Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

139(M)

baby, let me show you I'm a talented
                               boy

                            leiascully

The Doctor is startled to discover that he's delighted that River is, in fact, quite the screamer.

It begins as a strange day. He mooches around the TARDIS, itching somehow under his skin. Scratching doesn't help - he just ends up with red streaks up and down his arms. Twiddling bits on the console and trying to resolder a few wires so that the TARDIS can produce espresso on command only gets him an electric shock and a few reproving whirrs from somewhere in the depths of her engines. He paces around and around the corridors, looking for old rooms, never quite finding what he's looking for. Even a quick jog through the Gamma Forests with a brave and lovely girl called Lorna Bucket (who looks amazingly familiar, come to think of it) doesn't ease his restlessness. He touches the console, programming in coordinates, and rings the bell.

He opens the door expecting a rush of sea air (nothing more invigorating than a planet of archipelagos with six moons, a plethora of toothy creatures, untold treasures on nearly every island, and wildly unpredictable tides) and finds instead that he's inside the Stormcage facility, staring at River, who has one hand clutched around the bars of her cell in utter defiance of her casual posture. She's been updating her diary, he sees, resisting the urge to glance at the pages that lay open on her bed, rustling a bit in the winds from the storm.

"Well?" River asks, her voice containing both "What are you doing right now?" and "What aren't you doing right now?" and suddenly he understands what all of this has been. The directionless energy, the ache for friction, the fact that he hasn't been able to outrun his need: to put it bluntly, he wants her. He wants her naked against him, under him, over him, their skin slick and sliding and her cries of pleasure filling the room. Yes.

"Breaking my wife out of prison," he tells her, his voice slightly rougher than he intends. "That cot of yours isn't quite up to my standards, when it comes to conjugal visits."

"That's more like it," she says with satisfaction, and he fumbles the sonic out and unlocks her cell. She shoves the door open and flings her arm around his neck. His mouth meets hers and he pulls her against him, desperate for her touch, stumbling backwards until they're safe in the TARDIS. The door closes behind them and he pushes her up against it, his tongue sliding against hers and their teeth clicking together in the urgency of their kiss. She makes pleased, predatory little noises that seem to hit him right in the limbic system, sending electric bolts up and down his spine.

River pulls his bow tie free and he slides his hands up under her camisole, still kissing her, unable to keep his hands off her. He only gets a bit tangled up as he unhooks her bra and flings it over his shoulder. He can't get her undressed fast enough for his liking, and she clearly feels the same, the way she's tugging at his braces and ripping at his buttons as she drags his shirt off him. He slides his hand under the waistband of her loose trousers and down further into the slick heat between her legs. That is exactly what he was looking for all day; they both sigh happily. He slides his fingers between her folds, teasing, exploring, finding her clit and drawing circles to make her moan, and oh, does she moan.

Her voice starts deep, like a promise, sending shivers all through him. The sound gets into his bones, a delicious ache in the marrow that nothing but more and more can satisfy. He pushes his fingers into her, just barely, to hear the hunger in her moans. He kisses her fleetingly, a promise for later, and then lets his fingers slide back up to her clit. Her voice gets higher as his fingers move faster; he plays her like an instrument, high to low and back again, until it's nearly a song, the sound she's making.