Title: Masquerade
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Giacomo Casanova
Fandom: Doctor Who/Casanova (Masterpiece Theater)
Rating: R
Table: 4
Prompt: 91, Ball
Author's Note: The character of Giacomo Casanova is based on the BBC version of Casanova starring David Tennant.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Giacomo Casanova. Please do not sue.

***

The Doctor looked around him, not lowering the mask that he held over his face. He bowed to a woman passing by, smiling politely at her returning curtsy but hoping that she wouldn't decide to stop and talk to him. His wish was granted; she merely passed by, not even casting a glance back at him to see if he was still watching.

He wasn't, not really. The Doctor had forgotten her as soon as she'd passed by; he was too interested in looking around him, absorbing the time and place that he found himself in. It felt a bit strange, but something that he could get used to, if he gave himself the chance. Though he'd never want to actually live here on a permanent basis.

Still, the style in which the upper classes lived was something that he could probably become used to, the Doctor told himself, strolling through the room and accepting a glass of wine from a tray held out by a servant. It wasn't so hard to pretend to be an aristocrat in this century, as long as he kept his mouth shut and merely smiled and nodded at people.

Of course, he wouldn't be able to keep up the pretense for long. He would just have to gauge the moment when it would be prudent to leave, make his way back to the Tardis, and go on to the next place. He'd done that countless times in the past few weeks.

The Doctor couldn't keep back a sigh at that though. He hated being alone; he was used to the companionship of another being, having someone there to talk with, bounce ideas from. It was getting very tiring, not having anyone there with him on his travels -- and not having anyone in his bed, as well.

That wasn't to say that all of his companions had been bedmates -- in fact, none of the female ones had been. But he still missed their friendship, the knowledge that someone was there who cared about him. He could choose any being in the universe to find sexual gratification with; but someone to be a friend and companion? That was much, much harder to come by.

One thing was certain -- he wasn't going to find that person here, in Restoration Italy. No one from this time would understand what he was -- and if he lingered in this time too long, he might find himself in more trouble than he wanted to deal with. It would probably be best to start making his way back to the Tardis soon. Very soon.

He sighed, glancing towards the door. He should think about leaving, before he overstayed his welcome. A short sojourn in this time could be good; spending too long a time here could most definitely turn into the opposite.

Taking another sip of wine from his half-empty glass, the Doctor lowered his mask and turned to make his way back towards the door. It wouldn't take him more than a few moments to finish the wine, hand his glass to one of the many servants circulating through the crowd, and then slip out unnoticed, to make his way back to the Tardis and away from this time.

He lowered his glass, holding back another sigh. That sigh turned into a gasp at finding his path summarily blocked by a young man -- a young man who took his breath away. He couldn't stop himself from giving this young man an appraising gaze -- and noticing that the same measure was being taken of him.

It was a few moments before the Doctor could speak again; he had a hard time forming words in his brain and getting them to make their way to his tongue. Surely he couldn't be caught so off guard by a single man? he admonished himself. He certainly hadn't had enough to drink to make him tipsy. One glass of wine wouldn't do that.

"Hello," he managed to make himself say, the word sounding flat and inadequate to his ears. He held out his hand, hoping to cover his awkwardness with social graces. "I don't believe that we've been properly introduced."

"No, we haven't," the young man answered, his voice low and musical. The Doctor wanted to melt into that voice, curl up inside it and close his eyes and dream away hours of his life. It was a voice that he wanted to wake up to the sound of, and fall asleep hearing soft words murmured in that fluid, sensual Italian.

He looked down at the hand extended to him as though he'd been struck dumb. It was his turn to reply, to introduce himself, but he couldn't make his throat form words. His voice seemed to have dried up, his breath starting to hitch in his throat. And other areas of his body were making themselves rather .... uncomfortably obvious.

"My name is Giacomo Casanova," the young man said, raising one eyebrow in question. "And you would be ....?"

"Me? Oh .... I'm .... the Doctor," he managed to mumble, hoping that the introduction didn't sound as ridiculous to this young man's ears as it did to his own. He couldn't take his eyes from that face; well, not so much the face as the body. He could almost imagine this man naked in his bed, leaning over him, on top of him ....

Wait. Had he said .... Casanova? Was he actually standing here talking with the famous -- or rather, infamous -- great lover of the 18th century? The man who was said to have seduced anyone who took his fancy, male or female?

No. He couldn't be talking to the Casanova.

"The Doctor?" The young man's eyebrows had raised even higher, a smile curving his lips. The Doctor couldn't stop looking at those lips; his mind registered nothing but that sensual-looking mouth, the only thought he could summon to the forefront of his mind just how it would feel to have those lips on his.

With an effort, he tore his mind away from those thoughts, trying to focus on the man in front of him. Was it his imagination, or was there a marked resemblance between them? Casanova looked younger, a bit unformed, innocent in a way. But the Doctor was sure that wasn't a word often used to describe this young man.

"Yes," he said succinctly, finally managing to recover his voice. "I prefer to go by that, if you don't mind." He hoped that this young man wouldn't question his words; it would be far too easy for him to be cornered by words, and he didn't fancy having to talk his way out of here when he would much rather just slip away quietly.

Fortunately, Casanova didn't seem to be bothered by his explanation. "That's all very well to me," he said, shrugging and giving the Doctor a smile. The Time Lord was transfixed by that smile, unable to look away. The vision of this beautiful young man leaning over him in bed was becoming stronger than ever, as though it was burned into his brain.

Their hands were still touching, clasping each other; the Doctor had a hard time pulling his hand away, feeling a twinge of regret when it was unceremoniously let go. He had to force himself not to reach out again, to tuck the young man's arm into his and keep him there.

"As for myself, you may call me Giac." Was it his imagination, or was that voice smoother, lower-pitched, more sensual than it had sounded before? Even if it wasn't, it was certainly having an unimaginable effect on his senses. He'd have to get back to the Tardis soon, before his trousers became any tighter and more uncomfortable to walk in.

"Very well, then, Giac it is," he murmured, tearing his eyes away from that face for a few moments. Those eyes .... they were so incredibly blue, seeming to sear into his soul. As soon as he'd averted his gaze, he'd felt drawn back to those eyes; he wanted to lose himself in them, fall into those fathomless depths and never come up for air.

No, the Doctor told himself sternly, trying to nip his fantasies in the bud before they had time to take over. He couldn't stay here, not for one moment longer than he'd originally planned. There were too many ways that he could get into trouble, too many things that could go horribly wrong. He had to leave. Now.

But how was he going to manage that? Giac was already leading him to a more private place, behind a pillar, away from the crowd. Once there, he turned his full attention to the Doctor again, giving the Time Lord the full benefit of that penetrating blue stare. The Doctor stared back, transfixed, unable to look away even if he'd wanted to.

The Doctor's breath left his lungs in a soft gasp when Giac's hands moved to his hips, pulling him close against the other man's body. He could feel the heat radiating from the young Italian's skin, his own lips a mere inch away from that mouth he'd been contemplating only a few moments before.

"We don't need words, or introductions," Giac whispered, his blue gaze fastening on the Time Lord's as though daring the other man to look away. "I could tell that from the first moment I saw you."

Those hands moved up, over the Doctor's chest, to cup his face and draw him even nearer to the other man. Before he could make a sound, Giac's lips were on his, those arms sliding around him, pulling him into an embrace that he wanted to fall into. Or was he already falling? He couldn't be entirely sure.

He had to get out of here -- before he completely lost himself in this young man and convinced himself that it would be a good idea to stay. He had to leave -- now -- before things went too far. He was all too aware of just how easy that would be. It had happened too many times in the past for him to doubt it.

Reluctantly disentangling himself from Giac's embrace, he took a few steps back, hating the hurt look that was slowly spreading over the young Italian's features. Maybe he would always be seen as "the one who got away," the Doctor thought for a moment before holding out a hand to Giac, wishing that he could explain his rapid departure.

"Giac, I .... I have to go," he stammered, glancing towards the door. There was a clear path; it shouldn't be hard at all for him to make his way there, slip out, and lose himself in the crowds on the way back to the Tardis.

He was giving up something that he desperately wanted, but he had no choice, he reminded himself, trying to avert his eyes from Giac's face, trying his best not to think about what that beautiful body would look like unclothed. He didn't need to think about what it would be like to be made love to by the most seductive man who had ever existed ....

"B-but why?" Giac was stammering himself, his hands held out to the Doctor, a bewildered look on his handsome features. "You want this as much as I do. I can feel it."

The Doctor took a few steps towards the other man, unable to keep himself from reaching out a hand to smooth the tawny hair back from Giac's forehead. "Yes, I do," he admitted, wishing with all his might that he could throw caution to the winds and stay here. But it was impossible. He had to go now if he was going to leave at all.

"Then why can you not stay?" Giac's voice was almost pleading, so forlorn that the Doctor had to steel himself not to break down and take the young man in his arms. He so hated saying no -- but this was for his own good.

"I-I just can't." He raised a hand, backing towards the door, not wanting to take his eyes from that face. He wanted to remember Giac, exactly how he'd looked -- and how that burning, searing kiss had felt. He had a feeling that he would be remembering that kiss for a long time to come, that it would linger on his lips far longer than any other kiss ever had.

"Don't go." Giac's voice was soft, but he could hear it clearly, even though several feet of space were separating them now.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hoping that Giac could look into his eyes and know just how heartfelt those two words were. He was at the door; he could feel it against his back, feel the air from outside as it was opened. With one last glance at Giac, he slipped through the portal and turned away, heading blindly towards the area where he'd left the Tardis.

He had to raise a hand to his face several times, blinking back tears and making sure that they didn't break free and course down his face. He was sure that he'd be stopped if he was seen weeping in the street, especially when he wasn't even sure why he was crying.

Was it only because he'd wanted Giac so badly? Or was it that he'd felt the incredibly strong attraction between the two of them from their first glance, in exactly the same way that Giac apparently had? He felt that he was walking away from something that he would bitterly regret leaving behind with each step he took.

But he had to do this, he told himself for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few moments. He had no choice; this wasn't the time he belonged in, and as satisfying as a liaison with Giac would more than likely be, he would still have to deal with the ultimate result of leaving the young man behind when he eventually left.

It wasn't fair, his mind screamed, not fair that he was always the one left alone. Why couldn't he take what he wanted for once? His hands clenched at his sides, his mind shying away from the questions in his mind. He knew bloody well why not; it was just that he didn't want to listen to the more rational side of himself.

The Doctor turned down the street that he'd left the Tardis on, sighing when he saw the blue police box awaiting him in the shadows. His footsteps became slower, dragging as he approached his ship. A few more steps and he'd be there. All he'd have to do was step inside, close the door, and leave this time -- and the intriguing Giacomo Casanova -- behind forever.

He didn't see the slender young man following him, stepping into the shadows to avoid being seen by the Time Lord. Giac kept his eyes on the Doctor, waiting to see just where he was going, determined to follow him to whatever his destination happened to be.

***

Next story in series - Desire Walks On.