#I'd say tron looks most like himself here

[pantherpilz]

I'm convinced Tron would've fought Clu right there, had Flynn not interrupted.

[whifferdills]

dont know if youre still taking prompts but i'd love to read a good old-fashioned twelvedole robo-tentacle fucking story, choking and deepthroating optional/ strongly encouraged

Twelvedole, does what it says on the tin. NSFW, body horror, you should know the drill by now. ~1.1k words.

"I can turn it off, if you like."

The Doctor is staring down at the tent in Nardole's trousers, slightly baffled. They'd been kissing on the official Telly Sofa, which they did sometimes, and had gotten a bit handsy, which was new; a bold move, activating his latest upgrade, but the time had seemed right.

"Turn it off," the Doctor repeats. Not a command, just a ‘wait, what now?’ They frown, still staring.

Nardole sighs. Maybe not the right time. Maybe not ever the right time, come to think. He's about to flick the robo-boner switch to 'off' when the Doctor lays a hand lightly on his bulge. Okay, okay. They're curious, at least, that's a start.

"I can also, um. Swap it out, if you'd prefer something else," Nardole says thickly. "Got a whole box of bits, they attach magnetically, really quite ingenious."

The Doctor shrugs. "No preferences here." They squeeze gently. "This feels good?"

"Yep," Nardole squeaks, squirming. It's not just the touching, which is very nice, but the sheer intensity with which the Doctor is regarding him. Not with lust, sure, but the level of fascination is almost equally heady. Pun not intended.

"May I?" The Doctor gestures, and gracelessly flops off the sofa, kneeling in front of him.

Nodding, Nardole leans back, sucking in as the Doctor slips their hands under his waistband and unbuttons his trousers.

"Huh," the Doctor says, once the Eroti-tron 3000 Luxury Cyber-Cock is revealed in all its electric-blue glory. They're very close. Like, can-feel-their-breath-via-the-fuck-sensor-technology close.

Nardole's hips buck up of their own accord. The Doctor moves just in time to not be slapped in the face. "Thanks," he says, for reasons he can't process and will certainly obsess over anxiously in the future.

"So it..." The Doctor pokes the side of the cock with their forefinger. "Like do you just turn it on?"

"Um. I can. Or, this is what I have it set to, it can, uh. Like, sort of, if I'm, you know, into the proceedings, enjoying them I mean, right, it'll..." He holds his hand out flat and then tilts it up, like and thus: an erection.

The Doctor raises their eyebrows: huh, the more you know. Then they promptly press the release button, and Nardole's dick pops off.

It's a weird feeling, to put it mildly.

"So the base," the Doctor says, head buried bizarrely non-erotically between Nardole's thighs. "Accepts and translates input from the attachment. Makes sense."

They tap the metal contact with an insufferably smug expression. Nardole jolts, grabs the Doctor's hair and yanks hard, yelling something unintelligible. Fuck, that was too much. Or not enough. Or something.

"Sorry," he says, relinquishing the Doctor's scalp.

"Oh, don't be. D'you want it back on?" They wave the disembodied cock.

"Uh." Maybe?

"Either way is fine. Only with the way this seems to work, I think I can...do something." They lean back, looking a little nervous, or embarrassed, either way very sweetly and attractively unsure. Combined with the disarray of their hair, it's an appealing look for them.

"Whatever," Nardole says shakily. "I mean. Okay. Yeah. Sure. Just - fuck."

"Since you've shown me yours, only fair I show you mine. If you want."

It's like pulling teeth. Yes, obviously, please do.

The Doctor grabs Nardole's thighs and bows their head. There's a pause. A very, very long pause.

"Are you not gonna take your kit off?" Nardole asks, trying not to whine too much.

"No."

"Oh."

"Well, yes, but not like you're thinking. Shut up and be patient."

"Okay." He waits. He's very patient. He's starting to second-guess what's actually happening here when he feels it. The thing, whatever it is.

Their hands on his thighs sort of - blurring. Changing shape. He looks down and he can't focus on the Doctor, can't fix them in place.

May I? they ask, inside his head. Flickering closer, very close, and hesitating, hovering.

Nardole braces himself, as much as he can considering he wasn't entirely expecting this. The world of them underneath their face. The them, them, climbing up and bearing down. He arches his back, motors whining. The Doctor pulls the veil back.

It's all just so much.

"Go for it," he says weakly. They go. The thing inside them sprawling out, wrapping around him. Tendrils pushing into his mouth, which he parts obligingly. A monster on top of him, perfunctorily wearing a human-shaped suit. Hand in hand and the whatever they are sliding in close.

You want this, he feels them say. This, here.

A force pressing down, a hand on his mouth and another hand probing into his cock-socket and a hand cupping the back of his head and a hand palming the curve of his belly. The Doctor pulls tight around him, warm and half-terrifying. Too many hands. Nardole capitulates. Or welcomes this, or something. The eager spread of physical contact, the psychic panic, the fall-apart. Nardole holds still. There's a question being asked, an is this okay?

"Yeah. It's okay," Nardole says. "It's good. It -  aw, jeeze. Oh."

I'll stop if you want. The Doctor as a Thing with hands all over everywhere and a weight far heavier than their slight frame could reasonably account for on his chest. He can't breathe. He finds himself enjoying that.

A hand on his side and a hand gently stroking his face and a hand in his mouth and a hand filling his Deluxe Pleasure Unit. The spark-sprawl of them, all over him.

Still okay? the Doctor asks, loose-limbed and many-limbed and scattershot, the gentle psychic push. All over him, all of their whatever crowding him.

Nardole spits the hand-tendril out of his mouth. "Just. If we're doing this. Are we doing this? We’re doing this. Okay. Go harder. Right? Go for broke, just-" He inhales sharply. Everything the Doctor is curling around them, digging in, and it feels like they're laughing. Nardole tries to relax. One hand patting his head and one squirming towards his arse and one under his jumper and at least three going straight into him. All of them everywhere til he's breathless and split apart, all the 500 hands pulling him away from himself, or back into himself, or something.

"It's okay," he says again, voice gone raspy. "Keep going."

The Doctor nods, and nods, and nods again. All their hands in a thumbs-up. Most of those hands embedded in Nardole. Nardole returns the thumbs-up, then gives in. A whole world around him, and so many teasing fingers and fuck does it feel amazing. Bizarre, but amazing, and besides, he can't judge. He's never come before like this, he realizes, just after he realizes he's about to come. Not sure what happens without the ejaculation module. He supposes he's about to find out. Hopefully nothing short-circuits.