InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "It was an honest mistake."

The Doctor (fromgallifrey) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-07-04 00:47:00

Entry tags:

!complete, day 14, location: carnival, open, remy lebeau, the doctor (ten)

Day 14: Mid-Morning, the Carnival
Who: The Doctor and OTA
What: Experiencing the effects of the additives
Where: The Carnival
When: 9:46 AM
Rating: TBD (though, to be honest, if we hit PG-13, I'd be totally amazed. Yeah, that's a challenge, Jack :-P)

Status: Complete

Reminder: The Carnival is the site of the sex-inducing chemical additives

There was something amazing about the quiet solitude of the carnival. Perhaps it was that the Doctor had managed to feel cramped and underfoot for nearly five days straight now, an experience he was neither used to nor open to. He missed his TARDIS terribly with it's infinite rooms and general occupancy limit of 3. Sure, sometimes it exceeded three people; but, even then it was so rare there were enough people there for the Time Lord to feel like everyone and everything was in the way. Though, even when there were more than three people his guests generally tried to stay out of his way - which was more than he could say for the people in the museum or the barn. No, the Doctor was not used to having to share his space.

The Doctor had woke up in the back of his bright yellow bumper car. He'd navigated from the pavillion out to the main trail and around the bend to the merry-go-round. He wasn't hungry, not yet any way. Though, from the looks of it he'd managed to sleep pretty late. The sun was already pretty far down in the sky. Hopping up onto the ride's platform, the Doctor settled down into the bench. It was another day in the indestructable glass bubble. There were so many people he'd managed to avoid the day before. Jack, Sarah, Remy, Shannon, Sid, Sam, Tonks... Hell, he'd avoided everyone except that new guy. He'd dug himself a nice, neat little hole, put himself in it and hidden. It was so entirely unlike him that as the Doctor thought about it, he couldn't help but annoy himself. What was he hiding from?

Clicking his tongue on his teeth the Doctor tried to ignore the growing sensation of annoyance and like magic, it seemed to fade away. He didn't like the way he'd been acting, but the more he thought about it if he managed to find someone and dance he might just feel better. Yes, dancing, would make him feel much more comfortable. The Doctor's brow furrowed. He was confused. Dancing didn't have anything to do with feeling impotent or ineffective. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Taking a deep breath. the Doctor's mind sizzled. "Oh.. Oh, no..." He scratched the top of his head. "Oh, come on!" He yowled. There was an additive in the air. It was potent and precise. He could feel it working on his brain and his endochrine system. "Oh, you slimey buggers," he mumbled, clinching his jaw. He'd just have to wait it out; sooner or later this all had to wear off. Of that, the Doctor was certain. Hopefully he'd be left to the solitude of his Merry Go Round.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 06:16 am UTC (link)

Remy had woken up next to Jenny. It'd been great. They'd laid together on his Giant-Couch-Of-Doom (it was Queen sized.. it was amazing), and talked, and had twinkies for breakfast.. but she had eventually headed off, and Gambit had been left alone in his barn, on his Giant-Couch-Of-Doom (GCOD for short) and had very quickly gotten rather bored. He'd relaxed all day yesterday, he was done relaxing. He was rested and healed and.. well.. Bored. So he'd flipped through that journal lazily and came across the Doctor's post. The Carnival? What was going on there? Why was he staying away? And.. why was he hungry all the sudden?

He breathed in deeply and looked around.. then broke out into a smile and shook his head. Man, he was hungrier than he had been this morning. What was up with that? He laughed then and shook his head a second time. Silly Remy. Stop thinking about food.. and sex. And eating the food off of Jenny's stomach. Oh, that'd be nice. His head slowly tilted to the side as he imagined it-- wait, that was a little too vivid. Oh, God. Was he hallucinating? Oh, fuckitall. He landed a well-placed smack to his face. Something was very wrong here. The Doctor had to be having the same problems.. so the Cajun was tugging on the duplicate of the Doctor's coat and was heading out of the barn, rolling his shoulders as he went.

It would be a ten minute walk to the carnival, but during the walk there, he'd definitely realized that something was in the air. He'd gotten increasingly more hungry, then he'd hallucinated a bit more (about what? Eating off of Jenny's naked body.. then eating off of Jack's naked body.. Where had that come from?). The image, though, had eventually turned into him laughing and waving it away with his hand, as if it were a bug he could knock away. Something was very, very wrong here.

By the time he got to the carnival, the hunger had passed, the chattering to no one in particular had passed, the laughing had passed, and the hallucinating had passed. What had not passed was the fact that he wanted to have sex with the next person that crossed his path. And luckily (or unluckily) for him, he was coming around the bend and walking up on the poor Doctor, just five or so feet behind him.

And now he wanted to have sex with the Doctor. Oh, he could picture that.. that'd be nice. Mmm..

NO!

"Docteur?" The thick Cajun accent battered the lighter language, but it always seemed to make his tone lighter, too. Airy. And with the gas in the air? It had come out a bit more husky. Sex with words. The Cajun, all the time, was sex on legs, and in this state? Well. It only got worse. He was quite lucky he'd stumbled on the Doctor and not someone weaker. Because that could have been a very bad thing, to stumble upon Jack.. or Jenny.. or Ianto.. or Laura.. or George.. or Dean.. or Shannon.. or-- Ugh, don't think about it, Cajun.

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 06:26 am UTC (link)

It was quiet. Still so blissfully quiet. In the middle of a carnival a Time Lord sat on a bench on a Merry Go Round that never moved. Well, it could have moved once upon a time; but, as far as the crazy haired Gallifreyan was concerned the damned thing never moved. The Horses never went up and down. The spinning did not occur and there was never any hanky-panky on this bench. This bench was chaste. It was reserved for old people. Old, impotent people. Eunuchs. Yes.

The Doctor was starting to think about how nice it was to be still and alone and still and alone. And Still. And Alone. When he'd heard a Cajun voice. The Doctor froze. Didn't anyone understand that when he said to stay away they ought to stay away? He held his breath. He held it a very long time. So long, in fact that his respiratory bipass had switched itself into gear and he really didn't feel the need to breathe.

Maybe if he stayed very, very still the Cajun wouldn't recognize him? He wouldn't come near to him. He wouldn't talk to him. He wouldn't touch him. He wouldn't dance with him.

"Gambit, you stay right where you are!" The Doctor barked, still not moving. If he didn't move he'd be fine. He'd be just fine right where he was. He'd be fantastic and the gas would wear off and he wouldn't ever think of that hug from the Cajun in this way again. Ever. Never. Never ever.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 06:40 am UTC (link)

Oh, the Doctor was so wrong. What happened when you told a child not to do something? They did it immediately. And this young man was hardly a man yet, though he had the body and the drive that made a man appear to be a man, he was still just a boy who liked to play. Who liked to romp. And who liked to dance. The Doctor wasn't safe.

"Non, Docteur, 'dere somet'in' goin' on wit' 'dis place, I ain' feelin' so ho' an' 'de ot'ers all star'in' t' laugh an prance 'roun'. An' I t'ink 'dis place go' somet'in' makin' me really wanna.. jus'.. jump you." Yes, Doctor, Gambit had just announced he wanted to have sex with you. And he was using calm, measured, graceful steps (wow, he was even walking like he was stalking prey) to carry him in the direction of the much older man. He was still feeling a little chatty, as could easily be heard. Which just made it a bit worse, because that voice. That accent. The red-head knew what he was and what he did to people, all kinds of people. And he was very aware that in this state, he was probably oozing sex from his pores. And honestly? Right now, he was hoping that the Doctor decided he was simply too much Cajun to resist.

Because he would definitely be okay with the Doctor giving him a complete physical right now.

"'De whole place ain' like 'dis place, Docteur. D'autres endroits ne me font pas se sentir tellement comme je veux avoir le sexe." Of course, the use of French had been deliberate, to get the Doctor's attention. He couldn't stop himself from doing it! Man, he hoped it worked. Then again, he hoped it didn't. He was sort of hoping the Doctor would run away from him.. then come back and beg to be taken up against that carousel. The horses could all watch..

NO! Enough! Bad! Stupid Remy. Enough.

Oh, man. This was hard-- he was-- NO!

"C'mon, Docteur, gotta ge' 'de Hell outta here." That was said a little more urgently. He didn't want to stay in this place any longer.. unless he was having sex. Maybe Jenny would stop by. And Jack. He was totally okay with a foursome. Mm.. No!

[*Translation: Other places don't make me feel so much like I want to have sex.]

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 06:53 am UTC (link)

From the corner of his eye (yes, the Doctor was currently refusing to look the Cajun dead on) the Time Lord watched and listened as the Cajun literally used the phrase 'jump you.' The Doctor blinked. Once. Twice. Three Times. Why did the Cajun have to say that? Slowly he shifted in his seat, seeing the slow advance of the Cajun. This was just wrong on so many levels. So very, very wrong.

A hand raised from his side and less than gingerly ruffled the hair on top of his head. Even his scalp felt tingly, felt desirous of touch. Right now, the Time Lord wanted the Cajun's touch. Gah! No! He did NOT want that. He would NOT want that. Shift, pout, eunuchs. Cold showers. The Sontarans. Pears. Guns. Davros. Remy. Remy's hands. Remy's lips. GAH!

The Cajun slipped into French and the Doctor perceived innately what the Cajun was trying to do. Fortunately red-eyed man was not a 3'5" blonde in Victorian Garb with a hair style named after her. Unfortunately, that didn't mean the Doctor couldn't think about how very long it'd been since he'd been really touched by anyone. Remy had said that he saw him. Did that mean he could touch him too?

The Doctor shot up like he'd been smacked in the face, moving so that the bench was now between he and Gambit. "I can't get any closer to you," the Doctor said very matter of factly given the circumstances. "You can't come any closer to me, either."

His hands were white knuckled as he gripped the green painted wood. "So, you're going to turn around and walk right back out of here."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 07:15 am UTC (link)

"Non." The Cajun purred that word out like a lazy, sunbathing house cat might, his eyes falling half-closed with the effort it took to speak, as if the very act had made him tired. "C'mon, Docteur.. Ain' gon' bi'e." Or, he could bite, if the Doctor liked it. Oh, he could hear that now. The Doctor moaning under him? Writhing and begging for--

NO!

Fuck! Yes.. NO! No fuck! Fuck! SHIT! Stop it! He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head some. Clearly, Doctor, he was having the same bad thoughts you were having right now, but he was obviously trying to stop himself. Unfortunately, that was impossible, and he opened those red eyes and slunk closer, leaning to grip the back of the bench too, though his knees hit the seat of it and he was unable to come any closer than that-- this also made him a good foot shorter than the Time Lord, because of the way he he had to lean and bend to grip that bench.

"You gon' walk wit' me, Docteur." Once again, he was purring the words out and he took a moment to wet his lips, licking his chops before the feast. You were the feast, Doctor. No! Kittens with spikes on them! Sour milk still sitting in the fridge! Laura's rotting corpse...! Okay, maybe that wasn't as bad as it could have been. Hm. That might feel-- NO! SHIT.

"'Dere a place make you laugh, ain' make you horny like 'dis place. C'mon." He insisted again. The words 'come on' came out in more of a whining, pleading tone. Almost a moan, really. God, that was pathetic. You were pathetic, Remy. He leaned closer, all boneless grace and lethargy.

"Ain' leavin' wit'ou' you."

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 07:28 am UTC (link)

"Non?!" The Doctor howled. This was not a time to be stubborn, Remy! Even Time Lords have their limits. They have large brains and two hearts and a complex system of hormones and endochrine functions. They have needs. Needs. The Doctor winced. Slytheen. Weeping Angels. Rivers of lime jello. Flatulence.

"I know, I know you have this thing, this thing about leaving people or being left or whatever," sure, that came out harshly; but, that wasn't the Doctor's intent. This was a desperate time and it called for measures equally so. Remy had leaned over, his hands so very, very close as he gripped the bench. Not of his own free will the Gallifreyan's hand slipped just an inch closer, close enough that the edge of his palm made contact with the Cajuns. Just that teenie, tiny little bit of contact. The Doctor took a deep breath, pushing his hand back to it's proper place by sheer force of will. He would continue holding on to the bench thank you, and not the Cajun's anything. There would be no more touching of the red-eyed Devil, thank you very much.

"I will not be walking with you, Remy," the Doctor said coldly. That took effort. The Doctor's gaze was absolutely smoldering with concentration. He would be fine. He could wait this out. Eventually the Cajun would get bored and give up and walk back the way he'd come. It would work. It had to.

"How about you go and I'll meet you there?" The Doctor squinted a moment as he bent over, his face parallel with the mutant's. "You need to go. Now." Yes, Remy, he was serious. Serious as a Time Lord with A LOT of repressed desire.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 07:39 am UTC (link)

"Non." He agreed simply, while the Doctor sounded so indignant about the whole thing. Talk about a contrast in personalities. It was just the way they were handling the situation. It had been almost nine hundred years for the Doctor. It had been a month for the Cajun. But he wanted it just as badly.

"Don' be mean, chere.." The endearment was chimed out in almost a scold, but it was a husky, sex-laced tone. Sex with words, Doctor. How long could you resist that? Remy, really, was doing a rather good job at resisting. He hadn't lept over the bench yet, though he clearly could have, at any moment. He hadn't tackled the Doctor down. And he hadn't started tearing his clothes off yet. Mostly because he had will-power, and the other party had to want it, or he wasn't nearly as interested. He liked willing lovers. He liked very willing lovers.

And when that hand brushed against his, then pulled away, the Cajun took the chance to slide that same gloved hand out and cover the Doctor's with his on, curling his fingers down and holding on tightly. There'd be no pulling away now, Time Lord. You were caught by the next step of evolution for the human race. Fitting, no?

"Gon' go wit' me, Docteur. An' you gon' stop complainin'. An' you gon' do it now.." But unlike the other man's tone, Remy's wasn't heated or demanding, not cold, not angry.. simply confident. Sure of himself. Languid, lush tones. He was positive that he'd be leaving with the other man attached to him.

But the Doctor made a mistake -- a huge, monumental mistake -- when he leaned his face that close to the Cajun's. Remy had willpower, but he wasn't as strong as the blue-suited man, not by any means. And when the other man's face came so close, he leaned in and pressed his mouth warmly (firmly) against the Time Lord's.

How's that for repressed desire?

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 07:55 am UTC (link)

The reason the Doctor managed to continue to sound so harsh about the entire prospect was because he thought that would probably be the only way to manage to fight the Cajun off. He could whine and beg and plead, and the Doctor was amazingly certain that would not stop the Cajun. However, when it came to anger an rudeness and bluntness perhaps the Cajun would listen. Right?

'Don't be mean,' the mutant said languidly. Why couldn't it have been someone else? Anyone else? Someone with whom he hadn't had a very emotionally intimate moment? Someone who's sheer force of will and ego rivaled his own? Suddenly he was wishing that maybe Tonks had come trotting around the corner. He could talk her out of this whole cat and mouse game, couldn't he? He could. He totally could. Instead, he wound up with this force of nature on his hands. Literally.

As the Cajun's hand settled down on top of his own the Doctor felt pinned. He hated that the mutant was so good at ensnaring him, it actually made the Doctor groan. "I'm not going any place that involves me being any closer to you than this." To be closer than this would be devastating. It would be impossible. It would be hedonistic.

The Doctor hadn't realized his mistake until it was too late. He'd intended to level with the Cajun in a manner where his look alone said 'LEAVE.' It worked with the Sontarans and the Vashta Narada. It worked with a few species of Pixies and the inhabitants of Gorico Seven. With Remy Lebeau, however, it had been a challenge. Dammit.

The Cajun pressed his mouth to the Time Lord's and it was all the Doctor could do to reach up with his free hand and grasp the other around the collar. For a moment he was actually holding him there, that itchy spot in the back of his head enjoying that momentary scratch. Even if he didn't get to dance often, it didn't mean that he didn't know how. In fact, he was a marvelous dancer, thank you.

The pressing of lips didn't last long as the Time Lord, again through strength that boiled up from his belly, pushed away with that hand and now held the Cajun back at arm's length. "I won't lie and say that was bad. I will say it's not a good idea," his words blurted as he caught his breath.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 08:06 am UTC (link)

When the other man had pressed into the kiss, the Cajun had let out a low rumble in his throat and he'd turned his head some, encouraging the kiss on. Thankfully, the Doctor had taken that moment to shove him back. It was a good thing, because that kiss would have certainly gone places that it really didn't need to. And Remy let his eyes droop to half-lidded again as he let out that same rumbling noise from his throat again. It was a pleased sort of sound. A very pleased sound. And his other gloved hand lifted and curled around the Doctor's arm, just below the elbow, and he held on. Now he had both of the Time Lord's arms trapped.

"Non, no' uh goo' i'ea.." His accent thickened some with desire. But he was slowly shifting his body, and taking steps to the right, pulling that hand away from the bench and holding onto it as he did, while he held onto the Doctor's arm with the other hand, tugging him along with him, so that the alien would have to take steps to the left, to match the mutant's movements. "Wan' you real ba', Docteur." He insisted again, as they got to the end of the bench, and the red-head gave a little tug and pulled them both away from it, so nothing was between their bodies now. And that was when he stepped back and used the hand holding the Doctor's hand, to haul backwards and pull the shorter man in against him (he pushed his opposite hand against that elbow, to force it to bend at the same time), much too close for comfort. The matching coats knocked into each other at the same time that their bodies did, and Gambit was sliding that now-free hand around the Doctor's waist and holding him in tight, taking smooth steps back as he did.

This way, he was forcing the Doctor to be an extended part of his body, every movement smooth and fluid, because the Cajun forced it to be so-- he even turned them after a few steps, so he was the one walking the Doctor backwards. But regardless, they were walking away from the Carnival, out into the street and down the road, slowly but surely. "You t'inkin' 'bou' dea' puppies, Docteur, or how goo' you feel if you un'er me righ' now?" The words were breathed out near the other man's cheek, as he paced them further away.

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 08:23 am UTC (link)

That rumbling noise? That one right there? That was almost enough for the Doctor to lose his resolve mostly because that damned chemical would have turned anything he sensed into encouragement. Remy could have jumped back sputtering and to the Time Lord it would have seemed like a call for more.

"Good to know we're on the same page," the Doctor heaved. His eyes kept playing this game of trickling down to the Cajun's mouth and back up again where they'd set with that same steely stubbornness once again. He didn't need nor want the Cajun to tell him in as many words what he wanted. The Doctor already knew what he wanted. It was the chemicals. All the chemicals. Hell, it was the chemicals that made the Doctor be allowed to be dragged about like a rag doll all the sudden by the other man who had him by merely an inch.

The Cajun thought he had him, didn't he? He thought he'd managed to get the Time Lord under control. No one controlled the Time Lord, they just had the appearance of control. Control he let them have. Well, the Doctor, still quite under the influence of the gas had plans of his own.

Pushes and pulls and a certain amount of navigation by the mutant was tolerated only because the Time Lord had been working out his timing very effectively. He'd been waiting his turn and biding the moments until... "Under you?" The Doctor breathed, kicking out a heel and pivoting so that the forward momentum of the Cajun would leave the other man turning as the Doctor served as a fulcrum.

The Doctor held on to the lapels of Gambit's coat, the one he knew so well, as his careful planning landed the red-eyed man back first into a tree where the Doctor had him pinned quite effectively. "I think you have the roles a bit backward here, Cajun," said the Doctor in a tone not often heard. The words were dripping from his lips as they brushed the Cajun's jaw. Hormones. Adrenaline. Chemicals. They were all mixing and telling the Doctor to just go ahead and take what he wanted. For a moment he did. Lips claiming the Cajun's for his own in a heavy, hot kiss before he abruptly pushed away. That was enough.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 08:36 am UTC (link)

It wasn't enough. The Doctor had tripped him up (which was hard to do to the Cajun, even in this hazy state) and had spun him around rather easily, because Remy was maneuverable right now, understandably. But then he'd been slammed back into that tree and it drew a groan deep in his throat, which echoed into the Time Lord's mouth as he kissed the red-head pinned to the bark of that tree.

Gambit gave as good as he got, pushing into the kiss and gripping at the Doctor's matching lapels -- until the Doctor pushed away.

And was very immediately pulled back in against the taller man. It was a power struggle now, more than anything else. Mouths met again and Remy was stepping into the older man, using his body to press him into walking backwards once again, out into the street-- tripping over the little curb, sorry, Doctor, don't mind it.

Then in mid-stride, the Cajun was deciding that they were both very over-dressed, and he was gripping those lapels harder and jerking it up then back, forcing it over the Doctor's shoulders and down to his elbows, where instead of pulling it off the rest of the way, he actually twisted it around to trap the Time Lord's elbows in against one another, effectively trapping his arms behind him. While one hand held onto the twisted trench, the other arm slipped around the thinner man's back, and they were stepping up over the curb across the street just in time for Gambit to slam the Doctor's back into a tree near a bench that looked like it could have been for a bus stop. But they were only paces away from the museum.. so the two gasses would very quickly begin to mingle.

But would they mingle fast enough, or was Gambit going to get the Doctor's shirt untucked? He was working on that right now, in fact.

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 08:54 am UTC (link)

Good reflexes. Great reflexes. It was like a little gift of evolution. Or, well, just one of those things that came with being a Gallifreyan. Or, perhaps it just came with time. Either way, it wasn't so hard to trip a Cajun when they seemed to want to be. It was even easier to consume the Cajun's lips when they seemed to want that to happen, too.

The Doctor, however, tried to be clear that deep, deep down he knew that this was good for neither of them; that was why he'd pushed backward and severed the kiss. The Doctor had managed the presence of mind to stop at that kiss; yet, he didn't manage the same as Remy yanked him back into him again. More pushing, more pulling. That was just, simply put, unsatisfactory. When was the mutant going to learn that the Doctor would not be controlled in this manner?

The Cajun was pulling at his jacket, tugging it away, trying to remove layers between them. The Doctor, however, was very insistent in his own mind that layers were good, they needed layers. They especially needed layers that were not being used as methods of restraint. The Doctor growling into the Cajun's mouth. If there was anything he disliked most about the Cajun it was an uncanny ability to want to contain him. It was annoying.

The press of the other into him against the tree made the Doctor think a moment. He could still use his legs. He could still use his weight. He could still win and get the Cajun off of him. He could do it, he could manage to ignore the white hot fire in his head and his gut. He could most certainly forget about how good this entire thing felt. It may have felt good, but it was a very bad idea.

The Doctor kicked off the tree, pressing against the Cajun as he forced the other to move. Gambit might be able to hold onto the Doctor's arms with one hand for now; but wait until this move was complete. The bench now directly behind the mutant; the Doctor, with a shift of his hips, hooked his calf in behind the other's knee, pulling backward with it and forcing the bend as he leaned his shoulder into the other, the carefully choreographed plan to make the other sit on the bench.

"Enough, Remy," the Doctor ordered.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-07-04 09:05 am UTC (link)

Oh, the Doctor was so good at that. And Gambit was moved relatively easily once again, pressing his body into the heat of the other man's, before he was sunk onto the bench. He might have gotten up to go after the Time Lord again, but the use of his given name caused bleary eyes to snap up again and lock onto brown, studying hard as if warring with himself over a decision he was trying to make. Ultimately, logic won out. It was obvious because of the groan he let out, and the way he toppled over onto his side on the bench, lifelessly crumpling onto the green-painted wood and letting out a heavy breath once he got there.

"Oui. 'nuff." He agreed with a lazy nod of his head, breathing in deeply. The more he breathed in, the more he wanted to smile. And eventually, the growing smile on his face turned into a laugh. This whole situation was funny. Really, it was. And while the gas from the carnival had by no means passed out of his system yet, the gas from the museum was intermingling and causing the laughter. Now he was horny and laughing. But at least the laughter gave him something to distract himself from wanting to tear the Doctor's clothes off. And, really, it helped to clear his head some. Both of them.

"We jus' gotta get 'way from Le Carnaval, Docteur. Differen' places make you feel differen' ways. 'De barn.. oh, 'de barn nice, chere." The endearment again -- he was calling the Doctor 'Dear' now. Sorry, Doctor. It'd wear off. Maybe.

"Gotta nice mix in 'de barn." Gambit repeated slowly, before opening red eyes again and looking up at the Doctor, hovering over him. He was so tall from the laying position the Cajun had taken up. He wished the Time Lord would come down here and lay with him. That'd be nice.

No. That'd be bad. Very bad. So bad. They were both bad. Bad boys had to be spank---WHOA. Not going there, Cajun. He lifted a gloved hand to rub over his face with a sudden laugh. Oh, he could picture that. "C'mon." He insisted again. "I'm t'inkin' 'bou' spankin' you." He slowly pushed himself to sit upright. It was time to get away from this location.

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fromgallifrey
2009-07-04 09:16 am UTC (link)

If asked, the Doctor would be entirely unable to articulate exactly which feeling was greater in him: that of disappointment or relief. Most likely, it was disappointment as he felt the diminishing heat about him where they had formerly been locked together. It was sort of sad to feel his breath return to normal and his pulse start to slow. It was hard, even as the gas was metabolized not to take up residence against the Cajun again. Good thing that the doctor was a man of will power. He could have easily echoed that groan of the mutants; but that would just be in poor taste.

As Remy agreed that enough was enough, the Doctor backed away, the cord severed between them thankfully allowing the Doctor to lean back against the tree he'd formerly been pinned to. There was a laugh tickling the corners of his brain. It was sort of funny, when he didn't think about it, what had just happened. The Cajun did look sort of ridiculous there all huddled up on the bench.

"You Remy. Me Doctor," he reminded, catching his breath and scratching the top of his head. Different additives for different places? Was that what Remy had been getting at? Well, The Doctor wanted to get as far away from the Carnival as he could manage. So, he turned and started walking, already starting to laugh uncontrollably. They had to get someplace else.

"C'mon, Gambit!" He laughed over his shoulders. At least the laughter was helping him forget the discomfort. That was a plus.

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