz isn’t really sure what her own face is doing, she’s barely in control of her own body anymore, but she’s pretty fucking sure her eyes are hungry, ravenous, and whatever the Doctor sees there makes a slight, almost imperceptible shudder run through her restrained body.
If they were any further apart, it might have gone unnoticed.
But Yaz? Oh, Yaz definitely saw that.
And Yaz’s body just starts moving on its own.
She can’t help it.
She’s just a human, in front of the woman she loves, in a very, very hot situation, pulled directly out of her, quite frankly, fucking amazing fantasies.
What the hell is she meant to do?
Yaz takes another step forward, but doesn’t say a word.
She licks her lips, and bites her lower lip, unable to help herself, and notes with certainty and satisfaction that the Doctor is definitely looking at them this time.
“Yaz?” The Doctor’s voice is quiet, low, similar to when she’d thanked her before, but. Different. It’s not scared, never scared, but it’s… vulnerable? Expectant? Wanting? Yaz isn’t quite sure.
Yaz moves even closer, returning to her original position in the alcove, still silent. She can’t help it now. That deep-seated reptile part of herself has just completely and utterly taken over. She runs her eyes over the Doctor’s face, taking in that strong jawline, those lips that part ever so slightly as her gaze runs over them, and finally, those eyes, those green eyes that are now starting to blow out to almost completely pupils.
That face, that beautiful face, that she’s seen so many times before just looks so wrecked, and… damn.
Jesus, that’s hot.
Are her pupils wide from the low light? Probably. From their proximity? From the situation? From Yaz’s own response? Yaz hopes so. Oh God, does she hope so.
(Well. She’s actually pretty fucking confident of the fact at this point, but one can never be too cautious in situations like this.)
She lets her gaze drop lower, purposefully, making sure the Doctor notices, to give her the opportunity to say something, to stop this, but she doesn’t do anything, just shudders again, bigger this time, and with a hot, shaky exhalation that warms the air between them, and Yaz notices the Doctor’s throat move in a swallowing motion, and Yaz lets her hope and elation swell into a hungry smirk, and she takes her lower lip in her mouth again as her gaze drops lower, full of confidence now. She lets herself take in the Doctor’s collarbones, and the heaving of her breasts as the Doctor struggles to catch her breath, before returning back up to her eyes, those dark, dark eyes, now really truly just all pupil, and half-lidded with something primal, but never leaving Yaz’s, and her lips, one more time, fully parted now, breath coming in pants and gasps, and holy shit, Yaz hasn’t even moved, hasn’t even touched her yet, and looks like this?
Yeah. Yeah, she’s into it. She is so, so into it.
Yaz absolutely doesn’t need the soft, pleading, reverent ‘Yaz’ that tumbles from those panting lips, quite possibly unintentionally, to know they’re both on the same page here, but God does it sound good.
Yaz lets herself make a low, growling mmm and she steps back. The Doctor exhales again, and there is the whisper of a moan caught at the edges of it.
Yaz hungrily eats up the sight of the Doctor, of her Doctor, restrained and panting and wanting, wanting her, and completely confident and in the zone now, Yaz makes a show of twirling the sonic between her fingers, pretending to think about handing it over, before thrusting it deep into her pocket, and the Doctor makes another small shuddery noise, tugging helplessly at the wires, before Yaz moves back in, in one smooth step, and yeah, sorry Doctor, but Yaz is in charge now, and this is completely her comfort zone, and God does she feel fucking amazing.
She brings her hands up to where the wires are tangled around the Doctor’s hands, and she leans in close, so close, but not close enough that the Doctor can do anything, and Yaz runs her fingers along the wires, checking to see that they aren’t going to hurt the Doctor, and… huh.
Damn. This ship really is alive, huh.
The wires are holding her hands firmly in place, and they’re tied in a perfect knot that Yaz is very familiar with. Firm, but comfortable, not going to cut off her circulation or hurt her at all.
There is no way that the wires could have tangled themselves like that without some kind of intervention.
Yaz smiles at the ship, and a small light behind the Doctor’s head flickers off and on again, and Yaz knows that was a wink, and she brings her attention back to the woman in front of her, softly, gently trailing her fingertips down the Doctors exposed forearms, and watches as goosebumps follow along behind.
The Doctor is looking everywhere, her eyes are darting all over Yaz’s face and body, and the Doctor is looking as hungry and needy as Yaz feels, and Yaz places her hand firmly on the Doctor’s shoulder.
“Doctor, look at me.”
Hungry gaze meets hungry gaze, and Yaz feels time stop, just for an instant, and those sparks she thinks she felt before are flying everywhere now, crashing against the walls of the alcove, zipping down their bodies, and the air between them is absolutely electrified in a way she has never felt before.
“Is this okay? You need to tell me if it’s not, and if you don’t want me to go ahead.”
She thinks, knows, she knows the answer, but she has to ask.
The Doctor nods and then shakes her head, and then just sort of frantically does both at the same time, trying to enthusiastically but wordlessly answer both parts of Yaz’s question at once, and then she tugs again at the cables holding her arms up, trying to dip her head down towards Yaz, but Yaz stops her with a finger on her lips, that she runs gently across, watching with glee as they part.
She lets her voice be low and husky, a trick she knows works every time.
“I need you to say it, Doctor. I need you to say ‘yes’. Let me hear it.”
The Doctor’s eyes flutter shut briefly, and she honestly does moan this time, and Yaz smirks - the husky voice is a killer - but she manages to choke out a ‘yes, please yes, Yaz, please’ before Yaz finally, finally closes the distance.
And fuck.
It’s hot, and it’s hard, and it’s clearly been sitting and brewing for both of them for far longer than just the last few minutes, and Yaz feels the Doctor’s arm wrench and pull and tug and she almost feels sorry for her, that she can’t feel, can’t touch Yaz in their first kiss, but then really that’s just even hotter, because she can’t feel, and Yaz is in charge here, and shit, she needs more, more, more.
And the Doctor is making hot little noises that get louder and more needy with every pass of lips, teeth, tongue, and then she stiffens and grows quiet, and tilts her head in a weird way, and for a split second, it’s weird, because the Doctor kind of starts to kiss like a man? Or… tries to take control of the kiss? Yaz isn’t really in the right frame of mind here to work out what the hell this is or what it means, no, that can come later. Right now, Yaz isn’t having that, she wants that noisy, needy, moaning Doctor back, and so she growls, and she bites, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel fucking fantastic, and the Doctor just melts and moans again and Yaz is in charge again, and it’s as it should be, and the Doctor is just putty in her hands now, and she doesn’t try that again.
Yaz lets her hands run through the Doctor’s hair, not really pulling, not just yet, but bunching and lightly tugging, and the Doctor seems to really like that, because each time she does it, the Doctor leans back into it and moans and sort of forgets how kissing works, and Yaz chuckles darkly a few times at that.
They kiss for what feels like an eternity, and no time at all, and when Yaz pulls back for air, she’s greeted with quite honestly the hottest sight she’s ever seen, thus far, in her entire life.
The Doctor, her Doctor, is standing before her, looking down at her, hair a mess, eyes blown completely to black, lips red and swollen and wet, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, arms restrained above her head, and it is everything Yaz has ever dreamed about and more, and she’s never had someone look at her like this, and Yaz sucks in a massive breath, and on the exhales, there comes a “Fuck, Doctor. So hot. So good”.
And the Doctor apparently loves that, because a high, needy whine comes out of her throat, and she lunges forward, and crashes her lips into Yaz’s, and it’s somehow even harder than before, and Yaz wonders at that, and tucks it away in her brain for the right moment (hopefully very soon), because does the Doctor maybe have a praise kink?
Yaz smiles into the kiss at the thought, and she feels the Doctor smile back, and this whole thing is burning, burning, but for a second, two, it softens, because what the hell, that is fucking cute, and she loves her, and maybe the Doctor loves her back?
And then the sweet moment is over, and it’s hot and passionate and full of hunger again, and Yaz moves her left hand to rest on the Doctor’s hip, and lets her thumb sneak up below her shirt, and her skin is so hot, and the Doctor hisses at the touch.
Yaz pulls back, breathing heavily, eyeing the Doctor carefully, but she doesn’t remove her hand, and she says, “You okay, Doctor? This still okay?”
The Doctor nods fervently, and starts to lean back in, before something clicks behind her eyes, and she breathes out a “yes, yes, Yaz, yes”, and holy hell, Yaz might explode, because she remembered what Yaz had said about using words, and she knows it’s hard, but she did it anyways, and she just loves her, and the way she said it was so fucking hot.
She brings that little suspicion out and tries it again, in that husky low voice, right in the Doctor’s ear.
“Good, amazing, you remembered, so good.”
And yeah. Yeah, okay, shit, the Doctor definitely has a raging praise kink, because Yaz didn’t even really say that much, and the Doctor just let out the hottest kind of noise, shuddery and whiny and needy, and Yaz thinks maybe she might need to tone it down, just a little, because she doesn’t want the Doctor to reach the involuntary teary part that sometimes comes quite soon after that noise. It’s the poor woman’s first time doing something like this.
Probably.
Almost certainly.
Yaz can just sort of tell these things. She’s good at this, and she knows it.
She resumes her thumb’s slow movements over the Doctor’s skin, revelling in the feeling of the Doctor pushing into it, wriggling her hips to try and get Yaz to put more pressure into it, more fingers, more, but Yaz is in charge here, Doctor, and it’ll be all good things in good time, and she just keeps ghosting her hand lightly up the Doctor’s side, her other hand still buried in her hair, tugging a bit harder now, which is received with great enthusiasm.
Her hand trails along heaving ribs, and pauses just below full breasts, just long enough for the Doctor to mumble a “please Yaz, please” into their kiss, and she trails lazily along the edge of the Doctor’s bra through her shirts, feeling the fullness and weight as she gently cups her hand there, and the Doctor moans, and whines, and the Doctor is really just fully hers, and Yaz quickly utters a prayer to her own god, to every god, and every spirit and religion or just who or whatever is listening, because she could not have asked for anything better than this, right now, in this moment.
And the Doctor is probably too out of it to notice, but Yaz hears the door to her room click gently shut, and she silently thanks the TARDIS again. The last thing they need right now is for the boys to accidentally wander in.
She's not stopping now, not for anything, not until they've both finished.
And when she says finished, she really, truly means it. In every sense of the word.
She brings her hand back down, and slips it under the Doctor’s shirts, and then there’s just so much skin and warmth that this time it’s Yaz who moans into the kiss, and the Doctor really likes that, bucking forward at the sound, so Yaz lets herself be more vocal than she usually would allow, because man, why the hell is she holding back at all?
Yaz pulls back from the kiss, and watches as she pushes up the Doctor’s shirt, exposing a surprisingly muscled and toned midriff, and she lets her fingers play along that for a good while, just enjoying herself, and the Doctor’s somewhat foggy gaze is darting rapidly between Yaz’s face and Yaz’s hands on her stomach, before settling itself in to watch the show, with heaving breaths and pants.
And Yaz takes the show further.
She unclips the Doctor’s suspenders, front and back, and lets them fall to the floor, and she lifts those low-cut, tight-fitting shirts up and up, and pushes them up over the Doctor’s head, and has to sort of awkwardly bundle them behind her head, because obviously they won’t be able to come off when the Doctor is like this, but it doesn’t matter, because now all that’s left between Yaz and the Doctor’s nakedness is a plain, white, functional bra.
Yaz looks up, and the Doctor follows, and through all the fog and lust, they just… smile at each other. And it’s not hungry, or wanting, it’s just soft, and happy, and warm, and safe, and Yaz’s heart swells, and she reaches up and presses a soft kiss to the Doctor’s brow, and the Doctor’s smile grows even wider, and their lips meet and it’s so gentle and soft and they’re just grinning like idiots into this perfect kiss, and man, Yaz just loves her so much.
Yaz pulls away, and the Doctor looks at her and giggles a little, happy to be exactly where she is, exactly how she is, and everything is fantastic. This is everything Yaz loves.
Yaz leans in to kiss her again, and as she does so, she brings her hands up to her own shirt buttons, and starts to undo them, mostly because she’s just getting bloody hot honestly. It really is a really tiny alcove, and there’s a lot of heavy breathing.
She feels the Doctor frown and pull back as she realises what’s going on, clearly miffed that Yaz would dare deprive her of this sight, and Yaz smirks at her and makes a show of it now, slowly, tantalisingly releasing button after button, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of the Doctor’s gaze hungrily sliding down her skin as each new centimetre is exposed.
And as she reaches the last button and her shirt hangs loose, she can practically feel the Doctor’s eyes all over her, as though her hands are running across her skin.
Yaz is hot. Yaz knows this. She’s worked bloody hard to have a nice body.
And the Doctor is just completely fueling her ego at this point. Her hands are twitching in their bindings, lurching forward and jostling to touch, to feel, to push Yaz’s shirt off, to remove that pesky scrap of fabric, and flick off her bra.
But no.
“Not yet, Doctor. We aren’t finished here just yet. But you’re doing so well.”
The Doctor chokes out a moan, eyes flicking up from Yaz’s body, her stomach, her breasts, her collarbone, to meet her eyes, and Yaz’s breath catches, and she needs to look away for just a moment, because it’s just so intense.
She shifts her gaze to look just behind the Doctor, and realises, much to her delight, that the wall is close enough that she can reach her hands behind the Doctor and rest them on the wall, framing the Doctor’s body in a cage of her arms, and Yaz sucks in a breath as she takes in the woman before her.
The Doctor, her clever, frantic, amazing, mysterious Doctor is dishevelled, shirtless, panting, moaning, pulling, tugging, and…
Trapped
The Doctor is trapped.
Fully, properly, well and truly trapped.
Restrained by the wires, and now caged in by Yaz’s own arms and body.
The Doctor is just… completely and utterly Yaz’s in that moment.
And both of them realise it at exactly the same moment, and both of them exhale and swear, Yaz in English, the Doctor in that strange, beautiful language, and the air charges with something fierce and hot as they stare at each other, and all semblance of that sweet moment they shared earlier is just obliterated, and all that’s left is pure, unadulterated need.
Yaz can tell that the Doctor is starting to get antsy, starting to really need to move, to touch, and she will let her down soon, she will, but she’s not finished with her just yet. No.
She’s not letting this end just yet.
Yaz brings one hand back to the Doctor’s body, just on her shoulder, and she traces a line, once again, around the edges of her bra, longing for it to just be gone, but she wouldn’t be able to remove it like this anyway, which would just be disappointing for both of them, and she cups the roundness of it, and squeezes, just gently, and the Doctor sighs and throws her head back, and Yaz can’t help but be drawn in to all that new skin, and she presses feverish kisses along the length of that neck, mouthing and licking at the skin, and she can’t stop herself from sucking and biting and marking, and the Doctor lets out a long moan, and as Yaz pulls back, she realises that, damn, that’s going to be really, really hard to hide, sorry there Doctor, but she’s delighted as she looks at her handiwork, and she brings her hand up from where it was playing with the tops of the Doctor’s breasts and traces the edges of the red mark at the junction of the Doctor’s neck and collarbone.
She presses a small kiss on top of it, and a hot, hard one onto the Doctor’s lips, before pulling back again and trailing her fingers downwards, and caresses the lean muscles of the Doctor’s stomach, and the dips of her hips, and reaches around behind her to dip her fingers into the waistband of the Doctor’s blue trousers, running her fingers back around to the front to play with the fastenings.
She meets the Doctor’s eyes, and she doesn’t even get a chance to open her mouth to ask the question that’s forming, before the Doctor speaks, a full, proper sentence, for the first time in what feels like absolutely ages, and her voice is like nothing Yaz has ever heard before, at least, not directed at her. It’s dark and it’s powerful and demanding (and so, so breathy) and if what she was saying wasn’t so funny, and the situation was any different, Yaz would be - just a little bit - intimidated by the tone.
“Yasmin Khan, if you’re going to ask me at this bloody point if it’s okay to take off my trousers, I am going to absolutely bloody lose it. Yes. Yes. Yes. Fucking. Take them. Off.”
And Yaz has never, ever heard the Doctor swear (in English, at least), and it’s just so completely out of nowhere, and the Doctor is clearly just so frustrated in so many ways that it’s just bloody hilarious, and Yaz lets out a giggle, and then a proper laugh, and then she’s just completely lost it, and the Doctor realises what she’s just said, and how she’s said it, and she blushes furiously, before snorting and joining Yaz in laughter.
“Alright, alright, I get it, blimey!” she says, finally releasing the Doctor from the cage of her other arm, and bringing both hands down to release the clasps and zips.
And the Doctor looks very pleased with herself at that, which honestly? It’s cute, but that won’t do. So, as Yaz slowly drags the Doctor’s fly down, she bends down to her ear and gives it a little nip, before breathing low words into it.
“Don’t go getting cocky there, Doctor. Best not forget who’s in charge here, hm?”
She pulls back, and runs her hands along the waist of the Doctor’s trousers to her hips, and watches as the Doctor’s expression turns back to pure want, and listens as the Doctor lets out another moan, and Yaz tilts her head and breathes out an “mmm” as she looks the Doctor dead in the eye, before dropping to her knees, slowly dragging the trousers down with her, maintaining eye contact, and dotting chaste kisses along the length of her body as she goes.
And the Doctor is so, so loud as she does this. And Yaz just lets herself be vocal too, because why the hell not, because this is really god damn hot, and because she’s now at eye level with the Doctor’s practical white underwear, and damn. White underwear is truly a gift from the Gods, because the Doctor is so, so wet, and the underwear is not hiding it at all.
Yaz has to hold her breath, close her eyes, and count to five before untying the Doctor’s boots and removing her pants properly, completely, flinging them away to some random corner, because holy hell, the Doctor is going to come to pieces in seconds if she touches her anywhere near there.
And look. She’s been trying to focus on the Doctor, to burn this memory into her mind as best she can, but look. Yaz is in pretty much the same boat here, she won’t lie.
It’s kind of weird, but she can smell the Doctor from down here, and it’s not really like what she’s used to. It’s not bad at all, it’s not even really all that different, it’s just not quite the same, and she’s suddenly reminded that, oh yeah. The Doctor isn’t human.
And Yaz hopes and prays that whatever is beneath her thin underwear is something that she can work with.
Whatever, she doesn’t fucking care at this point. She’ll make it work.
She presses a kiss to the insides of the Doctor’s thighs, and the Doctor is now pulling so hard at the wires that Yaz is glad that the TARDIS is helping here, because if this was anything else, she was pretty sure the Doctor would have just ripped them clean out at this point, probably knocking them both out cold in the process.
She places a gentle, barely there kiss on the Doctor’s wet spot, promising herself that she’ll be back there later, hell yeah, and the Doctor shudders and lets out a guttural sound and for a second Yaz thinks she may have just accidentally brought the Doctor to her climax with a soft kiss, but no.
Close, but no.
So she stands up, running her hands and lips over all the skin she can find, and kisses the Doctor again, properly, and they both sigh and moan into it, so happy, and just so honestly unbelievably turned on out of their god damned minds.
Yaz takes a step back and just stares at the Doctor in nothing but her underwear, hair in complete disarray, lips red and panting, neck already starting to bruise, soaked through with sweat and other things, and she rumbles out a moan. This is perfect.
“So hot. So hot,” she mumbles, more to herself than anything else, but the Doctor pants and moans in response, and really starts to wriggle, to pull and reach and try to touch, and there’s a bit of a wince there, and yeah, it’s time to let her down.
More than anything else really, Yaz just wants to feel the Doctor’s hands on her body.
“Okay, Doctor, I’m going to untie you, but just go slowly. Wait until all the feeling is back into your arms before you try and do anything, promise?”
The Doctor nods, and there’s a little “yes, okay”, and Yaz reaches up and unties the knot with ease. And she doesn’t need the sonic at all, because, really, this was entirely the TARDIS’s doing, who gently releases the Doctor.
Yaz holds her, and helps her out of her shirts properly, and the Doctor squeezes her fists a few times, gently lowering her arms to her sides. Yaz rubs them gently, before taking her hand in hers, and leading her out of the alcove and over to that bed/sofa thing she saw earlier, and they sit for a few comfortable minutes, just holding hands, and gently kissing, until the Doctor squeezes Yaz’s hand.
“Okay now?”
The Doctor nods and smiles at her, and then that soft smile turns into a smirk, and then the Doctor realises she has her hands back, and she can finally touch, and she does.
And Yaz barely has a second to prepare herself as the Doctor launches herself at Yaz, and then the Doctor’s hands are everywhere.
As she runs her hands over her stomach, her sides, her neck, her face, there’s a soft, reverent litany of “Yaz, Yaz, Yaz” that doesn’t really mean anything in particular, but means everything.
Her hands are so soft, but there are calluses there, these are working hands, and that’s pretty hot for some reason, and these hands know what they’re doing, and that’s freaking incredibly hot too, and Yaz moans as they work absolute magic across her skin, and soon there are lips following them, and Yaz just leans back and closes her eyes.
The Doctor’s hands come to rest at her shoulders, and the woman grunts.
Yaz opens her eyes again.
“Get this bloody thing off.”
Yaz cocks an eyebrow at the demanding tone, but sits up and lets the Doctor push the shirt from her shoulders anyway. That too gets flung to some random corner of the room.
And Yaz is still wearing trousers, and the Doctor doesn’t like that either, because her quick fingers make short work of the button and zipper, and after a grunt and a bit of shuffling, they get flung into the ether too.
(That’s gonna be fun later.)
And then they’re both in their underwear, and the Doctor is kneeling between her legs, hands on her thighs, eyes full of hunger and darkness, and that's it, really.
And Yaz suddenly, weirdly only just now, realises that she’s quite honestly about to have sex with the Doctor, with her best friend, with the woman she loves, and fuck, what if she’s about to ruin everything, what if this is it, and apparently the Doctor realises the same thing too, because there’s a little moment of awkwardness, or something like it, and they both sort of avoid each other’s gazes for a moment, before the Doctor huffs out a little chuckle and stands up right in front of Yaz, runs a hand through her hair (hot, really hot, holy shit) and settles herself promptly into Yaz’s lap, straddling her, legs spread on either side of Yaz’s thighs.
“It’s a bit late for awkwardness, Yaz, don’t you think? We’re a bit far gone for that at this point.” She’s smiling, and her voice is soft and reassuring, and full of something warm, and although Yaz has been (and still is, thank you) in charge here, this little moment reminds her that the Doctor really is actually the one with years and lifetimes of experiences, in all sorts of things.
And it’s nice, actually.
Yaz smiles back, and places her hands on the Doctor’s hips, thumbs caressing gently, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Much too far gone. Where were we then?”
The Doctor grins and her eyes darken again, clearly absolutely delighted that this whole thing is going to continue.
Hot.
“Oh, I don’t know Yaz. I thought you were in charge here.” She blinks innocently at Yaz, and places her hands on her shoulders respectfully, and Yaz feels her mouth pull into a surprised, smiling ‘O’, and the look on Yaz’s face must be golden, because the Doctor tips her head back and laughs.
“Oh, I’m gonna get you for that, Doctor,” Yaz says in her low voice, and dips her head up to bite at the other side of the Doctor’s neck, and the Doctor’s laughter dies pretty quickly and turns into soft, short gasps as Yaz sucks and bites another mark into her soft, pale skin.
Take that.
“Yeah,” breathes the Doctor. “Well.”
Yaz quirks her eyebrow, egging her on, and the Doctor just rolls her eyes, cradles Yaz’s face in her hands, and leans down for a searing kiss.
And this whole thing is so easy. It’s so effortless. It’s just them, the Doctor and Yaz, and it’s fun, and they’re happy, and very fucking horny thank you, and this is how it should always be.
Well, maybe not always always. That could get awkward.
And the kiss turns into teeth and tongues and breaths and moans and suddenly the Doctor’s hands are at her back and Yaz’s are at the Doctor’s back, and they both pull away and look at each other, and the Doctor says in that dark, powerful tone, “Don’t you dare ask. Just do it. I get it, I do, I appreciate it, but yes Yaz, yes, always. Always yes.” And Jesus, that’s so hot, that breathy always yes, and it takes Yaz less than a second to undo the clasps, and the Doctor looks at her, and Yaz nods, and she feels her own clasp spring free, and then there’s a bit of an awkward moment of jostling where they both try to hungrily pull each other’s bras off at the same time, which doesn’t really work, but who the hell cares, because they’re now also who knows where in the room, and now now the Doctor is sitting there, on top of her, in her lap, breasts right in her face, and what the hell is she meant to do other than just bury her face in them? She’s only human!
And the Doctor, who was about to reach down to, presumably, caress Yaz’s now-bare chest, just tips her head back and moans, before snapping back into position, eyes wide, staring down, mouth parted and panting, as Yaz mouths wetly at the skin of one breast, and gently cups the other with her hand.
She traces circles around the outsides, mouth and hand moving almost in harmony, and moves up to the tops, and down the inside, and slowly creeps closer to the Doctor’s nipples, and blows gently on the one closest to her mouth, before moving back out again.
Oh yeah, she was going to take her sweet time with this.
Because the Doctor is writhing and squirming and panting and moaning and just absolutely loving it, and Yaz is pretty sure the Doctor isn’t even aware of it, but her hips are circling gently and bearing down, hard, on Yaz’s legs, trying to find some sort of purchase that Yaz sure as hell isn’t about to give her yet.
And she keeps going on about this, but honestly, good lord, the Doctor is so hot.
She lets her thumb gently caress the Doctor’s nipple, trying to get a gauge of how sensitive the Doctor’s skin is there, and yeah, oh boy, the answer is very.
The reaction is immediate, and incredible, and Yaz moans too, and whispers words of encouragement, which just makes the Doctor react even more, and it’s just a self-sustaining cycle at this point.
Yaz kisses the other nipple, flicks it gently with her tongue, and nips it ever so gently, and rolls the one in her hand between her finger and thumb, and the Doctor is just keening a non-stop moan interspersed with words that Yaz isn’t even sure is English anymore, but she definitely catches her name many, many times, and that’s good enough for her, and she flicks and nips and pinches and rolls and the Doctor looks like she’s about to explode, and Yaz moves her free hand down, down, down, and the Doctor takes a breath and moans out a short sentence that freezes Yaz in her tracks.
“Stop, stop Yaz, please, Yaz, please.”
Yaz pulls back, hands and mouth coming completely free, and looks up at the Doctor, and the Doctor shakes her head.
“Wait, no, I,” she gulps and pants, and drops a heated kiss to Yaz’s lips. “No, I don’t mean like that, I… It’s just. It’s so good. You’re so good, and this is new and different and it’s so much, and I want to touch you, but I’m gonna be a real mess real soon. I just need to... I don’t know. Swap for a bit. Damn, this body is so different.”
Yaz breathes out a sigh of relief. That last bit was a bit odd and didn’t really make much sense, but she’s used to the Doctor saying weird stuff, so she lets it pass.
Besides, she doesn’t mind in the slightest if the Doctor wants to touch her.
“Can I stay up here though?”
Yaz lets out a “Pft”, and the Doctor smiles.
“Uh, hell yes, this is so unbelievably hot that I am honestly just barely holding myself back from absolutely ravishing you right here and now.”
Yikes. Maybe that was a bit much, a little on the cringey side.
Or maybe not?
Because the Doctor moans and swears that same word, and rushes down to capture Yaz’s lips in the sort of kiss that she’d tried to give her when she’d been tied up, and this time Yaz just lets her, because it’s what the Doctor needs right now.
Yaz likes being in charge, and she still is, thank you, and she’s pretty damn sure the Doctor also liked her being in charge, but if the Doctor wants this right now, she sure as hell isn’t going to say no.
And so the Doctor just… takes complete control, and Yaz just lets her, opening her mouth to the let Doctor’s tongue in when it wants to, letting her lips go soft and open for bites and nips, and when the Doctor pulls Yaz’s fingers into her mouth and runs her tongue over them, keeping dark, intense eye contact the entire time, as she places Yaz’s own wet fingers onto Yaz’s own breast, watching hungrily as she urges her to move her fingers, to show her what she likes, Yaz is absolutely living.
Maybe not being in charge all the time isn’t so bad, if it’s with the Doctor, because good lord.
She really, em really knows what she’s doing.
Yaz can be jealous of the Doctor’s previous partners later, but it doesn't matter right now, because the Doctor is still grinding her hips in those small circles, and her hands havr now joined Yaz’s own at her breasts, and actually, now Yaz’s hips are moving too, she’s realising, and Yaz is suddenly acutely aware that and the whole room is just filled with their pants and moans and the smell of sweat and sex and it’s just fucking fantastic.
If this is gonna be her life now, she’s ecstatic.
The Doctor’s lips are at her neck, sucking, biting, and Yaz doesn’t actually usually like getting love-bites at all, but she finds herself not caring in the slightest, too turned on and foggy at this point, even arching into the Doctor’s mouth, as she feels the sharp sting of teeth and suction, and really, they’re both going to have to wear scarves and turtlenecks for like a week after this, and it’s going to be pretty damn obvious what’s going on, but that’s fine, Yaz doesn’t bloody well care right now, and she hears herself go, “Yeah, yes, yessss” as the Doctor moves to the other side to finish their matching set.
The Doctor sits back to admire her work, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and she looks delighted, and Yaz feels just as dishevelled now as the Doctor looks, and hot damn this is really truly her best sexual encounter ever, and seriously, they haven't even done the proper deed yet. God, they still had their damn underwear on.
The Doctor is sliding backwards now, back off of her lap, back onto her knees, pushing Yaz’s thighs apart, trying to get into a position where she can comfortably take Yaz’s breasts into her mouth, and oh. Oh boy. Her tongue knows some things.
And as it swirls and licks and flicks, and her teeth nip, Yaz finds herself wanting desperately to push that blonde head down, down, and put that tongue to even better use.
Instead, she just lets the Doctor do what the Doctor wants, and watches hungrily, and breathes heavily as the Doctor stares up at her through heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust as her tongue dances and rolls, and Yaz’s hands are tangled in her hair, twisting and tugging and pushing, and the Doctor really does like that a lot, huh, if those moans are anything to go by.
The Doctor’s hands are on her thighs, not really doing anything to start with, just sort of stroking, but then they get bolder, and braver, and start trailing upwards and around and down, and at some point the Doctor knocks Yaz’s wetness with a knuckle, and they both hiss, and the Doctor’s voice is like something else entirely when she whispers, “Yaz, Yaz, you’re so wet, Yaz.”.
And then the Doctor nips particularly hard, and her brave hands just push ever so slightly too hard, and not hard enough, and it’s incredible, and Yaz lets out a noise she’s never heard herself make before.
And then Yaz has had it.
“Doctor, Doctor I swear, you’d better fucking touch me properly soon, or I am going to completely lose it and take you instead, right now.” Yaz’s voice is almost a growl at this point, and the Doctor freezes briefly, and a shudder runs through her, and a high whine escapes her lips, and Yaz can almost see the internal struggle and debate.
Touch Yaz? Make Yaz hers? Make Yaz moan her name and writhe beneath her hands? Or get absolutely and completely destroyed?
Yaz smirks despite herself, and marks that little piece of information down for another time.
Yeah, a little ‘to-do’ list, in her brain, with one item, and it just says “Take the Doctor so hard she can’t remember her own name for a week.”
Nice. Hell yeah. Definitely need to do that.
But this time, it looks like the Doctor is going to take the slightly more sane option, because she leans upwards, tipping her face up towards Yaz before returning to her position between Yaz’s legs, and settles in.
She trails her fingers gently, expertly, around the waistband of Yaz’s underwear, and dips her hands down the back to grab two mighty handfuls of her behind, gripping and spreading and kneading, and Yaz tries to buck her hips but the Doctor’s arms are suddenly across her lap and she just glares up at her, and wow, okay, yeah, she really wouldn’t mind if the Doctor maybe fully takes charge every now and then.
Only sometimes.
Like now.
Because the Doctor is now running her thumbs back towards the front of the underwear, and dipping down, just enough to caress the fine hairs there, and the Doctor is staring, and it makes Yaz blush a little, but it’s god damn hot, and then she pulls the front of her underwear upwards, and the pressure is oh-so-good, but it’s not enough, and Yaz gasps as the Doctor does it again, but this time, afterwards, she just unceremoniously hoists up Yaz’s hips and yanks her underwear clean off.
And then they’re gone, somewhere. Oh well.
And then the Doctor is just hungrily staring at what Yaz is sure is just a dripping wet mess at this point.
The Doctor grins, and looks up at Yaz, and she suddenly knows what all her past partners have felt like when she’s ravenous like this, and good lord is it delicious, and Yaz’s hips twitch slightly, unsure of what the Doctor is going to do next.
The Doctor, what she is going to do next, is be an absolute tease, apparently.
Because Yaz is right there and needy and the Doctor absolutely knows this, but she just continues that soft stroking that she was doing before, except this time, every time she reaches the wetness, she doesn’t stop.
She runs a finger, so gently, through it, and then continues on her path again.
And it’s agony, and it’s bliss.
Eventually, she flips her hand, and runs her thumb gently down Yaz’s folds, and Yaz is just about ready to growl at her again, when the Doctor looks up at her, and grins again, and her head starts to move, and Yaz once again thanks every God that she knows because oh shit, she’s really going to Do That, really going to just give Yaz exactly what she wants, and…
The instant that clever tongue brushes her wetness, Yaz lets out a long, low “Fuuuuuuck” and tips her head back against the back of the whatever the hell it is she’s sitting on, and she slumps, and one of her hands makes its way to the back of the Doctor’s head, and the other comes up to her own mouth, and she sucks on her fingers before placing them on her own nipples, tugging and pulling and twisting in time with the Doctor’s tongue on her.
And Yaz realises that the Doctor’s hands, too, are still working down there, stroking and dancing, and the Doctor comes up for a breath, and as she does so, she positions her fingers to just outside of Yaz’s entrance, and she’s looking up at her with Yaz’s wetness on her mouth and Yaz is pretty sure she’s just asked her if she can put her fucking fingers inside of her, and Yaz is just nodding, and moaning, and practically shouting “yes, yes, Doctor, yes. Anything.”
God, who the hell even is she right now.
Whatever.
This is fucking fantastic.
The Doctor slowly, slowly, slips a finger inside, and Yaz is just rocking her hips like a crazed person right now, because she’s so close, so damn close, she’s been so close for who the hell even knows how long it’s been, and then the Doctor pushes another finger in, and tilts them, or something, and at the same time she rolls her tongue over a particularly incredible spot, and then it just takes two or three more thrusts and Yaz is just on another plane entirely.
Her vision goes white and she hears herself call the Doctor’s name, and feels the Doctor keep stroking her through it, and Jesus, that’s nice, and maybe she actually even comes a second time, and then she just collapses, and the Doctor is wiping her mouth on her hand, and her hand on something or other, and then she’s back on her lap again, hips unconsciously circling as she kisses Yaz’s neck softly and patiently, crooning something to her in a language that might be English, but also maybe isn’t, how the hell would Yaz know right now.
When she opens her eyes after a short moment, the Doctor is smiling at her, and Yaz feels her lips absolutely grin back, because when has she ever been this happy before?
“Jesus, Doctor. You are incredible. Amazing. So, so good.” And she means it, genuinely innocently, but in her hazy brain fog, she’s forgotten something very important.
The Doctor’s hips wiggle, and a little mewl comes out of her mouth, and oh yeah, the praise kink.
Very, very excellent.
That’s pretty much all it takes for Yaz to recover, and she wraps her arms around the Doctor’s waist, smirking as the Doctor gasps at the feeling of their breasts touching, and then manoeuvres the both of them so that the Doctor is lying face up beneath her, staring longingly, hips constantly writhing, and Yaz is just holding herself up with one hand while the other dances along the Doctor’s body.
And now, it’s Yaz’s turn again to be in charge again.
“Doctor, you were so good,” she breathes, holding the Doctor’s gaze as she dances teasingly around the Doctor’s nipples, watching and listening with absolute feral glee as the Doctor moans like a wild thing at Yaz’s praise, hips bucking upwards, trying desperately to find something, anything to gain purchase on, to rub and writhe and take.
Soon, but not yet.
“Yeah, you’re so good for me Doctor, you made me feel amazing. You’re so clever, aren’t you? My Doctor. My clever Doctor.” Yaz lowers her head now, mouthing her way across the Doctor’s chest, peppering words of praise and adoration between hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses onto heaving breasts and burning skin.
The Doctor, for her part, is moaning and mewling and whimpering like some beautiful broken thing, and Yaz’s name is the only proper word that she’s able to form in a litany, a prayer, and when Yaz takes a nipple into her mouth and bites, her cry is so loud and so hoarse that Yaz is thankful to the TARDIS for locking that door, and hopes to hell that this room is soundproof, because that noise was nothing short of pure, unadulterated sex.
And Yaz feels fucking fantastic about that, because shit yeah, that noise was for her just for her, all for her, and so is the Doctor, and god, the Doctor is so fucking hot, twitching and gasping and moaning underneath her, and she’s pulling at Yaz, grasping at her head, her shoulders, her hair, anything she can reach, anything that her seeking hands can find as Yaz licks and nips and rolls the Doctor’s nipple in her mouth, her free hand pinching and pulling at the other.
And Yaz pulls back for a moment, releasing the nipple with a soft, wet ‘pop’, and fuck, what a sight.
The Doctor’s neck is red and raw with love-bites, and her breasts are sporting a fair few matching marks, and her eyes are black with lust, and her hair is a wild, tousled blonde mess, and her hips, her goddamned hips are still grinding and wiggling and as Yaz watches, one of the Doctor’s hands tries to creep its way down, down down, and she probably doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, but Yaz isn’t having that, thank you, so she snatches it up, tightly, firmly, but not hard enough to hurt, and pushes it up and behind the Doctor’s head.
The Doctor’s eyes widen and her lips form an ‘O’ shape as she realises what she’s just done.
“No no, Doctor, none of that. You be a good girl and keep this hand here, and I’ll let you keep the other one free to touch me, anywhere you like, but if you try anything like that again, you don’t get to touch me anymore, okay?” Yaz holds the errant hand there, firmly, and when the Doctor breathes out a “Yes, yes, sorry, okay, yes,” Yaz smiles darkly at her and kisses her deeply, delighting in the needy little noises the Doctor makes when she bites and licks at her lips, and slips her tongue into her mouth.
She draws back, with a chaste little peck between the Doctor’s brows, makes a show of biting her own lip as she sits up, seating herself carefully, strategically, just at the tops of the Doctor’s thighs, but not so that anything will touch the Doctor where Yaz knows she desperately needs it.
And Yaz runs her hands over her own naked body, playing with her own tender, still-sensitive nipples, and trails her fingertips up to her lips, her neck, her collarbone, and back to her nipples, and watches the Doctor as the Doctor watches her. Yaz takes the Doctor's free hand and places it on her waist, and sighs and moans as the Doctor begins to run that hand upwards, up to join her own hand at her breasts. But the Doctor doesn’t move her other hand.
“Good, good girl. So good.” The Doctor’s breath is coming in ragged pants and moans, and the ‘good girl’ must’ve really been a hit, because there’s another loud, broken cry, and Yaz is starting to feel a bit bad for her, because she’s been so turned on for so long now, the poor woman.
She should definitely do something about that.
She lowers herself back down again, back to those soft, warm breasts, and plants kisses across them, around them, outright worshipping them as they so truly deserve, and runs her free hand down the Doctor’s side, trailing gently, gently, downwards until she reaches the band of her underwear, and then she dips her fingers inside, at the Doctor’s hip, and tugs, just a little, and gasps a little herself as the Doctor pinches and pulls at her nipple.
Fuck, she’s definitely getting turned on again.
Which is, honestly? The opposite of a problem.
Because her thighs are still slick and her breasts are still tender - in the best kind of way - and if her mind is going to get clouded by lust again, that really just makes this whole thing that much better, doesn’t it?
Yaz shimmies down, hissing with pleasure as her thighs rub against each other mouthing wet kisses down the length of the Doctor’s hot, toned body, and the Doctor moves her hand up to Yaz’s shoulders and hair, unable to reach her breasts anymore from the angle, and she tries a little tug, and Yaz lets her, because fuck it, it feels good, and then she’s face-to-face, so to speak, with the Doctor’s absolutely saturated underwear.
Seriously, it’s like a fucking swimming pool down in there, and the Doctor is definitely going to have to clean this damn sofa or bed or whatever after this, because yikes.
Yaz nudges the Doctor’s thighs apart so she can nestle herself there comfortably, and drops soft, gentle kisses to their insides as the Doctor whines and tugs away at Yaz’s hair.
She runs a finger up and down those thighs, watching as the Doctor’s hips sway gently, trying to angle themselves to get Yaz’s finger right where she needs it.
And so, Yaz hooks her finger into the edge of the Doctor’s underwear, at the top of her thigh, and feels the curls there, and okay, that’s pretty human so far, and slowly, slowly, slowly, slides her finger downwards, and the Doctor keens a high, needy note as Yaz’s fingertip slides along the edge of her - incredibly wet - folds.
“Fuck, Doctor. You’re so wet.”
The Doctor moans at that.
“Yaz, Yaz. Yaz, please. Please, I need-” The Doctor’s words are breathy and rough and yeah, Yaz does actually feel sorry for her now, so she runs her tongue up the inside of the Doctor’s thigh, and gently, oh-so-gently, places a kiss, through the underwear, onto the Doctor’s wetness.
And Yaz is rewarded with a sigh, a moan, and another broken cry as she does it again, and again, and then she thinks, fuck it, she wants to see, wants to watch, and loops her fingers into the waistband of the Doctor’s underwear and yanks them down, and there’s a bit of a struggle to get them off, and then they’re gone, too, and all that’s left is the Doctor’s glistening wet folds.
And Yaz thanks the Gods that it’s just normal, and human-looking, and wet. So wet.
And fuck.
That’s-
She can’t help herself, can’t stop herself from running a finger through the wetness, top to bottom, watching with delight as the Doctor’s hips jerk involuntarily, gasping, and Yaz feels a trickle of her own wetness at that, and has to squeeze her thighs together for a moment because it feels so good, and this is so hot, and to hell if she isn’t going to get off on it at the same time.
And then she runs her finger back up, and watches her own hand as she strokes and teases and toys with the Doctor’s entrance and all the while the Doctor is making the fucking hottest noises, and then Yaz can’t take it anymore, she needs to be inside of her, and so she looks up, up to catch the Doctor’s eye, and she hovers her fingers right there, and the Doctor’s eyes widen, and she nods fervently, enthusiastically, with a whispered “yes, yes, please”.
And that’s all Yaz needs, and she dips her index finger inside, just a little, and pulls it out again, and then she dips in and out, in and out, and fuck, the Doctor is so hot and wet and she feels so fucking fantastic, and Yaz watches the whole time because she is not missing this for the world, and with her other hand, she rubs gentle circles over the Doctor’s most sensitive spot, and the two of them are moaning and panting like animals as Yaz’s finger inside the Doctor picks up speed and she pushes deeper.
And then, she adds another.
And the Doctor evidently loves that, was waiting for it, practically gagging for it, because she bears her hips down, hard, onto Yaz’s fingers, and just stays there for a moment, head tipped back in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, and Yaz can’t help it, she takes her hand that isn’t inside of the Doctor, and reaches down to her own wetness, just briefly, just to take the edge off, and she must have made some sort of noise, because the Doctor looks down at her suddenly and swears in that strange language as she realises what Yaz is doing.
And then she swears in English, and then her hips start moving, and Yaz lets her.
Because why not?
She watches as the Doctor pleasures herself on her fingers, grinding and shouting and taking and taking, and Yaz’s hand is still on herself, just lazily circling and slipping in and out, and then Yaz, without warning, without even really knowing she was going to do it herself, lowers her mouth to the Doctor’s centre.
And, oh.
Oh.
The taste? Not so different from what she’s used to, actually, perhaps a little sweeter, a little less salty, and Yaz likes, and so she rotates her fingers inside of the Doctor to get a better angle, facing upwards, now, and she has to bring her free hand back up to clamp across the Doctor’s waist, to hold her down, because her hips are bucking and Yaz doesn’t really want to get knocked out while going down on the Doctor, thank you.
She traces her tongue around the top of the Doctor’s wet folds, circling and kissing and sliding wet and slick and she looks up, to see the Doctor looking down, and their eyes meet and they both moan and gasp at that, and then Yaz flicks her tongue in a way that she knows will make the Doctor go crazy, and she pumps her fingers, hard, fast, and the Doctor is just a moaning wet mess now, and Yaz can tell she’s close, so close, and isn’t that fucking hot as hell.
So she takes a second, removes her mouth for just a moment, and lets her lust-addled voice go low and husky and breathy and she says, “Doctor, come for me. You’ve been so good, you’re so good, so hot. Come for me.”
And then it’s not much more; another lick, another swirl of the tongue, another pump, and the Doctor does just that, with a loud, shaky moan, and her thighs are clenching and shaking and her back is arching off of the sofa and Yaz’s hand on the Doctor’s waist isn’t really helping much at this point, anyways, so she brings it back down to the dripping wetness between her thighs and strokes and circles and dips to the sounds of the Doctor’s seemingly endless orgasm, all the while still stroking and mouthing at the Doctor, and then Yaz is coming again, too, because holy fucking shit this is hot.
And then she’s sort of just… floating, for a while.
She can hear the Doctor’s heavy breathing, and is faintly aware that her fingers are still inside of the Doctor, and that she should probably take them out, but she’s too foggy to actually move at all, sorry Doctor.
And then, after what seems like an eternity, she can see again, she’s in the room again, and the Doctor wriggles her hips, and yeah, she should really take her fingers out, so she gently pats the Doctor’s thigh with her other (wet) hand in warning, and gently but quickly slides them out, muttering an apology as she hears the Doctor’s small noise at the sensation.
Yaz wipes her hands on the poor sofa (yeah, that’s really gonna need a clean), and pulls herself back up so that she’s holding herself over the Doctor’s body, and drops a soft kiss to her lips, before plopping herself down unceremoniously - half on top of and half next to the Doctor, who lets out an “oof” at the impact, and Yaz laughs at that, and God, she’s so relieved there’s no awkwardness.
It’s just them.
It’s always them.
Yaz and the Doctor.
The Doctor and Yaz.
And the Doctor turns to look at Yaz, and her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are still a bit blown out from the pleasure, but there’s a sharpness in them again, and Yaz smiles at her, and she smiles back, and the Doctor kisses her this time, and Yaz feels a warm buzz of happiness and love surge through her, and she hums a happy noise into the kiss.
The Doctor breaks the kiss, still smiling.
“Well. Yasmin Khan. Yasmin Khan.” The Doctor waggles her eyebrows playfully, wrapping an arm around Yaz’s waist.
Yaz laughs, completely beside herself with happiness and adoration, and lays her hand on the Doctor’s upper arm, gently stroking the soft, warm skin.
“Yes, Doctor?” she responds, batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips, the image of perfect innocence.
“You, Yaz, are a right menace. A complete and utter menace. Look what you’ve done to my bed! Where am I supposed to sleep now?”
“Who, me? Nah, I think you’ve got the wrong girl, mate. I’m innocent here!”
“Oh, sure, a likely story. Not sure how that one would hold up in court, not with your fingerprints all over my room, and all over me, and…” The Doctor trails off, and her cheeks flush as she realises what she’s just said, and Yaz can’t help but laugh at that.
“Hmm, well, I guess you’re right. Maybe I am a little bit of a menace. But how can I help myself when you’re just so…” And Yaz trails off here, intentionally, and lets her gaze roam across the Doctor’s face, to her lips, down to her collarbones, down to her bare breasts (nice), and back up to her lips, where she leans in, taking them, soft and warm, in a gentle kiss.
“You’re so incredible, Doctor. So good. So clever, the smartest person I know, yeah? And you’re so kind, and you’re funny, and beautiful, and hot, damn, and I just- You’re amazing. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. Truly.”
And Yaz means it, genuinely, genuinely means it, needs to convey these feelings to the Doctor, stopping just short of completely confessing her undying love then and there, because she’s pretty sure the Doctor loves her back, but now isn’t really the time, but also because she’s trying to get a rise out of the Doctor.
Which, obviously, works, and seriously, how did Yaz not realise this earlier, because the Doctor’s face lights up instantly at the praise, and she swoops her head back down to recapture the kiss, and this time it’s just a tiny little bit deeper, and there’s a tiny little bit of a tongue from one of them, and oh, that’s nice, and when the kiss ends, they’re both breathing just a bit heavier.
“Yaz, I- How do you do that, Yasmin Khan. Seriously. You’re the incredible one, you know? I’ve met so, so many people, countless people, in my time, and very few of them stand out quite as brightly as you do. You’re…” And here, the Doctor hesitates, and her lips twist and her brows furrow into some nameless emotion that Yaz can’t place, but she isn’t worried, she knows the Doctor cares about her, deeply. “You, Yasmin Khan, are a blazing star in my life. You’re brilliant. Brilliant.”
And Yaz’s heart sings at that, and she grins, and as she kisses the Doctor again, definitely harder now, and yeah, she thinks, that’s love, she loves the Doctor, and the Doctor loves her, she’s almost certain of it now, and that will come, but for now, she’s more than happy to just lay here, wrapped in the Doctor’s - her Doctor’s - arms, drowning in her kisses, soaking in her radiance.
And the night, as they say, is still young.
-o-O-o-
In the morning, after a long hunt, and a lot of giggling, and a lot of particularly handsy moments and especially heated kisses, they somehow manage to find all of their clothes, and Yaz buttons her shirt all the way up, right up to the top button, which is uncomfortable, but her neck is a complete mess, so she has to do something, and the Doctor fishes a quite frankly ridiculously long and stripey scarf out of somewhere, and wraps that around her own neck, which is in an even worse state than Yaz’s.
They eventually head out together, and Yaz kisses the Doctor fiercely before they go, leaving the Doctor breathless as she trots along after her, but it doesn’t take her long to get back to her usual self, rambling on about some space thing or another, and they’re deeply engaged in a conversation about the construction of the Wembley Stadium by the time they reach the TARDIS kitchen.
Yaz steps slightly away just before they enter, and the Doctor does the same, putting a respectable, friendly distance between them, and it’s not like they’re not trying to keep it a secret or anything, really, but they never actually discussed this (no, they were far too busy with… other matters, honestly), so best to just tread the waters for now around the boys.
But, really, it takes Ryan all of about ten seconds, as he stares at them coming in together, which isn’t that rare, but it’s at eleven o’clock in the bloody morning, and he stares at Yaz’s buttoned up collar of the same shirt she’d been wearing the day before, and he stares at the Doctor’s goddamned scarf, and he just glares at the two of them, and they must just look honestly quite bushed, and then he laughs, a big, hearty bellow, and Yaz blushes slightly before sticking her tongue out at him and flipping him off, and grabbing the Doctor’s hand in her own, closing the distance again, and they both join his laughter as he needles them with about bloody time, you idiots, and Graham just smiles and nods at them over his morning tea and paper, and all is well again.
And, well, if the Doctor blushes just a little more than she used to when Yaz praises her on adventures now, well. No one other than the two of them really need to know why, do they?