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It was really fortunate Data remembered where either of their rooms were. It wasn't that his memory wasn't functioning, persay, but it was random fact over random fact, tumbling in an illogical order that trumped his processes. When he opened the door, he barely registered the cat skittering off to hide herself in the bathroom, suitably dosed so that her feline paranoia was getting the better of her and she wanted nothing to do with these two legged fiends.
He dropped their cricketing gear near the couch in the main area, oddly clumsy, and if he hadn't been holding to the Doctor to counterbalance his own weight.
"We have a mystery to solve," Data declared sternly, holding up his tricorder so they both could look at it. "But we can't until Avon is here. He needs his mustache." This was a fact. No mystery could be unravelled until Avon was fully mustachioed and prepared to provide... something. What was it.
And where was his pipe and smoking jacket?
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Like whether the TARDIS, the room, the room with the things, the room which held his original clothes would have another shirt waiting.
Perhaps if he sat, he'd be more comfortable?
He sat, hard.
He glanced over Avon's pants thoughtfully, and gave a little tug at the waistband (just enough to pull the leather aside and confirm his suspicions). His laugh trailed off as he entertained a notion.
He had only been able to perform about 32.34% of the sexual techniques he was programmed in, and some of them, to be performed efficiently, would require a third partner. He honestly couldn't think of anyone more preferable than the Doctor for such a task. That prudish, aristocratic man in the torn shirt and leash that probably hadn't actually had sex in decades that seemed at the moment to want nothing more than his cricket balls.
Still in his robe, Data crawled over the Doctor's lap, bare stomach and thigh and other parts touching against his exposed legs. He gave Avon a meaningful look, eyeing his leather pants. "He has almost gained the lead, Avon," he warned, referring to the Doctor and his amount of clothing.
He looked down at his own remaining clothing. "You're quite right, Data. Can't let that happen - here." He passed Data the leash. He virtually had to solder himself into those leathers in the morning - getting out of them again was definitely a two-handed job. He seized the waistband and wriggled gracelessly on the carpet for a few moments, resembling an overlarge, sadomasochistic caterpillar, until -
"There!" he offered the trousers to Data, as spoils of war.
...well...
...it wasn't something he'd wish to dwell upon, for he was focused on questions.
Such important questions as why Data chose this moment to splay himself across the Doctor's legs?
And why wasn't the Doctor attempting to stop him.
"You're heavy," he said, enunciating the syllables to indicate their importance. He tried to first struggle free from the strap of leather around his neck, and when that proved impossible, he attempted to wriggle himself free from beneath Data. And that proved impossible as well. So, taking the logic to its ultimate conclusion, he'd resigned himself to immobility.
At least the company was good, he thought to himself, grinning goofily, looking rather self-satisfied. He'd always regarded Data as special, and to be so intimate with him...he was certainly blessed!
But that didn't stop the sputtering chuckle he let out as he watched Avon writhe free of his leathers. "That takes skill," he observed, impressed.
"I believe we are tied now, Doctor. Mostly you." That probably was less funny than he thought it was, but the leash got an indicating tug. He arched to look back up at Avon from his bizarre now-upside-down vantage point on his back, robe splayed open and unintentionally baring that expanse of gold body.
"Perhaps he needs assistance with his boxers."
"And I can vouch for Data's composition," he added, with another small snicker. "Only the best materials..."
Scrambling along the floor - it felt a bit like climbing a mountain, from this angle - he joined Data, though choosing to lie beside the Doctor rather than on top of him - he looked as though he could manage without additional squashing. "He does appear to need help," he mused. "Those stripey knickers won't remove themselves, after all."
He had entirely giving up on worrying about where his inhibitions had gone, by this point, and was simply enjoying the freedom of not having any.
On the contrary, the thin, cotton fabric of his underwear felt just the slightest bit tighter at the tug.
He needed his glasses to have a closer look at Data's form. Yes, that was best, but his specs were sitting in the pockets of his coat, on the couch. But it may have been miles away, considering that for the moment, the Doctor could not move.
Their argument was logical, and he needed to win. Desperately needed to best everyone else, all who underestimated him. And if that required shedding his underwear, then so be it.
Though, he couldn't exactly slip them off with an exquisitely designed android weighting down his legs. Not at the moment, though.
Trying to keep the robe from slipping off of him, he grinned smugly at the Doctor and settled into an unintentionally obsene cross-legged position to watch. All the while holding the make-shift leash like he was presenting the noble Gallifreyan before judge Avon in a dog show.
"What a lovely present," he said. And it was. A Time Lord...all that power, all that knowledge and experience gained over the centuries, lying leashed and mostly naked in Avon's lap. It was an immense turn-on.
Fumbling slightly, his usually carefully-hidden natural clumsiness accentuated by his intoxicated state, he began an enthusiastic onslaught against the Doctor's underwear.
The compliment was completely wasted on him, as he found the removal of his underwear a more pressing matter. The tight discomfort against the thin cotton was swiftly eased, and he attempted to aid in Avon's peeling away of that underwear by arching his slim hips. His member was freed, out in the open, and stiffening with each twinned pulse of his double heartbeat.
He looked down at himself with an appraising gaze, wondering at the vision, having not really seen it at this angle before.
He was quite well-endowed for a humanoid who'd never had sex in this current body, the youngest form he'd ever regenerated into and perhaps the first one able to fully appreciate physical pleasure.
Which would have been funny (and still was enough to warrant a grin). "He has a very-" op, he lost the word. He had to search for it. "-Admirable posterior to go with the rest of his physique as well, would you not agree, Avon?"
He tipped forward, nuzzling against the edge of that leather, right underneath the Doctor's jaw as he proactively led Avon's hand to rest on the Doctor's thigh.
He didn't need much encouraging to molest the Doctor. He was, after all, very pretty. "I used to have a fag at the Science Academy who looked a little like you," he mused, as he sidled his hand progressively across the Doctor's thigh, and inward. "He wasn't so well-endowed, though. Then again I have no idea what size it might have been in the end; he was sixteen. It was pefectly moral," he added, with drunken insistence, "I was eighteen." And already the academy bike, if one believed Tynus.
He shifted slightly as the inevitable effect of indulging in erotic memories while two attractive men swarmed over him became more persistent.
Certain death, he imagined, but here, he felt little danger from either man. In fact, they'd both offered compliments, and that made the Doctor grin rather smugly at the pair. That brief nuzzle from Data coaxed out an unexpected moan, as did the grazing of Avon's fingers along his thigh.
He found himself surprised by the reaction, feeling very much uninitiated in the rituals of...of...whatever it was that they were doing...Indulging! And complimenting. Two things he'd normally not act out, restraint being a hallmark of this specific incarnation.
Restraint...
The strip of leather around his throat took on new, unwarranted meaning and he started to giggle, a high-pitched, squeaky sort of sound, his amusement unbridled. He'd wanted to thank the pair for their attention, but he was too busy tensing and writhing his legs in an attempt to shirk his underwear off his ankles. The boxers were tossed aside with a flick of his foot.
"Am I in the lead now? Or...ah...I think I'm on a lead, at the moment," he added, smirking, tugging his head a slight bit away from Data's hand to emphasize that fact.
He oozed the Doctor more onto his back on the carpet. There were about thirty seven different positions that would be preferable for the three of them to pursue in this position... and he couldn't put a bead on one of them. His polywater addled mind was too busy artistically appraising the attractive forms put before him.
He shrugged off the robe, letting it drop off to the side. He couldn't even remember why he was wearing it, now. "I suppose I came in last," he mused regretfully. "And being that you beat me, and you are a guest... in this room..." for... why was he here? Oh. Naked. Didn't matter. "...Avon and I will take care of you for a little while."
And from his strange, upside down, crouched over the Doctor's head vantage point he leaned down to give him a kiss. Lips grazed warmer lips (though cooler than Avon's he noted), his chest tightened a bit, muscles tensed, and it was the last thing necessary to get his cock throbbing as hard to possible to his mechanized pulse.
Hmm. It seemed that the Doctor had won the contest after all. Avon didn't really mind, since it looked as though he was going to get a prize anyway. It looked as though they all were.
He let out a small growl when Data kissed the Doctor - not of jealousy, but of profound arousal.
"We seem to have started a new game." Determined to figure out the rules of this one, he captured the Doctor's impressive manhood - Time Lord-hood? - in one hand and began to fondle him in earnest. Meanwhile, he used his other hand to caress any part of Data he could reach without falling backwards. "Am I doing it right?" he purred.
Which deepened when warm, dexterous fingers enclosed around his length. He bucked in response, at first an attempt to throw off the touch, but he was well and truly snared at two vulnerable spots on his person, and--
--and he rather liked it. The twitching eased, became a gentle rolling of his hips and arching of his back. He understood being caught in the middle of two much more experienced individuals when it came to...well...whatever it was they were doing.
He had a vague idea in his head that this ought not be occurring to him, that arousal was beyond his ability and understanding. And yet he seemed perfectly capable of it. Then again, he was in very gifted, skilled hands.
And he did like it when he could make someone be loud.
He pulled up from the kiss to eye the hand stroking the Doctor's length, narrow hips steadily rolling. "Hold this," he demanded of Avon, giving him the leash with one hand to keep the man still, the other hand snaking down to grip at the steady the Doctor's cock at the base. This would work better if the Doctor were lubricated, and Data had a quick and efficient way of handling that.
"Don't worry," he told the Doctor, "Data knows what he's doing. He's fully functional, you know. He can do a lot of very imaginative things."
He found it...addictive.
The leather wrapped snugly around his neck, squeezing at his throat each time the leash was handed off. The gesture a reminder of the dual presences with him, both so different yet it seemed, both so eager to service him.
Ah. Then he was winning. Jolly good.
His lips tensed against Data's, his grin self-satisfied. What prizes! Cool fingers around him now, contrasting with Avon's warmth. His doubled pulse thumped through his cock, hard now as anticipation grew. As a rule, Time Lords were an impatient species. It was why they invented time travel, after all. The waiting for Data's next dexterous feat was agony for someone used to witnessing hundreds of years of history unfurl before him in a matter of minutes.
He held the Doctor's length steady. He still wasn't particularly good at servicing men. It wasn't in his original programming, he had to adjust his programming to fit it, but he knew what felt good to him. And even his augmented programming was dwindling at the moment.
He cupped his mouth over the Doctor's length and went down on him. All the way down, swallowing against the pressure of that impressive endowment and coming back up with a harsh, wet suck. And then all the way back down again, lips meeting base.
His own length panged with some sort of implied jealousy at the attention he was giving to the other man's, and Data found himself reaching between his own thighs to stroke. A little more attention and he would have this ready for Avon to make proper use of.
"Let me," he murmured. "And you can use that hand for other things."
He strained against the leash, the strap tense around his neck, reminding him that he was caught, trapped, unable to flee. Though he wondered why anyone would attempt an escape from this...bliss.
He managed a hand placed upon Data's head, burying his fingers between straight, dark strands of hair, sharing a caress that was awkward and inexperienced, but earnest.
He held onto his hip, both the grip and the hand at the back of his head like anchors keeping him from slipping loose of his senses- and when had making love ever felt quite so disorienting.
He pulled his mouth up from the Doctor's length, giving Avon a dazed look. "Do you believe this is adequate or would he require more preparation?" And indeed, he'd thoroughly slicked every millimeter and just to be sure he gave the head a lazy lick.
"I think that should be enough," he said, "depending, of course, on just how rough you were expecting it to be." He gave Data an emphatic squeeze.
"E-enough?" he repeated in confusion, his voice squeaky with effort. The slick fluid coating his length was pricklingly cool, almost frustratingly so as Data halted his efforts for the moment. Why had he stopped? "Rough with what?" His tone was surprisingly child-like and innocent, curiosity holding sway even as his length was primed and ready.