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a loaded god complex

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“The way I see it...” At the short pause, the solid toe of a boot taps Yaz between the thighs, polished black leather rubbing the seam of her jeans with an incredibly precise movement. “You’ve got two options: give in, or give in.”

Yaz glares up at the blonde with disgust. Or as much disgust as she can muster when hazel eyes look back down at her with obvious excitement in them. A thin eyebrow raises in an arch, the crease between them forming for a split second before her whole face breaks out in a laugh.

“You humans really are a stubborn lot, aren’t you?” she asks with mild interest. The toe of her boot taps again and Yaz bites down so hard that her jaw starts to ache. She’ll be damned if she’s the one to give in first.

“You should know,” Yaz spits. “You’re the one who keeps draggin’ us along on your trips.”

The Doctor frowns like she’s disappointed in the answer and she shakes her head slowly before leaning down and getting her face level with Yaz who sits on her own spread knees (that ache to hell and back by this point).

“Oh, but I never had to drag you along, did I?” she asks, feigning a slight pout with her crimson painted lower lip stuck out. “You were always willing to follow me to the ends of the universe, right Yaz?” She tilts her head like she’s waiting for an answer, and at Yaz’s silence she scoffs and straightens back up, crossing her arms over her chest where the first two buttons of a crisp white shirt hang open. “See, it’s not even a hard situation that you’ve been put in, really. It’s not like it’s something you don’t want —”

“Who says I want this?” Yaz snaps with as much venom as she can muster. Her arms tense and the metal cuffs around her wrists clink together.

The Doctor’s eyes drop down Yaz’s body, landing on the stiff peaks of her nipples that stay hard in the cool room (or just because she’s unbelievably turned on) and she raises an eyebrow. “It’s easy, Yasmin. Come, and your cuffs fall off. Completely unrestrained, able to do anything you please.” Her eyes flash dangerously and she looks practically giddy at her next words. “Don’t come, and they become a part of you, and you become a part of my ship, and I get a new toy to play with whenever I want — one that can’t fight back as much.”

Yaz’s pulse thuds in her ears. Her throat is dry when she swallows.

“What —” She has to stop and swallow again just to get a bit of moisture back into her mouth. “What could you possibly get out of this?”

If the Doctor could roll her eyes any harder she probably would have. It probably would’ve given her a concussion too.

“Do you humans ever listen? I just told you — d’you remember the thing I said, just now? About the new toy to play with?” She lets out a frustrated groan as her head falls back, and Yaz watches the way her throat bobs when she swallows. Neck muscles move under pale skin and suddenly Yaz’s mouth isn’t as dry anymore. “I swear, it’s like talking to a bloody brick wall sometimes. I don’t know how you function with the processing speed of your brain, truly.”

Yaz raises her brows in offence. “Y’callin’ me stupid?”

The Doctor scoffs and looks back down at her with thinly veiled disinterest. “I’ve met dogs with better comprehension than you.”

The fight in Yaz builds up again and she tugs at her restraints once more. The Doctor (obviously) notices and her entire demeanour suddenly changes back to her old self. A softer version, one that has told Yaz how brilliant she is when she’s coming around her fingers, and then said the same thing later when Yaz figured out the last part of a genocidal maniacs plan minutes before destruction. Shoulders drop their tenseness and the Doctor leans forward again, resting her elbows on her knees and somehow looking at Yaz through long eyelashes, even though Yaz is still sitting below her.

“It’ll be over soon,” she says, voice dripping with syrupy sweetness that makes Yaz’s teeth hurt (or maybe that’s the way she’s still clenching her jaw). One of the Doctor’s hands reaches up and softly strokes Yaz’s cheek and it takes everything in Yaz not to pull back in fear that the hand will suddenly wrap around her neck or something. “I want to see how far you’ll go for me — for her. Come, and you can go free.” The Doctor pauses like she’s thinking over something, and then she adds, “I can even talk like her if y’d’like.”

And, y’know, like, fuck if the softness of her eyes doesn’t immediately smother the fight in Yaz like a fire blanket over an inferno.

“Do y’want me to talk like her, Yasmin?” The Doctor’s thumb slides over Yaz’s cheek, calloused fingers pressing into her jaw, and then her bottom lip is being pulled down. “I can, if y’want. I can tell you how brilliant you are.” The thumb slips in, hooking on Yaz’s teeth before pressing down on her tongue. “How incredible I find you. How absolutely amazin’ —”

Yaz whines. She doesn’t mean to whine, but she whines, because the Doctor knows exactly what words to say to get her to react like that.

The Doctor’s eyes brighten. “Is that right, Yaz? You want me to tell you how good you are?” When Yaz doesn’t answer (because of the thumb in her mouth, or because she’s already past words by now) the Doctor adds, “All you’ve gotta do is be a good girl for a bit, and then I’ll let you go. Just show me how much you care about her, and I’ll let you go. It’s so simple, right?”

Yaz feels like a kid being asked basic questions, and even then she can barely find it in herself to nod. It’s like the rest of the world has been cut off and her only focus is the blonde in front of her.

“On my lap. It’ll be easier like that, right?”

Again, Yaz nods, slowly and with a lot more thought behind it than should be necessary, and she finally gets the hint when the Doctor sits back on the bed and raises her brows expectantly.

She’s straddling one thigh and almost can’t keep her balance until the Doctor places hands on her hips, holding her soft but steady. She’s hovering but it only takes a single tug down before her burning core suddenly gets the pressure she’s so desperately craved for more than an hour now (since before all of this even started).

“Oh,” Yaz breathes — the first word she’s said in minutes and it spills out involuntarily.

“See?” the Doctor coos, guiding Yaz’s hips forward until her cunt drags over the strong muscle pushing against her. “It’s not so bad, right?”

Yaz ignores her. The seam of her jeans presses against her clit and even though there’s three layers of fabric between them, Yaz feels like she’s riding her thigh bare.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” the Doctor says when Yaz starts to move on her own volition. She might as well, anyways. It’s not like she’s gonna be free any time soon without giving in at least a little bit. “I knew you’d come around for me, Yaz.”

Hazel eyes study Yaz’s face earnestly, so open and eager. Yaz can almost believe it’s the right Doctor underneath her — the sane Doctor. The one that would never say such hateful things to her.

She closes her eyes.

“Does that help, Yaz?” the Doctor asks, voice still as soft as ever. “Not bein’ able to see me like this?”

When Yaz doesn’t answer, fingers pinch her side and her eyes fly open in surprise. The Doctor blinks up at her like nothing happened. Blonde hair falls to the side when her head tilts in a question.

“Yes,” Yaz finally grunts, snapping her hips forward to chase the slowly building orgasm that’s taken up residence at the base of her spine.

“Does the praise help?”

Yaz does her best to glare but she’s not sure her face is controlled enough for the right mood to come across. The edge of the Doctor’s mouth twitches.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” she asks, and it’s really not Yaz’s fault for how those words dive straight to her cunt.

Her hips stutter in the constant grinding motion she had been doing and the Doctor’s triumphant smirk is worse than she ever could’ve imagined.

“Why make it hard on yourself, Yaz?” the Doctor asks, sliding her hands up Yaz’s sides and scratching blunt nails underneath her breasts. “I could give you exactly what you want. You could be so good —”

Arousal spikes, starting in Yaz’s cunt and shooting up her spine until she grinds harder on the tense muscle between her thighs. Her mouth drops open and her head drops forward and suddenly even the smothered fight in her dissipates as her orgasm nears.

“There we go,” the Doctor coos, guiding Yaz’s movements with one hand to restart the steady pace with renewed vigor. “That’s a good girl. Bloody brilliant, gettin’ yourself off like this.”

Yaz whines and lets herself crumple forward, even as her shoulders protest at the uncomfortable position with her arms still cuffed behind her. She buries her face in the crook of the Doctor’s neck — somewhere she’s been many times, that should feel like home, but the double pulse under her lips feels foreign for the first time in a long time. Maybe it’s how calm it is, even while the Doctor is working Yaz up. It’s usually much faster, more responsive when Yaz’s tongue darts out to finally taste the soft skin of her throat and feel vocal cords vibrate under her tongue.

“Amazin’, Yaz. Doin’ such a good job. I’m sure I’d be bloody proud if I were in me right mind.”

Yaz’s words catch in her throat, but it doesn’t matter what they were. She wouldn’t even be able to answer if she were asked right now. Her entire body is poised on the edge, so concentrated on her impending climax that she doesn’t even notice the hand sliding up her side until the Doctor’s thumb brushes over a sensitive nipple. Yaz jolts and her hips stutter in their rhythm for a brief second.

“Oh, bloody —”

“Yasmin,” the Doctor warns. “Good girls use nice words.”

“P—” Yaz gasps when the Doctor suddenly pulls her hips down, and the seam of her jeans is pressing against her clit so good and Yaz can’t hold on for much longer. Her shoulders hurt now, far past the point of uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t be able to stop if she tried. She’s too far gone, smothered by the Doctor’s hands and the Doctor’s voice and the praise that falls so freely from lips that mouth at her neck.

“Y’got somethin’ to say?” the Doctor asks.

Piss off, is what she were gonna say. She were gonna push the Doctor, just to see if she could. She were gonna curse like a bloody sailor just to see what happened. But then the Doctor starts egging her on with quietly murmured words under her breath, watching between them as Yaz’s core rubs hard against her trouser pants.

“Please,” Yaz cries out when she’s on the very brink of her orgasm. Her thighs tighten, her arms tense, and the cuffs holding her wrists feel tighter than ever. If the fire in her had been smothered, then it’s now been replaced by flames that lick at her heels and threaten to push her over prematurely. Her stomach tenses and she waits for the drop that will shatter her entire world.

“So polite,” the Doctor murmurs. “Such a good girl, ridin’ me thigh like this, just so you can get out of some handcuffs.” She sighs against Yaz’s collarbone and Yaz whines when she feels the thick fog over her skin. “I sort of wish you hadn’t, so I could use you like this any time I wanted.”

That shouldn’t be the thing that tips the scale, tosses Yaz over the edge with merciless abandon, leaving her tumbling and falling and rolling as her hips continue to rock, her stomach continues to clench, her body crumples forward and the Doctor falls back, pulling Yaz down with her.

She can feel the Doctor’s lips on her neck, moving but no sound is reaching Yaz’s ears over the roar of blood in her head and her own pulse thumping against her chest. It’s probably more than a minute before she comes to enough to realize the Doctor is talking to her.

“Good girl, that’s it. You did so good, I’m so impressed, Yaz,” the Doctor says so quietly, so softly. All the fake gentleness of earlier is gone, replaced by real care, real concern over Yaz’s wellbeing. “Were that okay? Was I too mean?”

Yaz’s stomach muscles ache as her hips finally come to a stop, and she’s just able to work up enough strength to shake her head. “No, no, it was good — you were good,” she mumbles against the Doctor’s shirt. “Very hot.”

The Doctor sighs contentedly. “Ace, glad y’liked it. It were fun, usin’ me angry voice all like that. Like that time I starred in Hamlet! The one set in the 23rd century, not the other one. It’s quite an adaptation — remind me to tell you about it next week when we go see Romeo and Juliet.”

Yaz mumbles again, something about Romeo and Juliet. She’s not listening very well. She’s mostly trying not to fall asleep in the crook of the Doctor’s neck.

The Doctor rubs a hand over Yaz’s forearm and suddenly her once cuffed hands fall to the sides. Her shoulders protest at the sudden movement but it’s a pain that Yaz revels in, openly accepts as a reminder of what happened.

“Do y’wanna get out of your trousers? I can start a bath, if y’like,” the Doctor offers, sliding a soft hand up Yaz’s back.

“Please?” Yaz asks quietly.

“Course,” the Doctor says with a kiss to Yaz’s temple. “And while you’re in there y’can tell me what word you got scared out of saying earlier.”