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"Is this incest or masturbation?" Donna asks, when she manages to pull her mouth away from the duplicate Doctor's long enough to speak. Davros and the Daleks are gone, the Earth's been towed back to its proper place, and that mob of the Doctor's old friends is still celebrating in the console room. Donna had only meant to slip off for a moment alone, still adjusting to the broadened horizons in her mind, but the new Doctor apparently had the same idea.
She's not sure how they started kissing. There was a moment of shuffling small talk, an even more awkward silence, and then she thinks they might both have lunged at once. And now her back's pressed hard to the coral wall of the corridor, her fingers tangled in that amazing hair of his as he sucks and licks his way down her neck. "Neither," he mumbles into her clavicle. "It's just us." He finds her hardening nipple through her shirt and bra, and rubs his fingertips encouragingly over it.
"Doctor, wait a minute." She pushes at his shoulder, and he backs off far enough that she's able to think.
"You're not serious about being my mother, are you?" he asks, ruffling his hair.
She snorts. "No, not that. But...what is this, then? Do you have my memories? Tell me you can't hear me thinking." She narrows her eyes at him, trying not to think about all the things she's just been thinking about.
"Donna, it's not like that. Two-way metacrisis, remember?" He leans closer and lowers his voice. "You don't know what I'm thinking."
"I can guess," she says dryly, not quite mollified.
"Do you remember Gallifrey? Do you remember stealing a TARDIS?"
"No." She's almost sorry. A shared history, he said once. A shared suffering. "But I know things I didn't before."
"So do I," he says, and goes back to kissing her. The coral is warm against her back (and she can sense the TARDIS now, vast and beautiful and utterly alien; she can't understand it, any more than she can speak the language of a whale or a redwood tree, but she'll learn in time) and he's hard against her front, and if there's any reason not to do this she can't think what it might be. Sex is a perfectly normal reaction to near-death experiences, right? She felt her mortality breathing down her neck today as the TARDIS burned around her, but somehow she's still alive. Not just alive, better than ever.
And the new Doctor—she remembers the fey look on his face when he finished assembling that gun of his. (A z-neutrino biological inversion catalyser, her augmented brain supplies.) He hadn't expected to survive either, and he looked so lost when she found him in the corridor.
He doesn't look lost now. His eyes are dark and certain, his hands steady as he unbuckles her belt and drops it to the floor. She reaches between them to stroke the bulge in his trousers, wishing for a bed or a sofa or even a throw rug. They are not, she thinks firmly, having a quickie up against the wall. Probably. It doesn't sound like such a terrible idea, actually, now that she considers it, but the Doctor's inching them down the corridor, groping for the handle of a door they've somehow reached. The kitchen, a broom closet, anything will do, but by some absurd chance it's her own bedroom. They stumble inside, tangled together. The Doctor helps her wrestle her tunic off, and she's just got his trousers unzipped when a sound in the doorway makes them freeze.
It's the Doctor. The other Doctor. The sweep of his gaze takes in Donna's dishevelled state, his duplicate's obvious arousal, but it's Donna he comes back to, strangely intent. "I'll...just be going, then," he says. But he doesn't move.
Donna can sense the timelines, the infinite possibilities spinning off from this moment. The ones where he leaves. The ones where he doesn't. This doesn't have to happen, the three of them.
But it can. "Stay," she says, because she knows it has to be her.
The Doctors' eyes meet and something passes between them, some understanding that she's not part of. Slowly, the one next to her nods, and the one on the threshold steps inside, closing the door behind him. "I told everyone—" He clears his throat, loosens his tie. "I told them I had to talk to you."
Nobody else will come. Donna swallows hard, dizzied by the possibilities, as he begins to unbutton his shirt. The duplicate Doctor moves behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, and slips a hand into her knickers while she watches his other self undress. He homes in on her clit, rubbing light circles as the other Doctor undoes his button and zip and releases his half-hard cock; she's already seen the duplicate Doctor naked, but somehow she's still surprised when the Time Lord looks as human as his counterpart. Well, it's not like the new Doctor got that bit from her, she thinks, and can't help a laugh.
He doesn't look offended; he just comes to her, naked, and kisses her, with the other Doctor's hand still down her pants. His growing erection nudges her thigh and there's a matching pressure against her arse and it's all much sexier than she ever would have imagined. The Doctor behind her unfastens her bra with his free hand, and the one in front slips it off, cool fingers brushing her stiffened nipples. She moans an inarticulate protest when the duplicate Doctor pulls his hand from her pants, but the other Doctor's only too glad to make up for it, unbuttoning her trousers properly and helping her take them off. He cups her through the thin silk of her knickers, probing softly, and she wonders exactly how damp they feel to him. The very thought brings another jolt of warmth, and with a strangled groan he pushes the silk aside, sliding two fingers into her.
There's a rustle of clothing behind her, and then the shock of hot bare skin against her back. The duplicate Doctor's ragged breath is loud in her ear as he reaches around to cup her breasts, tweaking her nipples firmly. She can feel the quiver of his body, his cock poking the small of her back and leaving a smear of wetness behind. The other Doctor's finger-fucking her now, his palm pressing rhythmically over her clit, and she wants both of them so desperately she can't stand it. Her body is already tightening in anticipation of orgasm, but with a supreme effort she stills the Doctor's hand. "Bed," she says, yanking her knickers off. "Now."
The duplicate Doctor gets there first, and Donna urges him onto his back, straddling him on all fours. She guides his cock into her, sinking down as slowly as she can bear, and is rewarded by his long, low moan; his head is thrown back, mouth open, as if he's never felt anything so incredible. He shudders when she comes to rest, clutching at her thighs. "Don't move," he says, and she doesn't, feeling the tautness of his body between her knees, the flare and pulse of his cock within her. Finally he sighs, easing his grip. "Okay. I think."
She glances over her shoulder expectantly, but the other Doctor's just standing there, watching them. His hand is on his cock, stroking idly.
"Oh, no, you don't." She wiggles her fingers enticingly at him. "This is not a spectator sport."
For the first time he looks a little surprised. "You want..."
"Both of you, yes, ah—" She shudders as the Doctor beneath her rolls his hips upward. "Get over here before we finish up without you."
"Are you sure?" he asks. His hand doesn't leave his cock; if anything, it moves faster.
She pretends to consider it for a moment, then rolls her eyes. "I'm not a virgin, spaceman."
He opens his mouth.
"In any sense."
He closes it again.
The mattress squeaks as he crawls up behind them. Donna fumbles for the drawer of her bedside table and passes him the bottle of lube, but he sets it aside and begins by rubbing her back, his thumbs gliding along her spine. As he kneads his way lower, the duplicate Doctor slides his hands under her shoulders and draws her down, leaning in to kiss the side of her neck. The change in angle raises her hips, putting her in a better position for the other Doctor; she feels utterly exposed, but it's exciting, not embarrassing. When the Doctor behind her reaches her arse, he massages her there as well, squeezing firmly. He pulls her hips a bit higher, and the other Doctor's cock slips out of her; they both gasp, but instead of plunging back in he just nudges between her labia, teasing, distracting her as those kneading hands begin to touch her more intimately.
She hears the soft snick of a bottle opening and holds still, waiting; cool liquid dribbles between her cheeks and then he's stroking, spreading, opening her up. There's a kiss at the base of her spine, soft breath, as the slick pressure of a single finger enters her. The Doctor beneath her sucks at her throat, drawing heat to the surface, as a second finger joins the first. They push back and forth, tight but slippery, and before long he's making room for a third; her breath catches when he succeeds, but the Doctor beneath her brings the slickened head of his cock to her clit, rubbing gently until she relaxes. Behind her, the other Doctor starts pumping his fingers in and out, and a different kind of tension begins to coil within her—if they keep it up, she realises, she's going to come like this.
But she doesn't want to. Not yet, not without them. "Get on with it already," she mutters to the Doctor behind her. Another click of the bottle, some quiet slick sounds, a hiss of indrawn breath—then he's kneeling up close, easing his fingers from her body. His cock is right there to replace them, and the thrilling edge of strain as it pushes inside just makes the pleasure more intense. The Doctor below her cups her face between his hands, pulling her down for a kiss as the other presses deeper, deeper.
She moans and the Doctor behind her pauses, stroking her back. "Still with me?" he asks, his voice tight with effort.
"Oh, yes," she gasps, and with a final push he seats himself fully inside her. He holds her against him, his hips pressed tight to her backside, his cock buried impossibly deep; when the other Doctor reaches down to guide himself back in as well, she's shocked to feel how wet she's become. It's a tighter fit now, and he's slow and careful about it, but if she thought she was full before it's nothing compared to the overwhelming sensation of both of them inside her at once.
Before she's quite used to the feeling, the Doctor beneath her shifts, arching in a couple of shallow thrusts. When he subsides, breathing hard, the other Doctor tightens his grip on her hips, holding her steady for a careful, measured stroke of his own. She half expects them to take turns, but the Doctor behind her bites off a groan and keeps going, pulling back and sliding forward in a building rhythm, withdrawing slightly farther each time. When the other Doctor joins him, thrusting in earnest, Donna has to close her eyes; too much sensory input, sight and sound and smell all drowned out by sheer feeling. The two Doctors don't match rhythms, but somehow the pumping thrusts of the one beneath her complement the longer, more lavish strokes of the other.
Inevitably, the Doctor beneath her cries out first, trembling and bucking as he comes hot and wet inside her. He finds her clit with his thumb, even as his softening cock slips out of her, and strokes in time with the other Doctor's quickening thrusts; the waves of pleasure ebb and surge, and then they gather into one big one, each movement bringing it closer to a peak. "Doctor," she gasps, calling out to either of them, both of them. "Don't stop."
They don't stop. She can tell the other Doctor's getting close too, and just as he starts giving short, hard thrusts that match his panting breaths, her orgasm crashes through her. She shudders with the force of it, clutching at the sheets; a few thrusts later the Doctor groans, pushing deep, and she feels the swell and throb of his climax.
The other Doctor rolls out of the way as they collapse to the bed, and she ends up nestled between the two of them. The bed's not really big enough for three, but they manage; the duplicate Doctor tangles his limbs with hers, resting his cheek against her breast, and before long his breathing becomes quiet and even. Donna brushes his fringe aside, touching her lips tenderly to his forehead. At her back, the Time Lord feels equally warm and relaxed, his arm draped around her waist, but she rather thinks he's wakeful. No regrets, she hopes.
This won't happen again. Today is a crossroads, not a destination. She can feel the timelines like golden threads beneath the surface of reality, complex patterns tangling and interweaving. Most of them, she can tell, will take the duplicate Doctor far from here. One thread burns particularly bright—oh, she'll have to compare notes with the other Doctor about that. She likes that one.
Her own thread is dim and murky, and the harder she tries to bring it into focus the more it recedes. Maybe, she thinks, the one thing you can't see is your own future. But she doesn't need the timelines to know that this can't last. Soon they'll have to go back to the console room, let the others make their farewells, move forward. But not yet.
She sighs her contentment, and snuggles closer to both of them. Not quite yet.