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haughty_alpha and <lj site="livejournal.com" user="5th_doc
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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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.
Or it would be, if he could have remembered what the word 'churlish' meant.
"I..." he started, muddled head still attempting to place logical sense to this situation. "...slow?" He really had no idea one way or the other, the only reason he had for not settling on fast was that he wished this to last as long as possible.
And he wanted to feel those skillful technical hands intimately, wherever they could reach.
"Avon is very good at this," he confirmed dumbly, as if the Doctor might not have noticed things had been feeling good up to this point.
He grazed his fingertips along the android's stomach, not entirely surprised at its tautness, intrigued by it, hungry to know each detail of it. He laid both his hands on Data, then, studying every inch of him, wondering whether any of this would be committed to memory later.
And then...
And then...
And then...
All active thought stopped as soon as Avon lowered himself onto the Doctor. He let out a grunt as he felt himself squeezed on all sides, eyes shutting briefly against that burst of unrestrained pleasure. He opened them again, found himself staring right into Avon's eyes. His own smile not so self-satisfied as Avon's, as he bit back a moan. Even now, he was attempting restraint.
The denying, the anticipation. He'd never experienced that degree of longing, and he found that he wanted more.
Until the Doctor got distracted; of course, a diversion of Data's own making, but he lamented the loss of attention.
He moved to kneel by the Doctor's head, placing himself in better reach by hovering over him with his knees on either side of his fluffy hair (one pressing down on his "leash" too), facing Avon and that wonderful display of lowering down he was making. This gave him a prime position to see that charged, predatory gaze Avon was so good at, with the added bonus of putting himself within reach again.
He looked up, watching through pleasure-glazed eyes as Data positioned himself within reach of the Doctor again. Now that was a sight worth seeing...
"Someone should have brought a camera," he murmured, without breaking rhythm.
Data.
The android's presence was a comfort in the confusion roiling in his mind, in his jumbled thoughts, caught up in sensations no Gallifreyan was meant to feel.
The leash forced the Doctor closer to Data than he'd ever been, eyes squeezing into slits as he settled his gaze, his warm hands resting on smooth golden thighs stretched taut, fingertips drawing along synthetic skin.
Edited 2010-03-06 08:46 am (UTC)