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I’ve lost sight of the difference between you and I

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They have been at this for hours: debating one of the most important treaties the human race has ever entered into. They have been at this for hours: arguing back and forward about huge concessions and tiny details. They have been doing this for hours and Kate is sick to the back teeth of it. Her shoulders are stiff, her throat aches, and she can feel the beginnings of a raging headache forming behind her eyes. She want to go home, smash several fingers of whisky, and fall asleep.

She wonder how long it has been since she slept in her own bed: has no idea how long she was suspended in that mess of organic matter before Osgood found her.  There is a sheen of slime on the pad of her shoulder and if she turns her head she can still smell the tang and flab of suckered tendrils. She want to go home, have a shower and wash her clothes, then smash several fingers of whiskey and fall asleep.

But she cannot, not yet, because she still has to hash out a treaty with a duplicate of herself. They have both stopped pacing at this stage, tired legs begging them to sit down again. The headache begins to throb; she furrows her brow and the other Kate does too.

Kate watches as she looks down at the table and massages her temple with a contented hum. Kate feels the pain in her own head lessen and lets out a sigh. Kate rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck. A quiet gasps falls out of the mouth of the other Kate, who arches her back to stretch. Kate feels the muscles between her shoulders loosen slightly and swallows the tiny hum vibrating up her vocal chords.

They look each other in the eye, curiosity plain on both their faces. Well, thinks Kate, this is an interesting development. She thinks she can hear an echo of that thought repeat itself in her mind.

But the Doctors break up this brief lull in proceeding; to bribe and poke and encourage them to keep talking and arguing and making this god damn treaty. Both Kates push their curiosity to the side to their mind and solider on.




A few hours later and Kate wonders if perhaps she had, in fact, heard another Kate’s thoughts in her head. That would go a long to explaining exactly how she ended up here, during a respite in negotiation, doing this with her…them…herself? she wonders. Having another Kate’s thoughts in her head would explain why she is currently kissing herself with vigour on the floor of the secure black display box located in one of the highest security locations in the planet while the rest of her team wanders the Tower.

Well, maybe not explain, she thinks, but at least provide her with a plausible excuse if someone asks her what was thinking. I wasn’t actually, the other one was. Or I was and she wasn’t? It is all very hazy, if Kate is honest.

She is still trying to figure out the exact specifics of the situation she has gotten herself into when the other Kate breaks the kiss. She misses the warmth of her lips but continues to try and keep her thoughts straight as a mouth starts working its way down her neck. She is still thinking hard when the other Kate winds her fingers in her hairs and pulls. Kate feels teeth drag over her jugular and the fist pulls even harder and she stops thinking all together. A growl works it way up her throat and out her mouth: she is very glad they shut the door, even if it means she will have to call Osgood to let them out later.

She feels the other Kate smirk against her skin; leans back to look up at Kate. “I thought you might like that,” she hums.

Kate wants to wipe that smug look of her face: throws herself forward, smashes their lips together and ravishes her own mouth. She tugs at her jacket and buries her face in her cleavage, bites at her breast though fabric. She hears a moan in her mind and a gasp somewhere above her head. Strips off the shirt and yanks down the bra. Envelops a nipple and works it with her mouth until she hears a purr rumble deep in chest in front of her nose.

She smirks, “I know what you like, too.”

Kate licks down her stomach, wiggling out of her own jacket as the does. Throws it to the side and runs her hands over her hips. Her hipbone feels thin and solid against her palm and she wonders if they have always been this sharp. Nimble fingers unbutton her trousers; impatient hands pull them down to the calf and knickers to the knee. Kate ducks under the fabric pulled taunt and dives in face first.

She has tasted herself before, of course, countless times. Tasted herself on the mouths and fingers and thighs of past lovers but she had always been mixed with someone else: warm mouths and sticky fingers and glistening thighs. But this, right now — her own tongue against her own centre: hot and wet and so so sweet —  is just her. The taste is pure her and she fucking loves it.

She grabs Kate’s arse, grip so hard she knows will leave bruises the size of fingertips, and pulls her forward. Kate quivers under her tongue and she moans as Kate licks and flicks and sucks until she is a writhing, soaked, sobbing mess. A thought occurs to Kate, as she curls her tongue and brushes her nose against her clit: I’m eating myself out.

Kate Stewart is eating herself out. Kate Stewart is listening to herself getting eaten out. Kate Stewart is moaning into her own cunt while her own thighs hold her face in place as she eats herself out and listens to herself get eaten out. Kate Stewart thinks she might come from the thought along.

The other Kate certainly does; come, that is. Riding Kate’s face and fisting Kate’s hair: coming long and hard and loud. Kate is glad the room is soundproof: she is reasonably sure that none of the others are still in the room just outside that huge display window but someone on the other side of the building could have heard that otherwise. She feel her legs slacken and flop and she stops licking: wipes her face on her thigh. She can feel the trousers still hanging around Kate’s feet on her back and the elastic of her underwear against her neck. She untangles herself and pulls them off properly while Kate looks at her with unfocused eyes.

“Yes, you certainly do,” she says when she gets her mouth working again.

The other Kate shuffles backwards to sit with her back flush against the wall and her legs out in front. She looks at Kate with a twinkle her eye and she beckons her forward. Kate crawls towards her and throws a leg over: straddles the other Kate’s lap and leans forward to kiss her. She burrows her fingers in Kate’s hair and starts rocking her hips. The seam of her trousers provides a fraction of the friction she current craves and she reaches down to unzip her flies; finds her hands are already there.

Fingers dip under her waistband and into her knickers and slide her open. Kate gasps as three fingers enter her: sinking deep and stretching wide. Her head lulls back and she moans as she adjusts: relishing the feeling of being full. A few moment pass and she expects the fingers to start moving but they stay ridged and stagnant inside her. She pulls her head up and looks at Kate, frustration flaring in her eyes. It blazes to anger when she sees the damn smirk again. Her mouth opens to tell her to get on it with when she hears the other Kate.

“Fuck yourself,” she commands, her mouth not moving. “Fuck yourself on your hand.”

Kate’s heart stops and her thighs quiver and a throb emanates from her core. Wordlessly she places both hands on the wall by her head, bracing herself, and starts to rock. Kate smiles and Kate’s eyes flutter shut and she moves faster, pressing down on the hand between her legs. Her hips snap quicker and she grinds down harder and she is close. Her legs are shaking and her breath is haggard and she is so close. She hears an echo in her mind telling her to come and she does: whimpers and moans and almost sobs falling from her mouth as she comes and comes and comes.

She feels an arm wrap around her hips as the waves start to subside. For a few seconds she is floating a foot off the ground and then she is on her back: floor solid and cold beneath her. One hand tugs at her trousers as the other stays buried inside her. Her pants end up half way down her legs and she feels a thumb on her clit: she pulls one leg free of her trousers and spreads her legs wide.

She hears an echo in her mind —“Yes, God! God, yes, please.” —and she does not know if they are Kate’s thoughts or her own. The fingers start pumping in and out and the thumb presses hard circles against her swollen aching flesh and she decides it really does not matter.

She looks up at Kate: normally neat hair completely dishevelled, cheeks flushes and eyes fierce; lips curled back in a snarl. She looks like she wants to devour Kate and Kate is coming again. Her body tenses and her back arches and a scream tears itself from her throat. She feels herself gush as her body pulses: long and pro-longed. She shudders and keens and cries out until she finally, finally, stops coming. She relaxes, body limp like a wet noodle, and tries to fill her lungs with an adequate amount of air.

Kate retrieves her hand and Kate rolls over to a crouch. She crawls over to her discarded clothes — at least she thinks they are hers, close enough will have to do — and gingerly slides uncooperative legs into long trousers. She can hear the other Kate redressing somewhere to her left but refuses to look over her shoulder; her body is still humming and her mind is too full and Kate does no know if she can process all this right now.

She stands and walk over to her jacket. Pulls her phone from the coat pocket and call Osgood. Informs her that the break in proceedings has come to an end. Politely requests she come back to the archive and let them out.

Kate continues to avoid eye contact as they wait: the scenes of sweat and sex still filling the air. Finally the door swings opens and two Osgoods stands in the doorway. They are both wide eyed but Kate sees a difference: one seems more curious than anything and the other looks downright worried. Kate it too tired to bother thinking of an excuse and pins both of them a look that demands complete silence and strides out into the archive.




It is well beyond late and possibly the next day by the time the treaty is settled to everyone’s satisfaction. And by everyone Kate means the the Doctors, always rushing forward to interfere then retreating to stand to on sidelines: again and again. As much as she admires the man…men…aliens? she thinks, she cannot help but be overwhelming irritated with them as she finally drives home at the crack of dawn with a portion of her memories all mixed up and bouncing around her head.

She lets herself into the house: it is empty and silent, and for once she is relieved. She pulls off her boots by the door and strips off her socks: wiggles her toes in the carpet before padding towards the laundry. She strips off her clothes and throws them the washing machine: sets the cycle to heavy duty. The timer says the load will be finished in an hour and a half and God help her if she is still awake at that time. What a little staleness matter to clothes that are going to get washed several times anyway, she thinks as she walks upstairs to have a shower.

She scrubs herself raw and covers herself in soapsuds twice; lathers her hair with shampoo three times and uses the whole bottle of conditioner. Stands under the hot water as it falls into her back and almost falls asleep standing up. Finally drags herself out of the shower when the water drops a few degrees. Towel dries herself and briefly blowdries her hair; moisturisers everything and cleans her teeth. She walks out of the bathroom  feeling soft and pink and clean.

As much as she would like to call in sick that really is not an option but a bit of lateness might be in order: she knows she can squeeze in a few hours of sleep before she absolutely has to be back at the office. She thinks of the mountain of paperwork waiting for her as she slides under the covers: reporting events of the previous day…days…weeks? she questions, is going to be an absolute nightmare. But that is a problem for later. She breathes deep, relaxes into the mattress and tries to sleep: finds she cannot.

Something brushes against her mind as she lies in the dark. She feels an gentle ache start to build between her legs that has her thighs twitching. Something presses against her mind and the ache burns through her so hot and so fast she cannot breath. Suddenly her body is on fire and she knows, somehow, that somewhere, another version of her is thinking of her.

The orgasm is sudden and unexpected and delicious. Her hands fist the sheets as she writhes and groans as the waves wash over her until the pulses ebb down the gentle throb and she can breath again. She lies there, panting, for a few minutes as she recovers.

When her brain starts the work again, she reaches out with her mind. She thinks she finds something she can hold on to one moment but the next feels it flow from her grasp. The ache between her legs continues and her mind still cannot find something to hold on to. She gives up with a huff and slides her hand down her body.

She is slick and swollen and sensitive: she shivers as she brushes a finger against her clit. She explores herself, massaging engorged flesh: scorching hot under her fingers. She moans as she narrows in on her clit, firm pressure and tiny circles. She thinks of that afternoon, of being filled and fucking by her own hands, and bites back a groan. She remember the taste of her: squeezes her eyes shut and turns her head to press her cheek into the pillow.

She feels something brush against her mind again and she reaches out, frantic: grabs it with all her will and hold on tight. She can feel her, the other her: the Zygon borrowing her form to touch herself until she cries out. She can feel Kate feeling herself: a ghost of a sensation. She knows that two seperate but identical fingers are pressed against the same clit in two bodies. Knows two sets of fingers are wet with the essence of the same cunt spread miles apart. She comes and knows the other Kate is coming too.

She falls back onto the bed, notices she has caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and hums with contentment. She can still feel the other Kate in her mind, gentle and throbbing and serene. She reaches out to say thank you: can hear the sentiment echoed back before the connection breaks and the only person in Kate’s mind is herself. The calm that permeates through her feels strangely lonely as she finally falls asleep.