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Childe slept light—he didn't really have a choice in the matter, given his profession and general penchant for finding trouble even when he wasn’t looking for it. He thought maybe he’d always been like that, recalling muted memories of frequently being up past his siblings and drilling anxious little holes into their log cabin ceiling with restless eyes late at night, but regardless of where he started, it was certainly where life found him now. It was rare for him to get a solid eight hours; even if he could manage the latter, there was no way they’d be solid. He had no trouble falling asleep, but tended to drift back to consciousness at even the most meager disturbances. A wild dog baying in the far distance, the first tap of rainfall on a roof still two houses down, the barest stirring of the bedmate beside him… No matter the cause, Childe’s percipience had not failed him in many years. He was always listening, waiting, ready—even when he perhaps otherwise would have preferred to sleep soundly. Though it was sometimes necessary to be as hypervigilant as he was, there was no denying that sleeping so lightly was just a nuisance in casual circumstances.
Dottore, conversely, seemed to have the opposite problem. At first, Childe had taken him for an insomniac as much as he was, and in certain ways this was true. While Childe could hunker down just about anywhere to nab some shut-eye—before those eyes would inevitably snap open at the first errant drop of a pin—Dottore was incredibly finicky about when and where he fell asleep. He did not complain openly about ill-suited sleeping arrangements, but it was clear when wilderness campsites or even plush, foreign resort beds did not meet his standards. And if ever he knew that a lodging would not facilitate rest, he simply would not sleep. He usually spent these wasted rest periods working, or less frequently, finding some serene view to observe from a window or atop a hill until it was time to move once more. Childe would sometimes see him wander over to the bay window of the Eleventh’s bedroom in Zapolyarny Palace and let his gaze drift over the far-off tundra with nothing but a fresh cup of coffee—he took it with no cream, but an astounding ten sugars—and a silk robe draped loosely over his shoulders. These sightings were a rarity, though, and Childe always found himself holding his breath when he saw it, fearful of startling him off, as if he were a tender fawn in the woods come out to daintily sip at the dewdrops on flower petals. And if Dottore were to even think such absurdly idyllic whimsies were crossing Childe's mind, he’d never allow either of them that kind of serenity again. Unlike Childe, Dottore seemed averse to the very idea of letting himself rest. These fleeting moments of enigmatic contemplation were usually the best he could manage.
But bodies, even exceptionally powerful ones, could only be pushed so far before something gave. This fact manifested in Dottore by the state he fell into on the extremely rare occasion he did finally fall asleep. When sleep did finally find him, it seemed like there was nothing that could wake him. The crash of poorly stacked dishes in the sink, or a knock on his door from an attendant that would soon be flushed to the tips of his ears upon unexpectedly meeting with the half-dressed Eleventh Harbinger in the Doctor’s place, nor even a gentle nudge and muttered “good morning” could rouse him from that long-neglected slumber. An earnest attempt to awaken Dottore involved several of these kinds of disturbances in persistent succession, or else Childe would just have to wait for the man to rise of his own volition. He opted for the latter whenever possible; he couldn't often bring himself to disturb his rest prematurely.
When Dottore slept, Childe would just watch him. The slow, placid rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his features, the subtle dart of his eyes behind tightly shuttered lids. As someone who couldn’t recall ever sleeping so soundly, the sight always fascinated him. How could something like that even be possible? How could one slip so deeply into unconsciousness while still being alive and well? Shouldn't one’s survival instincts prevent such a thing from happening? Even if you lived a privileged life, even if you had no enemies to speak of, even if your head was as pleasant and empty as a chocolate egg—all caveats that did not have apply to Dottore, anyway—would your innate will to survive not rouse you at the soonest hint of adversity? Humans were not so different from animals, after all, and every animal had either something to fear or something to pursue. If every creature in this world had the luxury to sleep so soundly, there wouldn't be much of a future to follow their slumber. So how did a man like Dottore come to sleep like this?
On one of many nights like it, Childe thought of these things, studying the curves and ridges of Dottore’s sleeping face past a veil of darkness. He was especially fortunate that Dottore had fallen asleep facing him tonight, laid out on his side with his hands delicately splayed out between them. With nothing but moonlight behind him, his features looked softer than they usually did. This state of rest did look quite peaceful, and there was a small part of Childe that felt a little jealous. Not because he lamented his own sensitivity—he didn't know any different, so who was to say if his way of sleeping was objectively better or worse—but only because it was something he didn't think he could ever experience for himself. It had to be something that was ingrained in a person, because there was no other explanation for it. Before knowing Dottore, Childe might have called it the mark of naivety or a lack of discipline, but the Second Harbinger certainly wasn't guilty of either of those things. Dottore was frankly the last person in Teyvat he would have taken for being a heavy sleeper. Even seeing it with his own two eyes now countless times, Childe still almost couldn't believe it.
Far from feeling drowsy himself, Childe eventually propped himself up on his elbow, resting his temple against a closed fist to get a better angle of Dottore’s face. His other hand stretched out slowly, experimentally—he touched a finger to Dottore’s inner wrist and dragged it lightly to the center of his palm. He did not fret over the way Dottore’s fingers twitched at the sensation. Little touches like that usually made him stir, but never enough to pull him out of sleep. Childe absentmindedly tickled at his fingers as his eyes wandered, traveling down Dottore’s prone frame hidden under covers. The comforter made him a shapeless mound, cozy and plain. Childe moved on from Dottore’s hands and hooked his fingers under the blanket where it bunched up around his shoulders. He carefully pulled it back, letting his nails scrape gently down Dottore’s arm, over his ribcage, down to his hip. Shearing him of shapelessness, stripping him down to the subtle curve of his waist and the masculine jut of his shoulders. Dottore shivered lightly as the warmth departed. Childe wasn't concerned with that, either; even Snezhnayan everwinter could not pull the Doctor from his slumber.
Over time, Childe had discovered a great many things Dottore could manage to sleep through.
His fingertips ghosted back up from where they’d come, surpassing the boundary of Dottore’s shoulder and teasing their way up his neck. Dottore shivered again—this time, it was not from the cold.
Childe brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear before finally bringing his hand to rest against his cheek. Dottore stirred, his features twitching at the sudden sensation of warmth on his face. But serenity soon laxened him once more, and he unconsciously tilted his head toward the touch. Childe quietly stroked his cheek with the pad of his thumb, lips pressed into a thoughtful line.
Sometimes, Childe would count the ways he could kill him. Not because he had any desire to do so, of course—it was just second nature, born from so many years in a profession where identifying these details was a matter of life and death. In the heat of battle, you had to scope out your opponent’s weaknesses in an instant. Childe couldn't control it anymore; looking at Dottore like this, all he could see was vulnerability. His heavy body, his bared neck, his open chest. There were a thousand ways Childe could have done it. Maybe even some that were quick enough to end it without struggle. Imagine, sleeping soundly enough to be ignorant of your own death… It must have been a terrible thing sometimes, having such a glaring weakness built into the very fiber of your being, knowing how fragile you could really be. It was no wonder Childe hardly ever saw Dottore sleep at all.
But there was something heartwarming about it too—maybe even a little exciting. The first few times Dottore fell asleep in front of Childe, it was an accident. And though perhaps to imply that subsequent scenarios were “planned” wasn't quite accurate, but the fact remained that Dottore continued to do so even after his initial blunders. It would have been so easy to avoid this happening more than once. He could have begun making a habit of absconding the moment their deeds were done, or even called off this little arrangement of theirs altogether. But he never did. It spoke to a level of trust that would never be uttered allowed, even if the invisible enormity of it was enough to crush them both to dust.
But more than that, it spoke to dependence. Part of a warrior’s greatest strength was knowing where to rest your head. In war, you were only as good as the comrades fighting by your side. There was power in reliance, in brotherhood, in letting down walls and using the materials to erect kingdoms larger than the sum of their parts. Dottore did not often tarry on the frontlines, so it would have been difficult for them to forge the same kind of connection Childe felt with his fellow warriors. But when they were like this, he could feel it. That strength of reliance thrumming between them, that unflappable bond of brotherhood—the tremendous, fulfilling weight that came with having another man’s life placed quietly into your hands.
Childe smiled, and he rolled his thumb gently over Dottore’s lower lip. He leaned in and kissed him. There was a strange thrill in the soft unresponsiveness of his lips, in knowing a man so rigid could be so pliant in his hands, feeling warm in ways Dottore didn't usually feel—so accustomed to coldness that he'd never let anyone watch him thaw out. Childe was the only one who got to see Dottore’s unfrozen self, the defenseless skin and bones that peaked the covers and shuddered so wantonly when exposed to the outside air. Childe withdrew a bit just to kiss him again, then again, then again, then again. He would never grow tired of that feeling, but it was far from the only thing his heart desired.
Childe carefully grabbed Dottore’s chin, tilting his head slightly back and exaggerating the curve of his neck. Sinfully, decadently exposed, his throat bare save for the purpling marks Childe had snuck in earlier that night. Surely, the Doctor would not notice a few more—he never did. Childe smiled to himself, wasting not a moment longer before diving into that lovely bruised canvas which was solely his to paint. He filled it at his whim, lips latching onto untouched skin and ravishing it with suction and color. His other hand meandered all the while, pawing sweetly at Dottore’s chest and paying special attention to the little pink nubs that sprouted up in his path. No teeth, and no nails; Childe was always tempted to mark him in that way, but that was too bold even for him. Pleasure smoldered, but pain flashed, and Childe worried that the sensation would be bright enough to drag Dottore’s consciousness out from the dark. The last thing Childe wanted to do on these nights was wake him. He wanted Dottore to get his rest, and aside from that, what a careless way it would have been to squander this opportunity…
Dottore’s neck soon bloomed like a field of flowers, and a sign of life appropriately followed it. The barest little sound eked out of his throat, a buzz against Childe’s lips charging his every last nerve. He did not need to check and make sure his lover was still sleeping. There was no concern there, as Childe knew his sleep could withstand this stimulation and even more. But perhaps in his dreams, the pleasure finally found him, and the softest of groans began to escape him the longer Childe doted on his unconscious body. Childe always liked that idea of touching him somewhere that couldn't be seen. Was Dottore really dreaming of him, imagining that these ministrations were happening somewhere in the waking world? Or was he floating out somewhere in the timeless void of sleep, experiencing pleasure in its purest form, as a feeling disconnected from corporeality? An extraordinary, omnipresent pleasure, or perhaps just a comfortably common one. Regardless of where Dottore was, Childe was happy to deliver him such an experience. It wasn't bad for Childe, either… Ironically, the Doctor made more noise when he was asleep than he ever allowed in consciousness.
Childe’s fingers dared to inch further downwards, a coy waltz past Dottore’s stomach and to the source of his arousal. He wasn't quite hard yet, sluggish to rise when the rest of his body still slept. Childe gave him a little hand, enveloping his flaccid cock with the warm embrace of his palm and stroking him slowly. This, he was also not quite bold enough to approach haphazardly—for as hard as Dottore could sleep, Childe couldn't imagine him staying knocked out even through orgasm. Just a little foreplay did them well enough, a few languid motions until there was finally a bit of bounce to it. Normally, Childe was a much more attentive lover, but seeing as Dottore was asleep, he probably wasn’t missing out on much. He certainly seemed satisfied enough, his groans crescendoing into cute little whimpers Childe only had the pleasure of hearing in moments like this. And unlike Dottore, Childe’s arousal had no trouble getting itself started with such a serenade.
Childe finally detached himself from Dottore’s neck, looking down between them and licking his lips as he took them in. His own cock already leaking with eagerness, he withdrew his hand only long enough to spit in the center of his palm, bringing it back down and grasping both of them together. Their cocks pressed against each other, two desires joined in a slick embrace, and Childe's breath hitched as he stroked them as one—heads flushed red, shrinking and expanding as foreskin swallowed the tips with each pull towards their chests. Childe watched with eager fascination until he was able to coax Dottore’s erection to feeble life, a long, drawn-out moan eventually slipping out of the man's sleeping throat. Childe released him then, giving himself a break as well. That was enough for now; he had to be careful not to touch him there for too long, and he wanted to draw out his own pleasure just a bit more.
Childe sat himself up, gently rolling Dottore onto his stomach. He was careful to make sure Dottore’s head was still turned, of course, and that no stray linens were covering his nose or mouth as he settled into the new position. As expected, the Doctor was unbothered by the change in position, even nuzzling into the pose and falling back into a deep, still sleep once he’d made himself comfortable. Childe took the chance to admire the new view—his lover prone and completely bare, broad shoulders spread out against the sheets like an angel’s wings and buttocks sticking up in the air like a gently sloping hill jutting out from a flat plain. Dottore, being one who did not often see the sun from the deep labyrinths of his research facilities, often looked almost deathly pallid in the daylight, but it was only by the light of the moon that Childe knew this was not the case. There was a soft, subtle golden undertone to his skin that distinguished him from the stark white linens surrounding him, and he had the kind of glow one would expect to see radiating off some precious treasure buried deep underground. The sight was too tempting to possibly resist. Childe was all too eager to reap the rewards he’d unearthed from under those covers.
Childe spread Dottore’s legs apart and settled between them, excitedly stroking himself all the while. His free hand touched down on Dottore’s ass, palming one cheek and pulling it away from the other to see an even more intimate part of him. A sweetly puckered entrance was there to greet him, still looking so soft and inviting from their activities during Dottore’s waking hours. Childe’s mouth fell open in a quiet moan as he rubbed his thumb against that hole, even feeling a bit of give as he felt his way around, the tip of the digit slipping into the greedy little thing without much resistance. It was tempting—almost irresistibly, dangerously tempting, but Childe never wanted to risk waking him like that. Sometimes he could barely keep himself in control with Dottore’s direct supervision; sinking into that delicious heat while the man was dead asleep was just asking for trouble. Childe could always make do with his own hand... But that didn't mean he intended to leave Dottore’s entrance neglected.
Childe lowered himself onto his stomach behind Dottore, taking great care to not disturb the mattress too much as he readjusted himself—not for fear of waking the Doctor up, but as to not disturb the pretty scene laying before him. He slipped his hands under Dottore’s thighs, threading them through and wrapping his arms back around at his hips. It put the sleeping man in a perfect position, back slightly arched with the way Childe's arms wedged under his hips, his ass lifting towards the younger man’s face and his legs spread around him. Childe’s cock ached from where it was pinned between his stomach and the mattress, gripping Dottore’s cheeks and lovingly pulling them apart to find an even better view of his lover’s waiting entrance. He could not spare another moment before wetting his lips and diving straight in.
A messy, open-mouthed kiss was the first to touch down, just on the edge of Dottore’s rim, a little ritual not unlike the one Childe followed when kissing his face and he would tease his lips and tongue at the corner of his mouth—drawing out a reaction, that moment of submission, making it something given and not just taken. Even in sleep, Dottore’s body could not help but react. His entrance twitched as a sleepy moan escaped him, and Childe smiled as he trailed the tip of his tongue around his rim. He dug his nails into the meat of Dottore’s ass just hard enough to leave little crescent-shaped indents in his wake, though he was always tempted to press just a bit harder. How was Dottore to know if he left bruises down here, after all? But Childe kept those urges at bay for the time being, more than content to ravish him gently. He lapped at him from taint to tailbone, paying extra attention to that twitching hole and ensuring every little wrinkle of skin was pooling with his saliva. He may not have been planning to fuck him, but Childe supposed it was a force of habit. The way Dottore carried himself made you believe that he could pass through a flood without catching a single drop of water; but Childe loved seeing him soaked through to the bone, sloppy and disheveled, even if the disarray was only the result of his own doing. No—especially when it was his own doing.
Unconscious and uninhibited, slowly but surely, Dottore couldn't help but come unraveled. His hips began to wriggle around in Childe’s grip, making little circles as they struggled to decide what direction to roll in—forward, where his leaking cock could find the slightest bit of friction against the bedsheets, or backward, where that unseen warmth tickled at his eager entrance? It seemed the decision could not be made in sleep, his body feebly writhing in no particular direction as more lazy, quiet moans poured out of him. His body was so willing like this… No overthinking, no hesitation, no sense of propriety—just movement. His hole throbbed with blind desire, pulsating against Childe’s tongue wantonly. Childe sucked at his taint and settled his nose up against him, breathing him in deep. The aroma was heady and overwhelming—clean, as Dottore kept this part of himself immaculate seemingly even outside of bedroom activities, but rich and potent as the scent of fresh blood on the air. Virile, unadulterated life, like the smell of earth, rain, and fire, tinged with those little personal touches of Dottore’s unique essence. Even better was when the scent intertwined with their lingering sex. Childe could smell himself on him too, and he could taste it. He suddenly wondered if any of his come was still inside Dottore from earlier. The idea excited him, his untended cock throbbing against his stomach, and there was really only one way to find out…
Childe spread Dottore’s ass apart just a bit further, stretching out his hole enough to smooth out some of the wrinkles around the ring of muscle. He dragged his tongue upwards and probed the tip against his entrance, gauging its give. Dottore had grown even softer with Childe's attention, yielding to the tip of his tongue with little protest. It was so deviously easy like this, with Dottore’s body at its most relaxed and growing more pliant still as his pleasure mounted. Childe forced his tongue even deeper, as deep as he could, until the string of tissue connecting it to his bottom jaw began to ache. Dottore shuddered in his sleep, and Childe could see his hands loosely clutch at the sheet under him. God, if only Childe knew what it was really like for him, to be in the deepest of slumbers and to still reach the sort of heights that made one instinctively reach out for purchase. He drew his tongue back, slipping it all the way out and letting it dance around Dottore’s rim before plunging it back inside. Childe felt as giddy as a hummingbird sipping sweet nectar from a flower, his pulse even matching the drumming beat of its wings, fucking Dottore like this until his thoughts went hazy with excitement. It was difficult not to imagine other things as he had his fun…
Childe didn't stop until it felt like his jaw might come unhinged. He couldn't stop, his mind flooded with arousal, stuck in a loop of muscle memory until his muscles had all but given up the ghost. His mild discomfort was accompanied by a flash of lucidity, and he soon realized Dottore’s moans had crescendoed to a beautiful little babbling song of whimpers and mewls. Childe finally withdrew his tongue, and the sensation caused Dottore’s sleeping body to jerk, his hips bucking downwards in a desperate attempt to find friction for his unattended erection. That wouldn't do… Childe pulled him in a bit closer, in turn lifting Dottore’s hips just far enough from the bed that he couldn't easily grind down against it. He took the opportunity to rest his face against the meat of Dottore’s ass, gazing up at his prone form pensively as he peppered sloppy little kisses along his soft curves. Childe could see Dottore’s brows furrow as muttered nonsense trickled from his pursed lips, hands frustratingly clenching and unclenching around nothing. He had managed to work up his sleeping lover quite quickly this time around—had managed to work himself up just as badly, his body feeling as red hot as the arousal trapped underneath him. This was where he usually found it a good idea to stop, before too many errant movements would be liable to send Dottore over the edge. But Childe found himself having a rough time letting go this time around… It felt so poignantly like leaving a job unfinished, even though it was likely the best for both of them to do so.
Childe begrudgingly pulled himself back up to his knees, setting Dottore back down on the bed and ensuring he would remain still enough to safely maintain that position just a little while longer. Childe just had to finish himself off, and then he’d be in a better headspace to bring Dottore down from his excitement. Once he was satisfied, he’d be able to get them both tucked back into bed. He’d had his fun for the night—though he wasn't above spoiling himself just a bit more by admiring his handiwork as he finished.
A quiet hiss rushed out from between Childe’s clenched teeth as he finally wrapped his hand around his neglected, weeping cock, giving it a few ginger strokes as he brought his hand back down to Dottore’s ass. Childe’s fingers traced the shape of his hole, slick with saliva and swollen with attention, and he moaned as he pumped himself a little faster. He palmed Dottore’s ass, letting his thumb ghost over his entrance and—again, the tip seemed to slip inside without any effort at all. Dottore whimpered at the intrusion, his hips yet again bucking against the mattress, and Childe sucked in a sharp breath and fell still.
Damn. It was a little difficult to behave himself when Dottore’s body was practically begging to be entered.
Maybe Childe had grown too bold. It was difficult for it to not feel like a challenge, like Dottore’s sleeping form was goading him to see how far he would go. Tonight, it proved too enticing an offer to resist. He wanted more than caution had to offer. Still, Childe was nervous to accidentally wake him. Not necessarily for fear of being found out, but more so because the idea of waking Dottore out of such a peaceful slumber made him feel awful. Even as his self-restraint finally failed him, he was too anxious to surge forward at full speed. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked over at Dottore’s face, his sleeping features still shifting back and forth between rest and strain.
“Sorry, Dottore,” Childe muttered wryly. Speaking aloud did not worry him, as anything below a certain volume never seemed to register with the Doctor whatsoever. He often found himself whispering to him like this, despite knowing he would not be answered. If nothing else, his voice was not going to be the biggest liability this evening. “This is just too much to resist.”
Childe looked back to his waiting entrance, licking his lips eagerly. Even though he was already dripping with his own juices, he spat in his hand for good measure and rubbed the slick up and down his length. Dottore did not need any further preparation—he was already open and willing, and Childe was ready to reward his need.
“I won't put it all the way in,” Childe whispered, speaking more to himself than Dottore, even if the man had been awake to hear it. Plunging in all at once would be sure to wake him. He pressed his cockhead flush with Dottore’s entrance, his hands nearly trembling with anticipation. “We can take it slow.”
His eyes darted back and forth between Dottore’s face and rear. It all felt so perilous, he could barely even focus on his own pleasure. All his attention was stuck on the sleepy furrow of Dottore’s brow, the first give of his entrance—the way the man’s lips popped open in a broken moan, the tip of Childe’s cock disappearing beyond the boundary of his rim. And still, Dottore’s eyes somehow remained closed. Childe could barely believe his eyes, stuck in that position while he gawked stupidly at the scene. Though he’d obviously been hoping for as much, he couldn’t fathom how Dottore could manage to sleep through even this much.
The pleasure and exhilaration hit Childe all at once, as if making up for their initial delay. His pulse suddenly felt like the loudest thing in the room, a roar in his ears that drowned out what little remained of his common sense and left only lust and fascination. His mouth fell open in silent awe as he watched the place where they met, withdrawing himself slowly. Dottore’s hole held fast with a loving embrace, puckering outwards before finally being forced to relinquish its grip. There was a fleeting void that remained before the ring of muscle could retain its shape, and the sensation of emptiness drew out an almost sorrowful moan from the sleeping man. But before he could dwell on that emptiness, Childe probed at the entrance again, slipping back in to the head. He repeated this process several times, enraptured by the tight warmth of Dottore’s boundary and the visible absence he left behind with every retreat. Eventually, Childe let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
“You’re amazing,” Childe muttered, feeling sincerely awestruck. “Look how easily you open up for me…”
He was alone in the observation, of course, and for the first time, he felt a bit remiss that Dottore wasn’t awake to share this moment with him. But it added another layer of excitement to utter it aloud, and Childe certainly had no plans to wake him up now. He thumbed at Dottore’s slick, gaping hole as he pulled out again, and upon re-entering he was treated to such a delectably obscene sound—a wet, suctiony squelch as he filled that empty space inside him—that he thought he might come on the spot. But Childe just barely managed to restrain himself, if only because he couldn't bear the thought of things ending that quickly. He wasn’t ready to call it quits yet; now, it really did feel like a challenge. How far could he take this? How much would he be given? Seeing as Dottore was the one with the more curious nature between them, Childe felt that this experimental streak of his would not go unappreciated.
“Have you memorized the shape of me?” Childe muttered. This time, he didn't pull out. He sank in just a little further, keeping Dottore’s ass spread as he watched himself delve deeper inside. He could think of no other explanation; Dottore’s insides felt like a second skin, not too tight, not too loose. The perfect amount of pressure to bring them both to the height of pleasure—the perfect fit. “Can you feel me in your dreams, filling you up like this?”
If Dottore was indeed dreaming, Childe wondered if his words were reaching him too. Maybe somewhere deep down inside, buried under his own unconsciousness, Dottore was listening. Were the words the same, or did he twist them to fit whatever fantasy he was playing out? What was it that he was hearing that made him moan so sweetly, made his spine curl and hips open as Childe pushed even deeper? Childe wished he could know. But the mystery behind these reactions only made them all the more alluring.
Childe started rocking his hips, still only just half inside. His untended shaft felt excruciatingly neglected compared to the parts of him wrapped in his lover’s warm embrace, but Childe found solace in knowing how good this must have felt for Dottore. He was thrusting himself right at that spot Dottore couldn't resist, not even while he was wide awake. In sleep, he was utterly helpless to the pleasure, twitching and whimpering with every kiss against his prostate.
“Your pussy feels so amazing,” Childe marveled, another airy chuckle tumbling out of him. Dottore didn't like it when he called it that—his face would always twist up in distaste at the word, and a hand would usually shoot out to box Childe's ear as he scolded him for such tawdry language. But Dottore was in no state to protest now, and Childe couldn't think of a better word to describe that part of him. The way it sucked him in so greedily, slick and throbbing with desire, practically begging to be filled to the brim with his seed… Despite the chill of the Snezhnayan air closing in on them, he could feel sweat begin to bead at his brow. “You make it so hard to behave myself.”
Truthfully, the idea of behaving himself had fallen so far from Childe’s mind that the statement struck him as humorous. He was a little beyond propriety now… Still, he felt obligated to exercise some discipline in his movements. Dottore was giving himself so graciously that he couldn't bear the thought of spoiling it by being too rough. Though Childe's hips yearned to snap forward, to bury himself down to the hilt in one fell swoop and take what he was given with animalistic vigor, he simply repositioned himself—legs soon straddling Dottore’s ass, his hands coming to rest just under his armpits as he hovered over the Doctor’s sleeping frame. He felt like a vulture in this position, circling eagerly above some unsuspecting prey and waiting for his opportunity to descend. He dared to take it right then and there; eased himself down, still holding his own weight just over Dottore’s body but close enough to feel the heat radiating off his back. Childe boldly dragged his tongue along the edge of Dottore’s ear, relishing the little shiver it drew out of him.
“I’ll go in just a little deeper, now,” Childe whispered, quiet as a church mouse. He did just as he said, pressing in even deeper with a slow, careful roll of his hips. Dottore’s brows threaded together as he stirred, and for a fleeting moment Childe could practically taste his own heart from where it jumped up between his teeth. But a look of gentle ecstasy soon followed, and Dottore’s features went lax as his body melted. Childe smiled, kissing the shell of his ear. “There you go... Just like that. You like it like this, don't you?”
Dottore’s response was muttered nothings, interspersed with little gasps that came with every deft thrust. Childe decided not to press his luck with anymore whispers pressed to his ear. He settled for leaving them between his shoulder blades, lips and tongue dancing along the ridges of his spine as he continued his tender assault.
“You’re amazing,” Childe babbled against his skin, going deeper and deeper, edging closer and closer to his climax. “It's almost all the way in. You’re— God, I wish I could come inside you.”
Funny, how that was the last bit of reason Childe could hold onto when the mattress creaked in protest under their bouncing bodies, when he was thrusting so deeply that he could nearly feel himself bottoming out, when Dottore’s own moans were the loudest thing in the room, surely loud enough to wake him from his slumber all on their own. But spilling inside him was the one thing Childe knew he could not do. It would be irrefutable evidence, and there was no guarantee he could get rid of all of it on his own. And he couldn't have Dottore finding out about this, not now—not when he knew just how far he could take this. Not when he finally understood just how much trust Dottore placed in him whenever he fell asleep like this. The Doctor was a man with limitless foresight, capable of accepting all possible outcomes and conclusions; he had to know this was one of them. And yet he never did anything to avoid it, never breathed a word of suspicion in his waking hours, never gave Childe even the slightest suggestion against such behavior. Dottore simply left it in his hands entirely—leaving it to be an experiment that would go unobserved by his own eyes, a privilege Childe couldn't imagine him offering to anyone else. A gift that Childe now cherished more than anything else he could have given him. A gift that would go to spoil if Dottore knew anything beyond his own projections… And Childe couldn't let that happen.
“You’re being so good for me,” Childe whined, shaping the words against Dottore’s skin, touching the deepest parts of him, mindlessly chasing after his own release. Dottore suddenly hiccuped underneath him, his inner walls gripping him so tightly—and, oh, what a wondrous gift it was. “You’re so good for me. And you’re mine. You’re mine. You’re all mine.”
Finally, Childe knew this “experiment” had reached its conclusion. He drove his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle a sob of pleasure, quickly righting himself and pulling his hips all the way back. He watched Dottore’s pussy pucker outwards around his retreating cock with desperate greed, holding fast to the very end. His cock was finally released with a moist pop as Dottore’s entrance gaped and floundered around nothing, looking hungry for more—the sight sent Childe reeling over the edge without even the slightest touch.
“Fuck—” Childe clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched his cock twitch against the cleft of Dottore’s ass, shooting out ribbons of white all along the sleeping man’s lower back. Despite having already come a couple of times earlier in the evening, there was quite a lot of it this time; all he could do was whimper quietly into his palm as it all spilled out, rutting against Dottore’s rear with erratic little jerks all the while.
Slowly, Childe began to recover enough presence of mind to look over at Dottore’s face—still fast asleep, thank heavens. As clarity returned to him, he realized that he may have gone just a bit too rough at the end, and pulled out too quickly. But by some miracle, he at least managed to avoid coming inside of him… That was just a bit too close for comfort. Next time, he ought to pull out a little earlier.
Next time. Childe smiled to himself behind his hand. He had just barely finished, and he was already thinking about “next time.” He’d gotten greedy; an unsavory and downright dangerous trait to possess in his line of work, but here, he found no shame in the realization. Why shouldn't he freely partake in the gift he’d been given, after all? That was what gifts were for. And now that he understood the true value of what he’d been handed, he was determined to utilize it to its full extent.
Without further stimulation, Dottore had grown still and serene once more. He offered nothing more than a few sleepy grunts as Childe got to work cleaning up, wiping him clean and duly disposing of the evidence with a few dreamy licks of his fingers. Once not a spot of his seed remained, he set a hand on Dottore’s shoulder and started to turn him back on his side. He might not think twice about waking up on his stomach, but Childe thought it prudent to leave things as he found—
When he rolled Dottore over, Childe couldn't believe what he was seeing. His thoughts emptied out all at once, leaving him a vacant husk of bewilderment as he blinked down at the spot where Dottore had just been. His eyes darted back and forth between the Doctor’s face and the curiosity spread out before him—an unmistakable, paste-like wetness clinging to the sheets below him, mirrored by the mess covering Dottore’s lower stomach and now-spent cock. But no matter how many times Childe looked, the scene remained the same. Dottore, still so fast asleep that it rivaled even the slumber of the dead, had come while Childe was fucking him.
In hindsight, Childe supposed it was unavoidable. With how far he’d gotten him even before entering him, coupled with all those thrusts aimed directly at his prostate—and of course, in this position Dottore’s erection must have been rubbing like crazy against the bed once Childe really got going. There was only so much stimulation even a sleeping body could receive before it reacted. But still, to do all that and still remain sleeping…. It was….
Amazing.
A laugh bubbled out of Childe, high and giddy and bouncing with pleasant disbelief. Even with his erection quickly flagging, a wave of arousal sent his stomach somersaulting and cock twitching. If he had any less self-restraint, he could have gone at it again right then and there. But even Childe had some sense of modesty. Instead of diving back in, Childe sighed gently, leaning forward and pressing a kiss softly to Dottore’s temple. The Doctor had already gone through a lot that night, and even he could begin to feel weariness weighing on his eyelids. But by the time he cleaned this extra mess up, he’d be ready to tuck in himself.
There would always be more opportunities to experiment, after all. And Childe had finally come to realize why Dottore was so fond of the process of experimentation.