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The Doctor chuckled to himself as, sitting in his antique chair, he flicked through one of his many collected journals. This was the very time, the very time indeed. All those strange apothecaries whispering and conspiring about ‘advancement’ and ‘progress’, all those people laying the foundation for a primitive form of what could even be considered modern medicine. One of these pioneers, Charles Preslin, lived in this very city- Paris. It was the perfect opportunity to take part in some whispering and conspiring himself, the Doctor thought.
While Steven was attending to himself in the wardrobe looking for suitable clothes, the Doctor was checking over the facts. It wouldn’t do well to speak out of turn and inspire Preslin to have thoughts above his station, that would be most improper.
Interrupting his pondering, the Doctor suddenly heard a distant call from Steven.
“Doctor! Could you- Could you come here?”
“What?”
“I- Could you just come here?”
Steven sounded strained. The Doctor understood this had become his new normal but it was still uncomfortable on the ears. And uncomfortable truly was the perfect descriptor for how travelling had become as of recent too. The Doctor supposed Steven must miss Vicki. He did too. But then there had been Katarina, Sara, that Bret fellow too. That was an awful lot for a human to miss, the Doctor couldn’t blame Steven for sounding rather ‘on edge’.
“I shall come and go as I like!” The Doctor barked back, “Who are you to order me around, in my own ship no less?”
Steven didn’t answer. Still, despite his own vocal reluctance, the Doctor stood to attention ready to uncover whatever probably absurd demand his young friend was calling for. Putting his book away he left the console room ready to march down into the bowels of his ship.
It was a pleasant constitution this time, long enough to engage the mind with navigating the Tardis’ winding corridors but not so long as to bore. The Doctor despised being bored, it was an unnecessary- and human- emotion. Steven could dull himself into oblivion for all the Doctor cared but he’d never stoop that low himself.
When he reached what appeared to be the wardrobe room, the Doctor knocked on the door before opening it slightly.
“Well, what is it you want?” The Doctor shouted into the doorway, “Spit it out! I wouldn’t like to have done all that walking for nothing!”
“Just-” Steven took an audible breath; the Doctor could picture him pinching his brow. “I need you to… help me.”
“Whatever with?” Steven had never asked for help before and the Doctor was sure he never would again. It wasn’t in his nature, but then again none of this was. He was never supposed to be here at all, yet he was.
“Come in.” Steven tersely said after a moment. “You’ll… you’ll see.”
And so the Doctor did. Stepping into the room he firstly took in the vast interior full of a millenia’s worth of period dress. He almost regretted forgoing changing, it would have been an interesting opportunity to truly integrate into the time. After that he took in Steven who was seated on the padded chair area in the center of the room. And well…
Steven was, to put it bluntly, completely shirtless. While his lower half was a blur of red hose trouser his upper body was uncovered, exposed, bare.
The Doctor silently choked on his own expectant breath.
“Don’t laugh.” The man demanded. His expression was sour and he waved a petulant finger at the Doctor. “Don’t you dare- not even a smirk.”
“I would never dream of doing such a thing.” The Doctor gasped out in what he hoped was a level tone. “Never, no no…”
The Doctor had never seen so much of his companion before. Like him, Steven always tried to remain closed-off when it came to his attire; they had both come to know that thick layers masked the soft vulnerability of the flesh effectively enough. It was that dissociation with the skin that had kept the Doctor sane in regard to Steven, until now.
However, with this new development came insanity. Steven had a rather nice figure, the Doctor was now realising. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and heavy-weighted in a solid dependable sort of way; the Doctor eyed up his soft skin and shivered. His tense hunched posture served to accentuate both his strong torso and the dimpled curve of his shoulders. Charting a course over his torso and up Steven’s neck were a constellation of moles blotting out his pale skin, stars revolving around their adored solar body.
In contrast to his still form, Steven’s face was twisted into an ashamed frown.
“I couldn’t get this blasted thing on.” From beside him he picked up a garment which the Doctor instantly identified as some sort of lengthy- likely even underbust- brown period corset. “It’s impossible- I don’t know why I even tried.”
“I’m sure it's not… impossible.” The Doctor spoke dryly, restraining himself from revealing the motive behind his subtle freeze-up. Though Steven was probably too wrapped up in his own qualms to notice anything different about his co-pilot. Both their temperaments had always been too self-centered for anything like this before. But now Steven was right there, baring himself open for the Doctor to idolise. It was impossible to ignore this- his temple of bare skin.
Steven scoffed, “I’d like to see you tr-” He stopped himself, sighing heavily. “Look, can’t I just go out in my normal clothes instead of whatever this is?”
“That is most certainly out of the question!” The Doctor concluded, perhaps more hastily than he’d have wanted to sound. “We have arrived in a time of great superstition and suspicion, it would do you no favours to strut around Paris dressed like some sort of juvenile office clerk!”
Steven’s shirts and ties were beginning to wear thin on the Doctor’s patience, they suited him mundanely and stiltedly. This period garb however, it would do him well.
And besides, though he hated to admit it, the prospect of Steven being laced up… excited him. The thrill of seeing him taut and tame, bound into the instrument like an insect who willingly wandered into a spider’s web, was tantalising. The Doctor supposed he would be like the Tardis, all that depth and dimension squeezed into a casing just a tad too tight. The Doctor shivered at the thought of Steven’s essence being so… contained.
“Alright then.” Steven said, giving in to the Doctor’s barely concealed enthusiasm. “But you’re going to have to help me.”
“I- I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve just said I can’t get into it by myself.” Steven stated plainly though his face was beginning to blush red, “So… I need you- to tie me in.” It was clear he wasn’t all too delighted by the prospect.
The Doctor thought he might suffocate on his own worship. What an honour that could be: to ensnare Steven, to constrain him, to wrap him up in his own dimensions so possessively. Humans were such intriguing vessels and the Doctor had always wanted to experiment with their form, especially a form as wonderfully damnable as Steven’s.
“I couldn’t…” He started, his stutter reflecting his strained heart. “It wouldn’t be-”
“Yes, you could.” Steven said, sitting up straight resigned to his vigil. Slowly he held the corset out, offering it to the Doctor. “Go on, you probably know all about these things.”
“I know… enough.”
The Doctor had configured the Tardis’ shape all that time ago, shrinking and stretching it to fit his needs. How different could humans be to that? Not very different, the Doctor hoped. He took the corset into his arms, staring at it and tracing lines up and down the boning mentally comparing it with Steven’s own natural measurements. It would be a tight fit; the Doctor’s mind convulsed at the thought. He could alter Steven quite dramatically, program his form into something new, something beyond the limits of form and figure. He could recreate Steven in the image of transdimensionality- though perhaps he was getting ahead of himself with that idea.
“Stand up then.” The Doctor’s voice was firm and every bit as constrained as Steven soon would be. “You are sure you want me to…?”
“Please, just do it.” Steven huffed. First he pulled over his head the matching camisole that had been sitting abandoned at his side. The Doctor nodded approvingly, he wouldn't want to damage Steven’s soft human skin within the confines of the corset.
Then Steven stood up and stretched his arms out as if ready for some sort of special prayer. Though if anything the Doctor was the one ready to pray, to pray and drape his idol in the grand gesture of refined constraint. He only hoped Steven was prepared for his silent, unyielding devotion.
Slowly the Doctor opened the corset, wrapping it around Steven’s figure just under his chest. It was a firm piece of equipment held up by fine boning up each side; the front busk was sparsely decorated, the main attraction simply being the centre which held the hooks and pins made to connect either busk side.
Starting at the bottom, the Doctor took hold of a hook and pulled it to meet its opposing pin. Neatly he dragged it into place and started to do so with the next few pairs. His hands shook with anticipation, something which didn’t go unnoticed by Steven.
“You know, I could probably do this bit.” He muttered, embarrassed by the Doctor’s absolute attention. “It’s just the back I couldn’t-”
“No.” The Doctor responded hungrily. “Let me.” He knew he must sound desperate, perhaps he wanted Steven to understand the full extent of his madness.
After finishing binding the busk the Doctor stood back to admire his work, but he frowned at the picture he’d so far painted. The corset sat loosely on Steven’s hips, arranged ineffectively and lazily. There was a sense of drowsy idleness about the way it lounged about doing nothing for nobody. The Doctor wasn’t happy with that, not at all.
Steven laughed breathily at the Doctor’s look of disgust, “You’ve not done any of the actual work yet! Don’t get upset just because you’ve not put in the effort.” For a moment it almost sounded like Steven was… testing him.
“Very well then. Turn around.” The Doctor said commandingly, trying to match Steven’s sudden and surprising conviction. Steven threw him a nervous half-grin and complied, turning and pacing backwards to meet the Doctor.
For a moment the Doctor felt in stasis, paralysed by the proximity to his idol. His idol who somehow, after everything, still trusted him enough to turn his back. In this position the Doctor could do anything. He could disregard Steven’s sacred qualities and throw him aside, abandoning the companionship they had built up in favour of bitter and tired betrayal. He could study him for hours, forcing upon him the honour of being a trophy. He could pull apart his skin and bones to find out exactly what made humans tick. He could do anything, and Steven would trust him to do so.
Gently the Doctor reached out his hand and ran it down the corset’s modesty panel (a thin fabric between the folds of lacing), feeling Steven’s breath rise and fall down his spine. He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. Then, tracing his finger up the curve of Steven’s spine, the Doctor took note of how the skin underneath the panel instinctively squirmed and relished in this distant contact. He supposed Steven hadn’t been worshipped like this in some time; it was a privilege to be his sole devotee.
“I can feel that.” Steven muttered hoarsely, shocking the Doctor out of his stupor. “I thought you wanted to get this done quickly so you could see Preslin as soon as possible.”
“There is time- we have time.”
“Good.”
The Doctor wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Good’ was a promising word. Here he was, wordlessly communicating his reverence, while Steven seemed almost… submissive to it. The Doctor dared to dream that perhaps he wanted this too. Steven had been a pilot once, though his ship would have been of a lesser calibre, he must remember what that control felt like. He had even marvelled at the Tardis’ exterior dimensions back in 1066, now it was his turn.
It was time. The Doctor stepped slightly away and grasped two lengths of lacing located at the centre of the backpiece, ready to take them back and introduce some slack, then tightness.
And
he
pulled.
Steven gasped.
It was a delicious, wordless gasp. It reminded the Doctor of the sound the Tardis made during dematerialisation, a feeble attempt to stretch while everything inside was trapped.
The Doctor looked down to his companions waist and admired the difference even just that pull had begun to make. He eyed up the shapely outline that was beginning to form, realising he had been right in thinking Steven had potential. The Doctor thought this must be the best use of the human form, finally it could reach something akin to dimensional ascension.
The Doctor thought it best to check in with Steven who had still not spoken up. “How do you feel, hmm?” His tone was calculating and stiff, he was too busy working out Steven’s limit to bother himself with the empathetic sort of care.
“Fine, I’m fine.” Steven pulled his arms back into himself, adjusting the corset to level it out again after the Doctor’s roughness. “Keep going.”
The Doctor nodded. “Very well.”
Now taking the lower lacing, the Doctor repeated the pulling motion which only served to impassion Steven further. His breath was coming in reserved heaves now, attention focused on trying to stand still.
The Doctor noticed his efforts, “No, no. That won’t do.” Steven deserved to think about this moment without fear of his status as a totem breaking down. “Come, stand against the wall.” Nodding Steven let the Doctor manoeuvre him over to a free wall on which he pressed his arms against, leaning forward.
“Continue, please.” Steven whispered, placing an emphasis on ‘please’.
The Doctor could do nothing but follow his instruction.
Forcefully he wretched backwards the upper lacing, Steven pulling away to bring his own strain into the equation. It was working. The Doctor watched with a lascivious expression as the gap between the corset sides grew thinner, as did Steven’s waist. Humans truly were… programmable. While Steven was a broad man, his body was more than willing to warp within the confines of the firm trap he had given in to. The Tardis had been vast too, once. But the Doctor was its pilot now, and he was Steven’s pilot too.
“How much- how much more- can you go?” Steven gasped out, “I don’t think-”
The Doctor shook his head, an invisible smile plastered over his face, “I should give it, or rather take away, a few more inches-”
Steven, surprised, turned his head around to question the Doctor with an incredulous look.
“Inches??”
“Quite.” The Doctor had never even mastered the Tardis this much, this was his chance. “You trust me, of course?”
“I think- yes.”
Steven turned away once more, he dared not be a witness to the Doctor’s efforts. Perhaps he was afraid- to show how willing a participant he had become.
The Doctor resumed his lacing.
Once, before that first curiosity back on his home planet, the Tardis had been different. It had been a raw shape, grey and mundane with bureaucracy and idleness. Still, its energy had run wild and untamed; he had felt it the night he and Susan had left. The physical capsule was nothing but a symbol, a marker of location and possession. The real Tardis had been indescribably free. But then the Doctor had changed it, and it had changed him.
The Chameleon Circuit had squeezed it down, drawing it into the real shape of an earth ‘police box’. It delighted the Doctor to see the ship’s energy brought inwards and hidden within such an ordinary exterior, it was the ultimate display of its capabilities. In changing its appearance so extremely he had taken note of its every angle, curve and edge. He had done the same with Steven, over time.
And now here Steven was. His ship, his tether, his humanity. Changed now as well, he was in the Doctor’s possession. The Doctor could control him, shape him, give him dimension where he had originally been lacking. He would be the perfect equation. The doctor had worked it all out- Steven was to become the showcase of a beautiful theorem.
“Doctor…”
“Yes, my- Steven?”
“You can stop pulling now.”
The Doctor frowned, “Are you sure? I could still-”
“Doctor.” He could tell Steven was rolling his eyes even from behind. “We’re going out. I still need to… breathe.”
“Oh, yes.” Blast. The Doctor wished his curiosity about Preslin wasn’t still weighing heavy, it was spoiling his calculations. “This is enough, then?”
“More than enough.”
Slowly the Doctor tied the lacing up into a neat conclusion, it was the equals sign which would provide him with the answer: how Steven looked. The anticipation was killing the both of them, fear and tense exhilaration overruling their usual selves.
Steven unattached himself from the wall, turning himself around for the Doctor to gaze at. “So… what do you think?”
“I…” The Doctor had no words. “It is… you are… yes, indeed you are…”
“I’m what?”
Mathematically, Steven was perfect.
His body was trapped in verticality, the Doctor didn’t think he’d be capable of movement beyond that straight angle now. His waist, which had previously been fairly wide as in keeping with his overall frame, was cinched down by several inches. Squeezed into the corset’s bounds it had become refined and curved, giving Steven an almost hourglass figure. Above the underbust the Doctor could see the steady rise and fall of Steven’s chest, his torso pressing up against the corset in valiant resistance to its tightness.
At last the Doctor gathered the strength to finish his sentence. “Marvellous.”
Steven tried to guffaw but stopped himself as he couldn’t find the air in his lungs to do so. Out of curiosity he pressed his hand against the side of his waist, his palm wandering up the corset as he stared at the Doctor with wide eyes.
“You’ve really done a number on me Doc.” He muttered, “I hadn’t realised how… effective it would be.”
“Well now, what did you think would happen?” The Doctor crowed. “This was the garment’s entire purpose! It would do no good to have you flopping about loose in it like a fish out of water!”
“I know! I know!” Steven tried to raise his arms in defeat; he was only half successful. “I just didn’t expect I was even… capable.”
“Humans are malleable creatures, you are no exception.”
“Thanks.” Steven bit back sarcastically before turning sincere. “But really, thank you. I just couldn’t have done that on my own. I’m… sorry if I distracted you from your reading.”
“It’s no bother.” The Doctor waved his hand at Steven dismissively, “None of it was particularly interesting.”
“And I am?”
“It will do you no favours to get big-headed, although-”
The Doctor cut himself off. He couldn’t. Steven was, despite this new development, only human. He would never understand the complexities of relative dimensions in the same way the Doctor did, the way that made his mind come alive and forced him to become a disciple of the human form. To the Doctor this was a private exercise, a pleasure limited only to the higher consciousness of his people.
However it was too late now. Steven had noticed his break. “Although?”
The Doctor coughed evasively. “Well, it’s… I think you’ll find it's none of your business.”
“And I think you’ll find that it is!” Steven retorted. “You’ve just… it's my body we’re talking about, go on, what could possibly be so ‘interesting’ about it?”
“That is true…” Perhaps he could let Steven in, for a moment. Steven was so, so close to being like him. He could learn to understand, if he wanted to. “Your measurements… I was able to manipulate them with a great level of conviction. That, you cannot deny.”
“Certainly not.” Steven agreed. “But I still don’t- oh.”
Steven, with a strange look on his face, turned away from the Doctor to study the walls of the wardrobe room. There were four walls to the interior though sometimes there could be many more. The Tardis was constantly changing on the inside, thinking up new designs and personalities to cope with the strenuous activity of its exterior being contained. It kept the ship alive, the Doctor couldn’t be more grateful for its patience.
“Oh, oh no!” Steven gasped out with as much forced furor as he could manage. “I’m not… you’re not-”
“Not another word, young man!”
Steven managed a confused laugh. “What have I- what have we- become. This is ridiculous, I must be round the bend to have enj…”
“To have what?”
“Not another word!”
The Doctor sighed; they were getting nowhere. They probably never would. But at least Steven was starting to learn the true motivation behind his habits now. He was a smart man, he understood his limits as a human and the difference between him and the Doctor. By now he must know about the Doctor’s own rather unique wants, and how he snugly fit into them.
They ought to be going now. It would do neither of them any good to stay cooped up in the Tardis any long; their faces were flushed and overcome by the sudden heat that the corset’s process had flung at them. Steven had felt something too, surely. He seemed to have liked it well enough, he’d never once complained about the Doctor’s control- perhaps he was used to it.
“Come along then, we must be leaving soon.” The Doctor said, starting to make a hurried exit. “We shall find a place to recoup, then: Preslin.”
“Hang on, Doctor!” He looked back to see Steven not having moved, stiffly standing with his hands on his slimmed waist. “I- uh- I need you to help me again.”
Ah, of course. Steven couldn’t exactly go walking about renaissance Paris dressed in nothing but his hosiery and a corset- he’d be recruited for all sorts of strange human rituals; the Doctor didn’t want him to waste his sacredness for such a physical act, with a stranger no less.
He needed a shirt, preferably something with historically appropriate decor such as a ruffled neck, belt, scabbard, etc. The Doctor thought it a shame to conceal his work under layers of fabric, but he supposed he could still silently enjoy it. To perfect the picture of a distinguished renaissance man Steven would need a cloak and felted hat too. Then he would be ready to step out into whatever year it was they’d landed in. The Doctor shivered in delight at the realisation that this was what he’d originally wanted from the Tardis.
“Leave it to me!” The Doctor chuckled, “I will find you everything you need. This wardrobe is utterly expansive, you know.”
“I do. I must say, I don’t feel very expansive right now.” Steven muttered jokily.
“As I said, that is the point.”
“Right…”
“So, I will find you the very best attire, and then…?”
“I think you’ll have to help me into it all, too. I can hardly move in this thing.”
The Doctor nodded. “Of course.”
It was becoming apparent that, like this, Steven was dependent on him- the Doctor quietly delighted at that prospect. He was still his own person but without the Doctor he would be stuck, a stationary totem waiting to be praised. Steven needed that praise, the Doctor thought. And he needed his help. The Doctor was more than willing to provide it.
The Doctor prayed that Steven would allow him to recreate this equation. This time was tantalising enough to make the Doctor want to beg for more. And he would beg, just wordlessly. He needed to show Steven how much he needed this, then Steven could at last confess his reciprocation and become the perfect little altar.
Steven’s shape was a gorgeous thing, so brilliantly obedient and ready to stretch and slim itself through the sheer pressure of devotion. He had always been an adaptable man, the Doctor wasn’t surprised his form followed that same philosophy.
The Doctor needed Steven bound, it was the only chance left to bring him up to his level. If Steven could understand this and let him rejoice in the beauty of his dimensions then perhaps he could one day understand everything else.