Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dottore sat on the couch, an exact copy of the other one facing him, with his legs crossed, notepad on his lap with a ballpoint pen sitting between his fingers. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth as he glanced at the clock on the wall to his right.

There were exactly four minutes and forty-one seconds left of his current session, which meant he was going to be able to consume some well-deserved caffeine really soon.

His patient, who looked like a grief-ridden, sad mother, was silent. She had finished answering Dottore's questions that he asked near the end of every session and she didn't know what else to add to her replies. Dottore didn't ask any more either as he thought he did everything he could for this week.

As the clock (finally) struck five p.m she quickly got up to her feet and slightly bowed her head,

"Thank you for today, Doctor," she smiled at him.

"Thank you for trusting me, miss," Dottore said, without getting up from his seat. "Remember that your new medication has to be taken differently than the last one. One half in the morning, one half in the evening."

She nodded and walked towards the door, "See you next week."

"See you!" Dottore waved and when the patient closed the door behind herself, he got up as well. He took some slow, unhurried steps towards his coffee machine placed in the back of his office. He reminded himself he should definitely thank the gods for giving him enough space to keep one of the machines within close range of himself.

He poured some coffee into the mug he always drank from, and didn't put any cream or sugar (he always thought the bitter taste was the best part of the drink even if it was disgusting at first).

Dottore walked back to the dark green, leather (bad combination but somehow fits the aesthetic he tries to keep) couches and sat down with the cup in one hand, reaching his other to his notepad.

He carefully, trying not to spill his coffee, turned the pages in his book until he found the timetable for this specific day. As he saw his 17:30 appointment, he felt a flutter deep in his chest. He couldn't wait.

After that, the minutes seemed to pass much faster and before he even knew it, he heard a knock on the glass of his door. He yelled "Come in!" loud enough for it to be audible outside but not too loud to bother anyone else in the building.

His last patient of the day, one he'd always favored more than the others, walked in and sat down across from the doctor.

"Good evening, sir."

"Great to see you today, Scaramouche" Dottore nodded at him as he took his notebook and pen back into his hands. He'd placed his now empty mug on the coffee table separating the two couches. "How have you been doing in the past few weeks? Haven't seen you in a while."

"Fine, I suppose." The man's replies had never been on the longer side, which was still the case. Scaramouche crossed his legs and leaned further into the cushions, trying to make himself more comfortable.

"You know those short answers won't help me a lot here so please, use more than two words," Dottore clicked his pen as if he was about to start writing. "Have your medications finally taken their effects? I remember telling you it might take a few weeks for them to start working."

Scaramouche took a minute to reply, "They've been fine. Not seeing or feeling much of a difference compared to when I wasn't taking them though. Everything's the same," he stopped for a moment after processing what he'd said, "well… almost everything's the same. I just thought it through."

"Something is different, how?" Dottore raised one of his eyebrows.

Scaramouche fidgeted with the ends of his sweater, "I have… some… fantasies."

"Oh? But fantasies aren't harmful or bad things," Dottore looked at him.

"They… involve certain violent behaviors towards people I've never had these thoughts about before" he averted his gaze, focusing on the carpet below his feet.

"Would you like to tell me more about these fantasies? What is the nature of the violence in them?" Dottore was still writing as he asked his questions, uncertain about what he should expect. In the past, Scaramouche has expressed he'd felt specific violent urges when under the influence of alcohol or when he was exceptionally angry. But never in general and that, that was something new.

The man took a deep sigh as if he was trying to calm himself down, "They are of all kinds you could expect. Physical, verbal … even.. Even sexual." he stuttered at the end. "What's wrong with me?"

Dottore clicked his pen again before fully turning to Scaramouche, looking into his eyes deeply, "There's nothing wrong with you, boy. Everyone has immoral thoughts and fantasies. The fact that you're 'scared' of your own makes it look like, to me, that you aren't going to act on them." He said, keeping his eyes on Scaramouche.

Scaramouche took his time before speaking again, his shoulders slightly shaking, "I… Some of them are… calling to me. I keep dreaming about them and they just seem… so real," he sighed. "I want… I want to do them."

"What are those thoughts exactly? I want to know if you or anyone near you could be in danger." Even if Dottore's words were sharp and serious, he couldn't hide the excitement he was feeling. He kept thinking; did his patient's fantasies involve him? Oh, he wished they did.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?" Scaramouche's past anxiety and concerns seemed to have left him completely, his words spoken with much more confidence, his body vibrating with some kind of energy Dottore'd never seen him show. His actions were sudden.

Dottore couldn't wrap his head around the request(?) and sat silently for a while. He could hear his heart pumping loudly in his ears, feeling slightly lightheaded.

Without a second thought, or any thoughts at all, he muttered 'Yes' under his breath and Scaramouche seemed to still hear it. He smiled at the doctor, vibrant and happy.

"Great. May I text you the plans later?"

Dottore just nodded and kept staring at the door the man had already closed behind himself. He wanted to remind him, even if it was too late, that they didn't finish their conversation. Or that their session was still ongoing and would've lasted more than twenty minutes. Or how inappropriate the question and the act it meant was.

Yet, he was still seated on the couch, paper and pen still in his hands, thoughts swimming in many directions at once. He was confused, could feel a small flush on his cheeks, and was just so incredibly excited. He kept glancing at his phone more times than he could count just to see if Scaramouche had already sent him the details.

He couldn't keep the glee off his face.

A few days later, when Dottore had somehow calmed down about Scaramouche's proposition, he got the message he had been waiting for. It was short, really straightforward, and made him want to crawl up to his office's walls.

'meet me at XXXX st. 89. on the 26th by 19:00. don't bring anything besides yourself. dress nicely '

Even the text message was different from the past ones he's received from his patient - before this, they only talked when Scaramouche felt like he was dangerous towards himself and going through something mentally, or just to schedule his appointments with the doctor.

They kept a completely professional relationship and even if Dottore hated to admit, what he'd felt for Scaramouche was definitely not professional. Or appropriate.

Dottore stood still on the porch, ogling at the front door of the house in a neighborhood he'd never been to before. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. It read 18:58 and he was ready to finally ring the bell.

He heard the ring echoing in the hallway connected to the entrance and the door immediately opened, revealing Scaramouche wearing a light brown turtleneck which was tightly hugging around his chest and upper arms. It was like that top had been specifically made for the man to wear. Dottore couldn't keep his eyes off him.

"Hey, Doctor," said Scaramouche with a small grin across his lips.

Dottore blinked, bringing himself back to reality. His palm felt sweaty against the neck of the bottle he'd brought. "Hello. I know you told me not to bring anything but I couldn't just show up with nothing," he smiled. "I hope you like wine."

He couldn't stop thinking about how wrong this was. Or how good it already felt.

"I do, thank you very much. Now, come inside!" Scaramouche urged him and stepped aside.

"Please take your shoes off right here," he pointed a finger to the left and walked through the hallway, glancing back to see if the man was following him. (He obviously was.)

"I'm not the best cook but I prepared dinner for us and I'm sure wine will go well with it!"

Dottore innocently smiled at him and followed him into the kitchen where he saw the table already set for their meal. They walked towards it, where Scaramouche asked him to put the bottle down and to sit down. While Dottore did that, he got both of them a glass of their wine and sat down on the other chair.

Scaramouche poured some of the drink to both of them and was quietly tapping on the table with his free hand.

Dottore looked a bit doubtful across the table.

"I ask this with the most respect I possibly can gather… but why did you ask me to have dinner with you?" his voice didn't hold the same weight it always did during their sessions.

"Do I really need an explanation for that, Doctor?" Scaramouche raised one of his eyebrows. "You are... quite attractive," he said with some kind of hidden meaning Dottore couldn't pick apart - he decided to just go with the flow.

"I'm your psychiatrist, Scaramouche" he sighed. "And I'm also way out of your age group. Isn't that concerning to you? Does it not feel wrong to you?" Even if he was doubting their date (may I remind him, the thing he said yes to, out of selfishness) he didn't look uncomfortable or dissatisfied.

"I know how you look at me, sir." The tapping stopped. "And I saw how... Eager you were to hear about my thoughts the last time we've seen each other even if they were horrible, disgusting thoughts" The way his lips moved was the only thing Dottore could focus on.

"Were you wishing they were about you, Doctor?"

At the puzzled expression on Dottore's face, with the blush that was accompanying it, he knew he had just struck the jackpot. It was too good to be true, too inviting for him not to push the man even further.

"I never told you what they were exactly, did I, Doctor?" he sang the name he'd been using for Dottore. He knew the man was into it.

To Dottore, this was all an out-of-body experience. He could feel the sweat on his temples and on his palm, in which he was holding a fork. His hands were too shaky to start cutting the metal and he was so, so curious. Excitement was running deep in his blood, desire climbing in his stomach as if it was some kind of amber growing on the sides of a house.

He was losing his mind by the second. He couldn't help it, but nod, wanting to hear Scaramouche explain every dirty, evil fantasy he may have.

"Well… there's all kinds as I said, if you remember" he didn't wait for Dottore's answer. He knew the man would immediately remember their last conversation.

"I've fantasized about doing all kinds of things to you." A cold shiver ran down Dottore's spine and he kept looking at Scaramouche with wide eyes, breathing a little faster than before.

Dottore didn't even notice Scaramouche had stood up, only that his face was closer to his own. Scaramouche tapped on the table, completely leaving his meal to cool on the side. This was more important.

"I want to hurt you. In so many… so many different ways." In the way Dottore looked at him, he knew he had to elaborate.

"Do you see that big, shiny knife on the wall?" he pointed behind himself and watched Dottore take the picture in, gulping once.

"I want to draw your blood out with that. I could open you up … so gently. I want to crawl inside your flesh and become one with you" he smiled. He'd never said these thoughts out loud before and to see how into it the man was, filled him with happiness.

"You.. you," Dottore was stuttering. The intense emotion he felt all over his body and which of all was seeming to gather around his crotch. He was trying to think of what to say.

"You thought this all through, didn't you?"

"Of course, I did, sir." Scaramouche still kept reminding him of the imbalance between them, keeping the formalities. He knew it was driving Dottore crazy and oh, how right he was.

"But you don't want to hear more?" He asked, innocently even though they both knew it was everything but innocent.

"Oh, you do. Look at you, Doctor" Scaramouche placed his free hand, the one he wasn't using to lean on the table, on Dottore's chest, his palm softly feeling the heartbeat of the man under his shirt. "You want this."

Dottore felt so dirty, so wrong yet so right. He wanted this. More than anything. For so long. Why did he fight so hard against it?

"Sometimes I wonder how it'd feel like to be one and the same as you. Even though, we already kinda are, aren't we? We both have desires, we feel, we hurt, we are human. We are almost one." The effects of Scaramouche's words were freaking Dottore out.

"And yet, we are still so different. Don't you want to change that?" He asked the man and lowered his hand from Dottore's chest to his stomach, feeling around the fabric of his shirt.

He couldn't wait to get his hands under it. He couldn't wait to see the skin painted red.

"I want to crawl inside your ribcage and feel every single breath you take. I want to taste you everywhere." Scaramouche knew this would be it, he knew Dottore was just way too into their entire situation not to give in by this point.

"Please," Dottore's voice was raspy and shaky but filled with need. He was ready to do anything Scaramouche had told him to do.

"Oh, Doctor?" Scaramouche's mouth twitched as if he was questioning the man's whim. "Didn't take you for someone so… needy."

Dottore looked away from his face, feeling shameful, "Please," he said again.

Dottore could feel the hand move away from his stomach yet he didn't expect Scaramouche to grab him by the chin, averting his gaze back to his own face.

"Kiss me like you mean it, Doctor," his words were sharp. "And then… I will think about giving you what you want" he lowered his arm.

Dottore gathered all the confidence he could and clumsily got up from the chair he'd been sitting on, feeling like his legs could give out at any moment. He placed the fork he was holding onto the table and reached for Scaramouche's cheek. His eyes were constantly alternating between the man's eyes and mouth. He could feel his own mouth water.

He slowly leaned down to take Scaramouche's lips with his own and the man immediately tried to deepen their kiss. He licked Dottore's bottom lip and he opened his mouth further without a second thought. Scaramouche's tongue felt wet against his own and tasted so, so good.

Dottore couldn't help but moan into their kiss, needing, wanting more.

Scaramouche suddenly ended it and looked up into Dottore's eyes. "I think you deserve me, sir."

Dottore was more than thrilled to hear that and blindly followed the man back to the bedroom. He wasn't paying attention to anything at all besides the smaller figure moving in front of him.

When they reached the room, Dottore sat down on the bed, his legs weak, his entire body on fire. He didn't feel ready for this yet he was so terribly, painfully aroused. He couldn't do anything besides anticipate what the other would do to him. Hearing parts of his fantasies had already made Dottore lose his mind. What could living them do to him?

He couldn't wait to find out.

"Oh, so you want me to take the lead, Doctor?" Scaramouche stood in front of him, one of his hands on his hip, slightly sticking it to the side.

"You want me so bad, don't you?" Dottore nodded.

"You want me to show you my fantasies, not just tell you about them, do you?" Dottore nodded again but it was more certain than the last.

Scaramouche started to take his turtleneck off slowly, keeping his eyes on the doctor as he removed the clothing on himself. He didn't reach out to do the same to him and didn't say anything, so Dottore sat still on the bed, struggling to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to touch Scaramouche's milky skin so badly and wanted to linger his palms around anything he could reach. He wanted to take the same journey as his hands with his mouth.

"Do you want to touch me?" Dottore was ready to answer but Scaramouche stopped him, "or do you want me to touch you?" He forgot that was even an option. Based on his reaction, Scaramouche knew his answer and stepped closer.

His hands reached to the top of Dottore's shirt and they slowly, carefully started unbuttoning the top. As Scaramouche got lower on his chest, he stopped in his motions as he stuck his hands between the man's chest and the fabric of his shirt. He pinched both of Dottore's nipples which rewarded him with a small yelp, the rising of the chest under his hands taking up a faster pace.

Dottore couldn't keep his eyes off the boy. Couldn't stop focusing on the warmth the fingers placed on his nipples made him feel. Couldn't stop focusing on his arousal.

He was so, so painfully hard.

And Scaramouche definitely knew, since he suddenly took his hands away and left the shirt the same way. He looked Dottore up and down, stopping his gaze at the man's groin.

He palmed his cock, feeling it in his hand.

Dottore let out a moan or a whine, he didn't even know anymore what was what. All he knew is how he wanted that hand on his skin now.

And Scaramouche definitely knew, again and again, what effects he had. He took his hand away and used the other to make Dottore lie on the bed.

"Raise your hip, sir," he said and Dottore immediately obeyed his words, obediently raising his entire lower body. Scaramouche placed his hands on the man's sides and slowly took his pants off at the same time as his briefs. The warm air of the room instantly hit Dottore's now-free penis, making it twitch.

Dottore lowered his body, lying on the bed almost entirely naked yet the man, who was currently checking him out, was still in his jeans that hugged his small, thin thighs so well.

He kept staring.

Dottore could feel the bed sinking on his right, seeing Scaramouche sitting up next to him. He was about to speak when he felt fingers, especially nails, caressing his exposed skin. But the fingers didn't wander further up, instead, they dug into his flesh, drawing lines of red, fresh blood.

He whined again, feeling another moan in his throat as the man continued the earlier caressing, now, a damaged canvas.

He finally, finally, reached Dottore's crotch and wrapped the same hand around his cock. He gave the length some weak, slow pumps before he leaned down to blow some air onto the head. Dottore moaned and his cock was throbbing in Scaramouche's hand.

"Please, please," he started to beg. "Please use your mouth on me."

"Your wish is my command, sir…" Scaramouche muttered above Dottore's cock and finally let it into his warm mouth. The hand he had wrapped around it has now moved to hold the man's hips, joined by his other hand as well, to stop Dottore from thrusting.

The cock lay heavily against Scaramouche's tongue, the pre-come tasting slightly salty and bitter in his mouth. He moved his head down slowly, his tongue drawing wet circles on the sides.

Scaramouche took one of his hands off the man's hips to cup his balls as he was sucking on his cock, his other hand holding the hips so hard his fingertips were definitely leaving red marks on Dottore's skin. He looked up, aiming his eyes at the man's face.

Dottore's eyes were forcefully closed, his mouth wide open as he was moaning the other's name. His hands were gripping the sheets on both sides, making it messy underneath both of them.

As Scaramouche continued his movements and increased the tempo over time, he could feel how desperately Dottore needed to come - and how desperately close he was to it. So, with a sudden movement, he took off the man completely, his mouth leaving with a 'pop!' sound from the wet, warm skin. He licked his lips and straightened his back.

"Can’t have you coming yet, can we?" Scaramouche smiled at Dottore, his eyes fixated on his face. Dottore opened his eyes as soon as he felt his orgasm be denied from him and he was pleadingly looking at Scaramouche. "Begging won't help you this time. I must have some fun as well, shouldn't I?"

Dottore was trying to calm his breathing before talking, "Do… do whatever you wish to do with me."

"Oh yeah?" Scaramouche brought both of his hands to Dottore's chest, leaning further again from his past position of sitting on his knees. "You'd let me do anything to you?"

"Yes, yes, anything," Dottore said without hesitation. "Please."

Scaramouche couldn't believe how easily he got the older man wrapped around his fingers, begging for more, begging to be touched. Oh, how proud it made him feel, how it sent flashes of excitement through his body.

He slowly finished unbuttoning the shirt Dottore had decided to wear for their date. It was quite nice, he thought, a light shade of blue with way too many buttons.

"For now, you can't touch me at all just like when I had my mouth on you, understood?" He waited until he could certainly see Dottore nod a silent yes with his head. "Good boy."

The word 'boy' made a shiver run down Dottore's spine. In his head, he'd been the scary, old man, taking advantage of a young man - but now? He felt like they switched places and his arousal started to rise again, making his cock lie heavily on his skin. Sweat was dripping down his neck, his forehead, and any body part he could think of. He was burning.

Scaramouche now fully placed himself on his knees, placing his face on Dottore's chest. One of his hands was caressing, then carefully but strongly pinching the man's side, the other held his shoulders to the bed.

After a while of leaving small marks across the flaming skin underneath his fingers, he lifted his head up and immediately leaned down to bite into the skin above Dottore's collarbone. After the first bite, the man couldn't hold back any moans or whimpers Scaramouche was making him let out.

After the first bite, many more followed it across the man's entire torso. Scaramouche was biting fresh wounds into his flesh.

His hand, which had been previously moving around his sides, was now gripping his left thigh, where he'd left bruises earlier. Dottore could feel his entire body becoming sore after this but he couldn't even convince himself this would ever end - and he didn't want it to.

When the boy reached near the lower end of his stomach, he licked his way all up to Dottore's jawline, making the man shiver under his tongue.

"Do you want to fuck me, Doctor?" Scaramouche muttered his question into the flesh of Dottore's neck, making sure his breath was vibrating the skin but still making him hear.

"Yes, please, let me," Dottore blabbered. He couldn't take it for much longer.

"Keep your eyes on me. I'm going to get myself ready for you." Scaramouche said as he got up from the bed, going around to take a bottle of lubricant out of the bedside table, and walked right back to where he sat before. Before sitting back on the bed, he slowly removed all the remaining clothes he was wearing.

He sat back, the bed sinking beneath his weight again but this time, he was fully seated and not on his knees. He opened his legs to show everything to Dottore.

He opened the bottle of lube and poured a significant amount of it onto two of his fingers, immediately guiding them into the warmth of his hole.

Dottore noticed how easy that movement was when the realization struck him - Scaramouche had prepared himself before their date. This was all for a show.

Scaramouche moaned, lowly and quietly. "I wish your fingers were inside of me instead of my own but oh. You are a desperate, hungry man. You would get too excited, wouldn't you?"

He was right.

Dottore watched him work himself more and more open, his eyes wide, breathing quickly through his nose. His lips were bloody from being bitten too hard - he'd bruised them when he was still trying to keep himself in check.

When Scaramouche added a third finger, Dottore moaned, he couldn't stop watching the way the boy's own fingers thrust, moving in and out of his ass, making a wet sound with each movement.

Scaramouche removed his fingers with a long hiss, looking at Dottore to see how the man's eyes were on him.

He was so turned on himself as well, his erection lying heavily against his stomach, already leaking, painfully hard. He gave himself a little pump and moaned lowly.

Scaramouche reached for the bottle of lube and poured some onto Dottore's now, almost purple cock. He put the bottle to the side and positioned himself above the man, aiming the rock-hard dick toward his pulsating entrance.

He slowly sat down onto the man, his butt making a 'plap!' sound as it hit the sweaty skin of Dottore's thighs. His hands were tracing along the man's torso again, for the millionth time, his nails scratching the cuts and bruises he'd left earlier.

Dottore's grip was still strong on the sheets as if his arms were stuck in the specific position. The veins on his forearms were visible against his skin and Scaramouche fought the urge to slit them open.

"You can touch me now, Doctor," he said, leaving his hands to rest on Dottore's chest. He slightly moved his hip up, then down again - sinking onto the cock as deep as he could.

Dottore immediately moved his hands, they were shaky and sweaty but so strong as they held Scaramouche down. He raised his hips slightly, thrusting into the boy. Both of them moaned.

Dottore was still out of his mind, but he started thrusting even though it was definitely uncomfortable for his body. All he needed was to be as deep inside Scaramouche as he possibly could. He needed to fuck into him, senselessly, leaving bruises on the boy's skin but he knew this wasn't the time. This time, he was desperate and would take anything Scaramouche gave him.

"Please, Dottore, deeper," Scaramouche hissed at the movement he was forced to feel. The doctor was obedient and pushed so deep into him, Scaramouche could feel his mouth drop open to let out a loud moan. His fists clenched.

"More, more, give it to me" he hurried Dottore. But, at the same time as the man, he also moved. Their timing was somehow off but it still gave even more pleasure to Scaramouche.

Sweat was rolling down his face, his entire body feeling the burning desire that'd been sitting in his stomach until now. His cock was moving with his body, so close to coming.

“Come inside me, Doctor, c'monn, I know you want to come” he hissed, their bodies making filthy sounds, skin on skin sounding obscene to innocent ears. The room smelled of sweat and sex.

Dottore came with a final, deep thrust into Scaramouche's hole which then made the boy spill all over their bodies as well. Scaramouche whined as he came. He slid his hands across the man's torso, picked some of his own cum up with his fingers, and licked it while looking deeply into Dottore's eyes.

Both of them were gasping for air, and Scaramouche was still seated on his cock. As he got off slowly, he immediately lay down next to Dottore, who put one of his arms high enough so Scaramouche could put his head on top of the man's arm.

There was come leaking out of Scaramouche's butt, tiny spots of blood all over Dottore's torso and both of his thighs, but they both felt content enough not to move.

When they both calmed down, God knows after how much time, Scaramouche glanced at the man's face. Wrinkles were sitting on the edges of his features, some spare hairs still sitting on the man's jaw. He looked completely different from this close and Scaramouche couldn't get enough of the sight.

He reached a hand out to Dottore's cheek to make the man face him and smiled when he felt them making eye contact.

"Sir."

"I hope you know how much of an unprofessional thing this was to do" Dottore sighed, raising his hand to caress Scaramouche's bare side.

"You regret saying yes, sir?" Scaramouche blinked at him.

"I never said that exactly," Dottore smiled slightly and leaned down to place a small kiss on the boy's lips. "Definitely don't regret it."

"Good."

Scaramouche wiggled around to push his body up enough to be able to kiss the man fiercely, putting everything he felt into that small gesture alone.

Dottore smiled against his mouth before kissing him back.