Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

72(M)

                  good vibrations

                   coffeesuperhero

River is in the library of the TARDIS, curled up comfortably on the sofa. She doodles idly in her notebook, awaiting the eventual return of the Doctor, who is still asleep after an invigorating round of it's-been-far-too-long-now-take-off-your-clothes. The TARDIS tumbles on through time and space for awhile longer, and then River hears shuffling noises in the corridor. She smiles when he appears in the doorway: the Doctor, Disheveled. It's her new favorite look for him, really, she decides, watching him wander into the library, no braces, no bow tie, his hair sticking up in strange places, shirt untucked and buttoned oddly so that it hangs lopsidedly on his slender frame.

"Hello," she drawls, inviting him over with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Hello," he replies. He settles in next to her on the sofa, and she tucks the notebook into a bag near her feet. "Recording our latest adventure?"

"Perhaps," she says, reaching up to smooth some of his wild hair back down.

"Mmm. I've been thinking," he says, his expression just this side of uncomfortable, which means, she knows, that he's been thinking about sex, and more particularly about some novel new idea he's come up with. She never faults his theories-- the premise is always sound, and the execution flawless, and oh, yes, they've had some good times-- though she does find his embarrassment on the subject to be a consistent source of comedy. Still, she finds it best not to be visibly amused, lest he clam up and lose them both an opportunity for further exploration of one another.

"Oh?" she says, carefully modulating her tone so there is no trace of residual amusement.

"Your screwdriver has special settings," he says, spreading his hands.

"So it does," River acknowledges.

"You had mentioned, earlier, you know, in passing, that the low-level vibrations of said special settings might have some kind of interesting, er, effects if put to a certain kind of use, and since you're here, and I'm here, and we don't seem to be presently engaged in running for our lives, I was wondering if you might want to give that little experiment a go, possibly. Does that make sense?" he asks, as though this entire explanation has been the epitome of helpful and illuminating.

River smiles back at him. It's times like these that she's glad that she knows him as well as she does, as she would never otherwise make any sense of his often vaguely worded propositions. "I think I understand you perfectly, my love. You want to use the special settings on my sonic screwdriver to make me orgasm, after which, I presume, though you didn't mention it, you will fuck me, and we will both fall into a pleasantly exhausted post-coital sleep, at least until we're interrupted by the end of the universe or some other peril."

He swallows, eyes wide, and fiddles distractedly with the buttons on his shirt. "Er, yes. Quite. Certainly. I happen to prefer my way of saying it, though, it was much less...I don't know." He waves his hands in the air uselessly.

"Less explicit, perhaps? Yes, well. Sometimes there's no pretty way to phrase a thing, my love," River says, leaning forward to kiss him. "Yes, by the way. The answer is always yes."

They don't leave the library immediately; she distracts him with kisses, or he distracts her. When they finally move back to bed, he undresses her with quiet reverence, as though it's the first time he's ever seen her, and in return she lovingly undoes his trousers and his haphazardly buttoned shirt. After all their clothes have been discarded, he kisses her again, a long, lingering kiss, and she reaches up to run her hands over the smooth plane of his chest and down to his hips, forgetting entirely about the experiment with the sonic and its special settings in her desire to touch as much of him as possible. He stops her with a smile and a wink, pulling her hands gently away from his hips.

"Hands to ourselves for now," he says, but first brings her hands up, one at a time, pressing kisses against each of her palms. Even the briefest touch of his warm lips against her hands makes her sigh, and she can feel his mouth curve up in a smile. "Ah, the screwdriver. Mustn't forget that."

She sits back on the bed, gazing fondly at him while he rummages around for her sonic. "If you can't find it, there's always later," she says, missing the warmth of his body against hers, but he shakes his head, determined.

"Found it!" he says triumphantly. He comes back to the bed and presses her gently against the mattress, leaning over her, lips ghosting along the line of her neck until she shivers. "Now close your eyes," he whispers, and she does.

She hears him move away, just slightly. Then there's a buzzing, and she feels the slightest tingle of sensation start to slide up the line of her inner thigh. She whimpers when the low-level vibration pulses directly over her clit, and oh, he's really very good at this, she thinks vaguely. He focuses there for a moment and she moans when he moves the sonic away, sending little whispers of pleasure travelling up her belly to her breasts, hovering there, teasing, before changing direction and tracing the curve of her side.

"Oh, I love you," she moans, as the pulses caress her hips. Resonating waves of vibrating bliss travel from the bones of her hip and spread outward, bathing her entire body in a steady rhythm of ecstasy.

"And I you," he murmurs. There is need in the tone of his voice, and she is overcome by a desire to know what is written on his face, to watch him want her.

"I want to see you," she whispers, and the words seem to sync up with the pulsing of the sonic. "Please."

"Open your eyes," he says, sounding a little breathless himself, and she looks up at him, drinking in the sight of him, the color of his flushed cheeks, the taut lines of his stomach, the sharp angles of hipbones, the rise and swell of his erection. She licks her lips involuntarily, momentarily torn between the desire to have him finish what he's started and the delicious thrill of her mouth around him. She is tempted, so tempted, by all the memories of the frustrated little noises that he makes when she teases him with her tongue, and she is on the verge of giving into temptation when he increases the vibration on the sonic, the sudden new rush of ecstatic euphoria pushing her closer to the edge of desire.

"This seems to be a delightfully successful experiment so far, River, but it is becoming increasingly difficult not to touch you," he admits, staring down at her.

"Your rules," she says, panting, catching the blankets up in her fingers.

"Made to be broken," he observes, carefully laying the still-vibrating sonic on the bed, tilting it so it continues to send its blessed undulating rhythms toward the curve of her hip. He places quick but tender kisses along the inside of her thigh before his lips duck down to curl around her clit, and just the tiniest hint of delicious suction from his mouth is enough, it's everything, it's exactly what she needed, and she shouts something unintelligible, her toes curling into the sheets.

She doesn't wait to come down; she wants him, wants the feel of his skin against hers. "Come here," she gasps, reaching for out for him, and he takes the invitation without hesitation, crawling back up her body, shuddering as her hand wraps around the glorious length of him, guiding him closer and closer still until she has him exactly where she needs him.

"River," he moans, touching his forehead to hers, hovering there for a moment, waiting, until she shifts her hips, pushing against him. He pushes back, then, the two of them moving together in a frantic dizzy rush until they both cry out, finally satiated.

He flops down onto the bed next to her and reaches out to pull her close. They catch their breath, heartbeats slowly returning to normal, and after a few blissful moments he seems to remember the sonic. He fumbles around for it and switches it off, then holds it up for inspection. "This may have been one of my more brilliant ideas," he says smugly, and she grins, remembering other ideas.

"Just you wait, my love," she laughs, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. "Just you wait."