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It is unbecoming the man he becomes in these moments, howling and consumed by his innermost wants and run by what could only be a Time-Lord’s innermost sense of personal grandeur.
Although, at least during this play, it seems to suit him and Jamie just fine, as there is something they both needed that is fulfilled in these sessions, something that couldn’t be fulfilled otherwise.
They fall into these roles quite easily, although that is not always the case, at least not with Jamie. Which is fine, as it gives the Doctor his role to play in spades, in the way he feels out to do regardless.
Interfering. Consuming.
Correcting what humanity had gotten wrong.
As the people of Jamie’s time and quite a few others were quite silly indeed, and what the Doctor meant by such a thing, is that they were so terribly foolish;
Their ignorant minds having denied his poor boy the chance of achieving what he was well and truly meant to be without restriction.
His.
So in these moments, where valiantly Jamie, naked besides his kilt, lets his arms be secured behind his back, even if his skin speckles with goose flesh at the impediment, the Doctor can work at undoing the terrible mess they’ve made of his beloved little human’s mind.
Starting by taking his usual seat and watching closely as Jamie lowered himself down onto his knees.
Not needing to be guided as he initially did when these…encounters first started. Having the inkling of what to do, but not the confidence to follow through.
Now, Jamie has made strides in ridding himself of all the misplaced guilt and shame society had piled onto his shoulders, not as much as either of them hoped, but progress was made all the same.
They simply hadn’t yet reached the finish line, in time, surely with all the practice in play it would get easier. The goal closer. They won’t stop until they’ve crossed it entirely, because it’s not just for Jamie anymore.
No, the Doctor is driven by something deep in his subconscious that has come to his attention in each and every session.
It is why rage boils in his gut at the reminder of just why the man knelt perfectly between his legs needed this.
Jamie McCrimmon had been made for this regeneration, this is something the Doctor can no longer doubt, can no longer accept as sweetly as he does when they aren’t playing these roles.
Jamie is his, and the galaxy proved itself to be as despicable as it could be wonderful and endless, because his poor boy had been too warped and hurt to be able to fully ingrain and give himself to that thought in the way he was meant to.
The way he had always been meant to.
He’s sure if he asked, the Scotsman’s eyes would bulge and he would adamantly cry out that yes he belonged to him without any shadow of a doubt.
Yet the scars left on the beautiful human’s psyche remained, and would fight him every step of the way, otherwise unconvinced by his certainty.
The Doctor endeavored to fix this, to break all the little inklings of doubt and self-loathing that caused Jamie’s drop into proper submission to falter even when the man was yearning to be led.
Yes, his dear boy knew in his bones who he belonged to, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t heed the command in the wake of the perils he’d endured.
Slowly, the Doctor undoes the zipper of his pants then, watching with unending delight as instinctually, unconsciously, Jamie’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips.
How he pitied him, his beautiful boy, whilst simultaneously damning the galaxy that thought to spite him by not-allowing who was rightfully his to be able to give himself over in the way he was meant to.
All this done by throwing Jamie out into war when he should have been splayed out naked on exotic furs, sequestered here in the safety of the TARDIS and his bed where time and prejudice for such things like matters of heart, didn’t exist.
He’s here now, the Doctor is forced to remind himself as he reaches out, fingers curling into the man’s delightfully soft hair, using his grip to lead him forward so that his cock fed into the Scotsman’s waiting mouth.
Jamie moans at the taste, beautifully red in the face as he shudders.
His wrists flexing behind his back in soft-leather cuffs, unable to forget that his ability to reach out and touch, to brace his hands on the Doctor’s thighs or do much of anything, had been stripped from him.
“There’s a good lad,” The Doctor immediately commends, feeling both physically and through the mental bond shared through the connection of skin as the praise sinks down deeply into the marrow of the Highlander’s bones.
Jamie’s lashes flutter, likely tickling his cheeks as he expertly pushes his tongue along the underside of the Doctor’s shaft, allowing the Time-Lord to dig deeper, making the younger man’s Adam's apple bob and swallow around him.
The Doctor slightly eases up at that, knowing while Jamie’s gag reflex had been tailored to suit him, the man still needed to breathe.
Though maybe not too much, the Doctor could calculate quite well how much he could push the Highlander, his Highlander.
He knew just how much oxygen deprivation Jamie could take without the synapses in his brain suffering in any kind of way.
It helped the boy already had practice in holding his breath…and blowing.
Jamie’s ability on the bagpipes certainly translated well into figuring out and playing with such things, such acts really, as he held the man still until he was sure Jamie was hearing nothing but static and the thundering of his own heart in his chest.
It’s only when the Highlander’s body involuntarily fidgets in an attempt to shake him off does the Doctor cede a few inches of ground, keeping in a groan as the man self-soothes by sucking heartily at the head of the Doctor’s cock still lodged into the swell of his cheek, haggardly catching his breath.
He’s quite the picture like this, something the Doctor forces into his memory banks so as not to forget such divinity as teary lashes continue to twitch against the boy’s cheeks, his glorious mouth perched around him, shaped around him.
Meant to be.
In reward the Doctor lets his fingertips scratch over the Highlanders scalp before adjusting to press a few inches in, delighting with how quickly he’s accepted, Jamie swallowing him down and adjusting his head ever-so to ensure he went down smoothly.
The act isn’t for Jamie’s ease, no, of course his dear boy was still trying to service him, even if the Doctor was very much in the position to take exactly what he wanted.
“Good,” He grumbles out, voice growing rough as his mind compartmentalizes how his boy was allowing himself to have his air supply endangered for nothing more than his pleasure.
“What a good boy you are,” he continues on, shifting his feet so the soles of his shoes momentarily sweep on the carpet, siddled closely to Jamie’s knelt form, before standing.
Threading a firm hand through the back of Jamie’s nape, allowing him further stability to press himself into the confining length of the younger man’s throat.
Jamie whimpers at the pressure of it, eyes falling closed in a way the Doctor is sure they’ve rolled back into his head, the man’s nose is tucked and crooked against the fabric of the Doctor’s shirt haphazardly pressed against his pelvis.
The man’s throat constricts, the muscles in his neck pulled taught, but damn it the Highlander tries not to flinch, gag, or pull away.
Not that it would have gotten him anywhere, the Doctor kept him firmly in place, eyebrows raised with the thought of how long Jamie would last before the instinct to breathe became too pressing in his mind.
Jamie suddenly squirms, his hands balled up behind his back, white with tension as his forehead tries to tip forward against the grip on him to press against the Time-Lord’s abdomen all to no avail.
The Doctor groans, taking a fair amount of pity on him, and giving into his own desire to let himself achieve release;
Amused at the slight jump of surprise Jamie manages between his own quivering orgasm, voraciously swallowing down what was being given, neither allowing a drop to land anywhere but deeply within the Highlander’s gut.
“Beautifully done Jamie,” he grits out with boundless enthusiasm as he relinquishes his hold and slips out of the man’s now panting mouth, the boy’s cheeks pink and teary.
The Highlanders lip twitches then, a smile the Doctor catches before the boy’s face is hidden against his abdomen, Jamie rubbing against him like a particularly needy pet in want of affection.
He’s all too happy to give it as he reclines once more, chuckling to himself when Jamie leans forward likely to service him once more - not that he was quite ready - but it’s adorable Jamie still thought to try.
So he’s careful and quick as he shoos the Highlander back by an inch so he could lean forward and grasp the man’s hips, pulling him up from the ground and onto his lap before the man could whine in protest or fall under the assumption he wasn't wanted.
Jamie was very much wanted.
And quite the welcome weight in his lap as the man bashfully tried to dip his head, the bad thoughts creeping in, trying to consume the poor lad.
They always did at some point, either during an act that made Jamie’s heart race a little too much in pleasure, or after when his bleary head tried to think over what had transpired to perilous degree.
The Doctor is ready for it, firmly cupping Jamie’s cheek so the man couldn’t hide from him due to unneeded and unfounded insecurities.
His boy didn’t need to hide from him, especially not for participating in what he was made for, pleasing him, being there for him, belonging.
No, it wouldn’t do at all for his Jamie to feel shame in sharing pleasure with him, in giving himself over in the way he so desperately needed.
It was tainting the beautiful image of peace and desire that had held the Highlander for a mere moment before human’s folly got in the way.
“None of that now,” he instructs, sliding his thumb along the man’s lip before slipping it in, humming in appreciation when Jamie sucks on the digit to quell his nerves.
“You’re magnificent,” The Doctor assures, both with his words and straight into the Highlanders mind.
Jamie swoons in a way he’d never admit to when this was over, pressing closer into the Doctor’s hand, blushing down from his face to his collarbones.
“And do you know how I know that, hm?”
“Aye,” Jamie stammers once the Doctor’s thumb drags out of his mouth to pet at his bottom lip, the word cracking and sore, before he shakes his head:
“Nay, I mean-“ he tries to correct, head definitely still a bit fuzzy.
The Doctor only chuckles, endeared.
Taking his index and middle finger and sliding them between the Highlanders teeth for him to suckle at so he no longer had to worry his pretty little head about speaking or anything else for that matter.
He knew what Jamie meant after all.
His own voice is unwaveringly firm as the joy died, out into something non-negotiable, serious in a way that stole Jamie’s attention entirely:
“Because you’re mine.”
Jamie reacts, with a keening whine and a desperate attempt to scoot in closer, one that forces the Doctor to remove his fingers with a pop.
Steadying the Highlander with a grounding, possessive grip on the slim utterly erotic trim of his waist, that acted as such a good handle to move his boy around.
“Wheesht-“ Jamie groans, having forgotten he wasn’t in any position to be making any demands, especially if that demand didn’t allow the Doctor to reaffirm the fact Jamie was in fact his, and perfect.
If Jamie had wanted any of this to actually come to an end, all he had to do was snap his fingers.
Something that wouldn’t be necessary because the Doctor would already know, and he had no intention of letting Jamie experience any damaging discomfort, especially not at that scale.
“No,” he quickly corrects, “No, wheesht Jamie, listen.”
The Doctor makes a point then of using his free hand, wet from his beloved's lips, and sliding it beneath the Highlander’s kilt, wasting no time in putting Jamie’s efforts to work.
The impulse to buck and bore down on the sudden intrusion is there, the Doctor can feel it under his other hand, as he finally allows Jamie to lean forward.
The Scotsman panting into the Doctor’s sideburns, as he was played as diligently as the Doctor played his recorder.
“You are brilliant, kind, and strong. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion, and nor did I or will I have to, because you were made for me. And when I tell you, everything you’ve been told and taught, that you were shamed for, came from the ignorant perspectives of those trying to subjugate something that never belonged to them.”
He adds another finger and delights in the broken sob of pleasure and elation to the praise that it tousles his hair.
The Doctor presses a firm kiss to the man’s sweating temple, continuing on, “You are magnificent, and all of time and space was foolish for believing for a single moment they could hide you away, and fill your head with thoughts that simply aren’t true, as if I wouldn’t find you. As if I wouldn’t be there to prove it all otherwise.”
“Doctor,” Jamie warns, the tone intuitive enough the Doctor doesn’t need to look down at the man’s lap to see the man’s wet kilt from his previous orgasm is tented.
“Let go my dear boy, you’ll be denied of nothing by me,” He assures, smiling as Jamie did as instructed with a muffled cry against his shoulder.
The last vestiges of disbelief in the man’s eyes retreated as the Doctor carefully, soothingly, began petting at the Highlander’s quivering sides, needing to work out his own growing erection and soon.
“Mm, I know it doesn’t feel like it, does it?” He muses, knowing exactly what Jamie needed, because there was barely a time the man didn’t, as he unclips the cuffs behind his back, freeing Jamie up to the instinct to latch on.
“There you are,” he breezes out, fond and utterly amused as Jamie grapples at his shoulders, groans in annoyance, and then begins tearing him out of his clothes.
The Doctor allows it, even if he doesn’t think he’d ever see that particular bowtie again with how it flutters out of view when Jamie tosses it aside.
It ends with both of them a bit too eager, Jamie’s kilt pushed up to his middle - out of the way - and the Doctor with his trousers open and down his legs just enough that he still had movement, his shirt half way on one shoulder, entirely off the other, his coat and tie gone.
Unsurprisingly it’s not quite enough for Jamie, but the Doctor is quick to rectify that, turning them over and forcing the Highlander beneath him where Jamie wanted to be.
Trapped, secured, owned.
Prepped well and expertly, the Doctor doesn’t waste much if any time in guiding himself inside the man with a grunt.
Basking in the sheer warmth Jamie put off everywhere. A perfect fit, though that’s not unexpected as he’s hastily pulled down, placed more firmly atop him, within reach so that Jamie’s swollen lips could latch onto his own.
The Highlander is all nerves and delight, drowning in over-sensitivity and triumph.
“Mine,” The Doctor croons through their bond, not needing to take his tongue out of the younger man’s wonderful mouth as his hips grind against Jamie’s own.
Jamie doesn’t respond verbally or back through the bond, in fact, now the Doctor can tell that Jamie has entirely slipped away from any precise thought, completely lost to sensation.
Good.
“My Jamie. My good Jamie.”
There’s a twitch for every praise, a cry, moan, and tightening of grip on skin in…various places that has the Doctor further pulling up the Highlanders legs around his waist.
“You. Are. Mine. My. Good. Boy.”
Distantly he’s sure Jamie is nodding, though it could also just be his body moving with every punctuated thrust.
All until, “Tha feum agam ortsa,” crawls, or more accurately claws out of the Highlanders throat.
Weary with acceptance and an otherwise entirely empty head. Absent of any woes, entirely certain and truthful, not tainted by any latent insecurity or doubt born by things out of Jamie’s control.
The Doctor finds his release there, not even worrying about the TARDIS deciding not to translate the declaration. He knew what he meant, having felt it between their touch.
I need you. He’d said.
“You have me,” The Doctor assured, pressing a kiss to the Highlanders sweat matted head that was curling back towards the cushions in exhaustion, “and I have you.”
There was no doubt of that.