Doctor Who: Amy, Captured Ch. 13byKurokami©
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! How have we been? This is the last chapter! Did you all enjoy the series?
Being the last chapter, I simply must thank each and every one of you who read, enjoyed, voted, commented or mailed me during the course of the series. It was fantastic to get such a positive response from you all, and I might not have finished the story without such kind readers. Thanks, folks!
Two people in particular deserve special mention: My editor, and the love of my life, my dearest Isabel, who would take me to task over any grammatical errors, plot holes or Doctor Who continuity errors that showed up with ruthless efficiency. Also in need of high praise is the insanely talented Allyourbase, a writer that I can't recommend forcefully enough to you folks. It's been a real pleasure getting to know this fellow over the course of the series, and without his input it would probably only be half the series it is.
Anyway, enough pontificating. One more thing, before I go; there will be more to come. I ain't done with Sander, Mara or Amy just yet. In the coming weeks, I shall be posting a pair of epilogue chapters, one devoted to Amy, Rory and the Doctor, and the other to Sander and Mara. But those are just to round out the story and lay the groundwork for the REAL thing; sequel series, folks. Entitled Doctor Who: Panic Moon, it'll have all the old characters returning, plus a few newbies to keep things interesting. I hope you'll all follow over to this new thing, because I'm rather enamored with it myself. Oh, and finally; special kudos to anyone who recognizes the Doctor Who reference in the Panic Moon subtitle. If you do get it, comment about it, maybe? That'd be cool.
She stood by the door, staring at the polished, sterile metal. She didn't want to open it, but it wasn't like she could just stand out here forever.
The intercom system droned endlessly in the background, updating the staff on the day to day goings on of the Sierra station. After a while, one tended to tune it out automatically; being informed was all well and good, but the status of the freight corridors wasn't entirely relevant to the medical personnel, now was it?
She shook her head. That had wasted a few seconds, but she was a doctor. She had a job to do, even if her patient was a little creepy.
He had come in with a truly insane level of damage; she was surprised that he had survived at all, let alone making it all the way here without help. The guy had some willpower, to be sure, but the way he'd stared out at her on the operating table, his one functional eye devoid of emotion... She'd never been more relieved to see anesthesia working.
The Sierra Complex tried to keep these transitional periods as brief as possible, but there was only so much the doctors here could do; especially when the patient was... well, shattered. It would have taken time to grow cloned implants, but this fool had demanded mechanical implants, ostensibly to get back on his feet faster. Even so, it had practically come to blows explaining to him that engineering the hardware and software would take time anyway.
Any man who is prepared to enter into a physical confrontation with extreme blood loss and a missing hand, leg and eye clearly had nothing else to lose...
She sighed and keyed the door open. As usual, he was sitting in his wheelchair in the middle of the floor with his laptop console open and his free hand tapping away. He looked up as she entered the room, only momentarily, and she clucked her tongue; he was meant to be wearing his eye bandages until the replacement was ready. He never did, though; he just kept his ruined eye closed while the other flipped from incredibly depressed to intensely angry, seemingly from moment to moment. His eye flicked back to the glowing screen in front of him, his hand resumed his typing.
Her resolve lapsed for a moment and she stared; usually people had other things on their mind when facing such dramatic surgery, but this person had buried himself in whatever work he was doing from the moment he had woken up. Add to that, nobody seemed to know who he was, even though he was receiving the best possible care they could give him; priority level zero. It was like the administrator was purposely hiding the mystery man's identity, though she couldn't fathom why. He seemed somehow familiar, but...
He didn't even stop typing as she busied herself with checking his vitals, blood pressure and the like. His wounds were fairly minor, aside from the fact that his bones seemed to have been liquefied from within. Cases like this come around so rarely that there wasn't a standard procedure for them; his flesh, skin, veins and nerves had all been cut away from the ruined bones and preserved in cold storage, awaiting the robotic framework that would support them. But aside from all that, he had been stabilized several days ago; he was just awaiting the manufacturing personnel.
Safe in the knowledge that her patient wasn't about to die, she chanced a peek at his screen, just to see what it was that had absorbed this wreck of a man so completely, to the point where he no longer ate or slept without being forced to. A series of archival files from some ancient government agency- Torchwood or something- that she didn't recognize flitted across his screen, filled with a series of images of disparate men. Many of them had ridiculous hair, but there wasn't anything particularly compelling about them... Besides, he was scrolling through the text too fast for her to read. She could barely believe that he himself could read it.
His expression grew hollow, then dark, then fiery almost to the point of apoplexy. He stopped typing, the screen freezing on an image of a man in a black leather jacket. His free hand gripped the side of his wheelchair, so hard the metal began to squeak. His breath began to growl in his throat.
She had seen him like this once before, and there was no talking to him in this state, even if she was inclined to talk to him as it were. Something in those files just... Set him off, occasionally. Like flipping a switch from immeasurable grief to infinite, terrible wrath. He-
... He had begun muttering something under his breath, seemingly no longer aware of her presence. She leaned in a little closer to hear it; just one word, repeated over and over, faster and faster. Until the air completely left his lungs and he was repeating it on sheer willpower with a choking, near-silent voice. His good eye welled with angry tears, seeming to shift to reflect some obsidian well of black, infinite hatred. She took a step back.
Just one word: Doctor.
'Are you okay?' She ventured uneasily. He couldn't possibly be talking to her, could he? 'Do you need anything?'
He didn't move, didn't so much as acknowledge her presence. His hand had wrenched a deep dent in the side of the chair. Inexorably, his left eye opened, the empty socket providing a ghastly counterpoint to the terrifying fury burning like a sun in his right eye. She was having a hard time deciding which eye was the worst view.
With a rattling, terrifying scream that filled the room like a physical impact, he threw the laptop across the room, slamming it against the wall hard enough to shatter it utterly. He breathed hard, each breath coming out as a deep growl that spoke of the wrath of a violent god. That spoke of fire.
He spoke then, in the barely restrained voice of a true berserker, 'I'll kill him!' He roared from the very depths of his soul.
Quickly, quietly, she slipped out of the room, her hands shaking as she supported herself against the wall. Holy hell...
The question was no longer "who was he?" The question was now "what had happened to him?"
Actually, the question was now "how fast can I transfer him to another doctor?"
Mara laughed as she pulled away from Sander's kiss. He followed her, senses enflamed and desperate to remain in physical contact with her after Amy's extended teasing. He was still aching, and one foot tapped incessantly on the cool metal floor.
'Uh-uh, Hackett,' Mara said, slightly unsteadily. She was ashamed to admit it, but she had come reasonably close to a swoon when he kissed her. 'I gave you a choice. I need you to answer, out loud, if you please. You can either fuck Amy, or... eh heh, please me some other way. Choose.'
Of course, it was fairly clear to everyone involved that this was a test of Sander's dedication. Ultimately, this was just a game; it had a finite life and when it was over there would be no real consequences if he opted for sating the demands of his flesh with Amy. But of course, there was the inescapable fact that Mara would be disappointed...
And anyway, Sander had already made his choice. When he kissed Mara, and she had kissed him back, any other choice there might have been evaporated and his need for her became absolute. It was a weird kind of dependence, but he was fine with just following someone else. Especially if that someone was Mara.
'You,' He growled, stalking the distance between them with a particularly driven look in his eyes. His hands gripped her shoulders roughly, pulled her in even as she tried to pull away, endeavoring to preserve the idea that she was still in control of this game. But she was against him, and he was kissing her. He nipped at her neck- she seemed sensitive there- and her resistance crumbled with a moan. Sander grinned as her fingers scratched at his back; the game was fun and all, but right now he needed something a little more immediate. The game could resume when they were both satisfied.
Sander's hands slid down Mara's hourglass waist, making her twitch and squirm. He grinned wider; the animal in him simply adored the way she looked, and as his hands slid down to her ass it made him growl gleefully in the back of his throat.
He was directing her movements, as she ground up against him; maneuvering her so he could push back and guide the two of them back to the bed. Her nails raked down his back, he grunted, and...
Suddenly, the spark ignited again, she stopped retreating, her back foot slamming down onto the floor, as immoveable as steel. Sander bumped into her, attempting to shunt her further back, but she pushed him away. The crop was raised, and it dropped against his shoulder with a sound that rang out through his mind. The pain made him stop, stare, his eyes to focus on hers, where before they had roamed her body.
'Not the way the game is played, Hackett!' Mara snapped, eyes burning angrily. 'No, no, no! I already understand you're an attractive man and a talented fucker, I don't need your repetition. You are mine, understand?!'
She hit him again, and again, laying into his chest and ending at his hips. She was pushing him hard, she knew, but she was fighting against him, right now; pushing him back down into the correct mindset. God knows, sex with him was enjoyable enough that she would never say no to him, but this was something else; she'd never lost at one of these games before, and she'd be damned if she was going to start now.
'Okay, okay!' Sander blurted, grunting in discomfort. 'Mara, I'm sorry, okay! I got carried away!'
Her fingers wove through his hair, gripping tightly, 'I ain't exactly after an apology, Sander. I'm looking for a fuckin' show of deference, boy. A sign that you're willing to play my game, dance to my tune. Understand?'
She thwacked him again, swatting him on the ass when he wasn't expecting it. He yelped, and Mara was sure she could hear Amy laughing under her breath. That was something to be rectified. Sander's mouth opened, formed the word, 'Anything!'
Mara knew why. The evidence of his arousal was clear to see, it almost made her smile lustily to look at it. But smiling would be bad, wouldn't it? So, he was willing, so far... Let's go a little further.
'Oh. So you can be a good boy too,' Mara nodded, eyes like mercury. 'Nice. Well, you've been given a choice, Hackett. You chose to get me off, rather than gettin' off yourself. I'm not going to allow you to go back on that, my boy. Kneel.'
'Yes, Mara,' He had even averted his eyes, as he dropped. His hands were shaking, but it was hard to tell whether that was from nerves or arousal. His eyes flicked to her, just for a second, then flickered away. Oh, my...
She sat on the edge of the bed, body curving in its perfect, statuesque nakedness. Mara stared at Sander silently for several seconds, up and down his body with a hungry look. With a thoughtful little noise, she slid her legs open languorously and whistled, catching Sander's eye.
'Beg me,' Her voice came out huskily, eyes boring into his. Those two words hit Sander at full force, and he found himself speaking mere seconds later. This was a chasm he was perfectly ready to jump.
'Please, Mara,' He growled, swallowing nervously. 'Please let me eat you out. I want to lick your pussy,' His eyes flicked to hers, showing a lovely wry smile as his confidence returned, 'With your permission... my mistress.'
Mara's eyes widened, those last two little words sending a shiver down her spine. He'd said them with such conviction, with an animal roughness that left her in no doubt as to their authenticity. Was this his way of apologizing for losing control earlier? She smiled kindly.
'Oh, very well,' She rolled her eyes. 'You may.'
Sander shuffled forward and, with enormous gusto and a humorous little lick of his lips, dipped his head between her legs as she leaned back to allow him better access.
'Mm, good boy,' Mara moaned as she felt the first stroke of Sander's tongue against her heated pussy. It was good to know that she had regained her control, even if that control was quickly losing significance next to the growing desire burning in the pit of her stomach. She shuddered, and her back arched; her eyes went to Amy, who shifted her weight from knee to knee, seemingly afraid to move from her kneeling position on the floor. Then her eyes closed, concentration shattering as Sander's teeth gently captured her clit and sparks flew.
His fingers were stroking the delicate skin of her inner thighs with teasing, feather soft touches, making her legs twitch, and she giggled even through her moans. Some inner part of her mind was still hanging onto the idea of the game, that she should maintain control, but it was swiftly being carried away by a scorching climax that was building, seemingly in her bones. The world seemed to fall away, spinning off into space and leaving her alone with her ecstasy.
Sander's mouth was heaven; this was a skill that the last glowing cinder of Mara's rational mind tried to file away for future reference. It was good to know he was talented where it counts. Every little sensation became incredibly present in her mind; not just the flicking wetness of his tongue, or the gentle scrape of his teeth, but the slightly irritating- yet somehow oh so appealing- roughness of his stubble against her thighs and hips. The faraway appeal in his eyes when she looked at him; as though he were still cognizant of the game and was looking for positive feedback. That was... Vaguely cute, actually. She smiled; best he knew that what he was doing was exactly right...
She found her hips lifting off of the bed to meet every lash of his tongue, her legs quaking as her orgasm hit with a suddenness that surprised her. She clenched her jaw and screamed through her teeth as the climactic fires burned through her body and she bucked against his mouth. She could hear him grunt with discomfort as he pulled away, but she was ensnared in the grips of something far more pressing than wondering why. Her back arched languorously as the tremors of orgasm died away, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.
She craned her neck to regard Sander, who was sitting on his haunches and rubbing his mouth with the back of one hand, a pained expression on his face.
'Glad you liked that, but you've got a kick like a mule there, Mara...' He said. 'Almost lost a few teeth!'
Mara rolled her eyes, her mind whirling to try and remember what she was supposed to be doing, 'Oh, quit your bitching, Nancy.' She growled, finding it surprisingly easy to slip back into character. 'It's just a sign that you did well. Very well, actually... Oh, but I suppose you're expecting some relief too, right? Well... I guess it'd be mean to keep putting it off.'
'Damn right it would!' Sander exclaimed. He hated the expression "blue balls" on principle, but, well...
'Ah, don't talk back, Hackett,' Mara rose on slightly unsteady feet and wandered over to Amy, who was still frozen in position, her head bent low. Her face was obscured by a curtain of red hair, but the shaking of her shoulders was a fair indication that something was wrong.
Mara bent low, undoing the cuffs on Amy's wrists and releasing her from her bondage, 'Up you get. It's your turn now.'
Sander's brow furrowed as Amy remained motionless, hands curled into fists by her sides. He sat up, confusion clouding his features. Mara, seemingly oblivious, retrieved her crop from the floor and sliced it down with a harsh slap as it connected with Amy's back, between the shoulder blades.
'Amy, it's time to get up,' Mara's voice was edged with venom. 'Being uncooperative will only bring more pain.'
Amy raised her head slowly to regard Mara with a purposeful stare, 'No.'
'What was that?'
'I can't take it anymore,' Amy snarled back in a voice that neither Sander nor Mara had ever heard before. 'I can't take being used like some fucking toy! I'm done! Do whatever you want, but leave me out of it. I don't have a choice, not with this collar, but I'm not going to be a part of your disgusting little games.'
She was shaking with rage, Sander realized. Whatever fear she had of Mara, whatever helpless despair at her situation, all of it had been eclipsed by the sheer force of her quietly building anger. Sander could see this becoming a clash of wills that nobody would win; Mara had a hair-trigger when she was in this mode.
'Oh, you do not want to push me right now, slave-' Mara drew herself up to her full height. Sander moved to interject.
'Uh, Mara? Maybe it'd be best if you, y'know, backed off a little? Maybe we've worked her a little hard-'
Amy seemed to spring, catlike, from the floor in a single motion, uncoiling fast enough to catch the others off guard. She slammed into Sander, throwing his balance off and sending both of them falling backwards onto the cold metal floor. Her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him roughly.
'What are you?!' Amy screeched, expression black as pitch. 'What the fuck are you?! Why do you pretend to care, you sick fuck?! Do you care or don't you?! Pick one, you son of a bitch!'
Amy continued shaking his shoulders hard enough to lift him off of the floor and slam him back down with enough force to rattle the steel plating. Sander's eyes were wide, his arms lay useless on the floor; not stunned, just... curious, really. Amy didn't have the strength to do any real harm, and that collar was still wrapped around her neck in any case. It was just shocking to see her act like this; he had been wondering when she would reach her limit...
Suddenly, she was jerked back, her weight leaving him. Mara's hands were in her hair, pulling her backwards and ramming her against the wall. Then Mara was against her, that crop pressed into Amy's throat.