Title: What I Want
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Brendan Block
Fandom: Doctor Who/Secret Smile
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 34, What
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 Brendan Block, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

"What do you want me to do to you, Doctor?"

The Time Lord shivered and closed his eyes; he almost wanted to look around to see if any of the other people in the restaurant he and Brendan were seated in might have heard what his boyfriend had just said to him, but he didn't dare.

If people had heard what Brendan had said, he would probably be hearing a collective gasp -- or he would feel their stares, he told himself, finally daring to glance around at the tables near them. No one seemed to have heard; conversation was gong on as normal.

But Brendan was leaning towards him, his eyebrows raised in question, a slight smile quirking the corners of those sensual lips. The Doctor swallowed hard, his eyes focused on Brendan's face; it was so hard to tear his gaze away from that mouth ....

It was a few minutes before he could manage to do so, his dark eyes finally meeting those of the man sitting across from him. He opened his mouth to answer Brendan's question, but his mouth was too dry for him to form words.

"I can tell you exactly what I'd like to do to you, if you'd prefer," Brendan said, his voice deceptively soft. He lifted his wineglass, twirling it so that the crystal stem caught the light.

"Maybe you should do that," the Doctor managed to say, his voice sounding almost like a croak. His throat was so dry that he had to force the words out. "But keep your voice down, Brendan. The entire world doesn't need to hear what you have to say."

Brendan looked around with raised brows before leaning back in his chair and contemplating his lover, raising his wineglass again to take a sip of the sparkling burgundy liquid before setting it down again on the snowy tablecloth and giving the Doctor a slow smile.

"To begin with, I'd like to follow you into the mens' room and push you into one of the stalls and lock the door," he murmured, his dark eyes meeting the Doctor's gaze across the table. "Of course, you'd already be hard. I'm sure you are now. I think you should touch yourself to make sure."

"I should .... what?" The Doctor was startled by Brendan's words; he hadn't expected to hear anything like that, not here in the middle of a restaurant that was populated mainly by older people who looked quiet and respectable.

"No, I have a better idea," Brendan told him, leaning back a bit further in his chair. The Doctor blinked, unsure as to just what his boyfriend was doing -- until he felt Brendan's foot, freed from its shoe, moving between his legs and pressing against his crotch.

The Time Lord's eyes widened, a soft gasp leaving his throat. He didn't dare squirm in his seat; he didn't want to draw any attention towards them.

The tablecloth hung down and obscured what was happening, fortunately, but he desperately hoped that no waiter would approach them just wait, or that no one would happen to turn their attention to this table in the corner near the back of the place.

Brendan's toes were massaging his balls, then moving slowly along the length of his rigid cock as his boyfriend continued to speak in a slow, measured whisper. "I'd yank your trousers down and lube you -- wouldn't want you to be limping out of there, now would we?"

"No, definitely not," the Doctor whispered, casting another surreptitious glance around the room. He was sure that they would be attracting at least a bit of attention by this time. But no one seemed to notice what was going on, fortunately.

"And I'd clamp my hand over your mouth to keep you quiet -- then push into you so hard and deep that your hips would buck back against me and you'd struggle to make a sound. I'd have to pin you against the wall." Brendan's voice seemed to ring in his ears, gaining in intensity.

If Brendan didn't move his foot, he was going to come, the Doctor thought, wanting to beg his boyfriend to stop, but knowing that mere words wouldn't make Brendan back down when he was in this sort of a mood. He'd have to endure this to the end.

"You're a bit uncomfortable, aren't you, sweet?" Brendan inquired as he picked up the carafe of wine to pour more into the Doctor's glass. "Have a drink. It'll relax you a bit."

Brendan's eyes were gleaming, a devilish look in their dark depths. The Doctor wanted nothing so much as to gasp out that he was going to the bathroom, and that his boyfriend should meet him there -- but he didn't think his seemingly paralyzed tongue would get the words out.

"I don't need a drink," the Doctor croaked, desperately moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. "I need to get into the bathroom so you can do exactly what you're saying you want to do. That is, if you'll kindly take your foot out of my lap."

"Your wish is my command," Brendan said with a smirk, his foot slipping from its perch on the chair between the Doctor's thighs back to the floor. The Time Lord had to consciously keep himself from wriggling in his seat and groaning aloud.

He hadn't realized that he would feel so .... so bereft when Brendan's foot was no longer touching him. He needed this man's touch, not only between his legs, but all over his body. He needed those hands on his skin, those lips on his.

"I take it that you're happy with what I want to do to you?" Brendan inquired, lifting his wineglass to his lips again. His eyes darted towards the short hallway where the mens' room was, as though indicating to the Doctor that it was time for them to be making their way there.

"I'll be even happier when it actually happens," the Doctor told him, getting up from his chair with some difficulty -- and hoping that the erection straining against the front of his trousers wasn't as obvious as he thought it was as he made his way quickly down the hallway.

***