I do not own the BBC, Doctor Who, or its affiliates. If I did, I would live in a mansion and not drive a 2000 Civic.
It was quiet, save the ever-present soothing mechanical buzz of his beloved blue box. It might as well have been deathly silent; he had become so accustomed to the hum of the TARDIS, it could be easily regarded as a third heartbeat. The entirety of the day had been stale and stagnant, consisting of simply fiddling with the console, seeing what other wacky quarters and passageways the TARDIS was up to holding.
His companions had requested that they spend two weeks to themselves in order to devote their time to mundane human-y things: taxes, doctor's appointments, and all that trifling nonsense. At least his boring days weren't THAT horrible. Oh, if Amy and Rory only knew what they were missing…well, erm, nothing really.
It wasn't until he eventually pulled himself from his sub-console swing that he noticed familiar handwriting had scrawled itself on his psychic paper.
"In dire need of an adventure, sweetie. Give me a lift?"
It was signed with a large "X" that appeared to be quickly and desperately slashed on the note. The Doctor let out a long and heavy breath, and realized that the tranquility of his box would soon be disturbed. He began to find a comfort in the calm and quiet, rather than a burden, because he knew it wouldn't get him into nearly as much trouble as his wife. A smile then painted itself on his lips (with a hint of remaining anxiety) when he remembered that the trouble was half the fun.
He gazed towards the ceiling. "Well, Sexy, looks like we're going to see the little wifey. God help us," and with a toss of a lever and vworping thud, the TARDIS gave an approving hum indicating they had arrived.
Honestly, getting River out of prison was another notch in his honor that the woman had already so badly crippled. But when her eyes did that strange little "thing", where the clear green became illuminated with gold flecks of joy, like a dozen tiny fireflies synchronized; his honor was thrown to the cold slate of the Stormcage floor. He burst open the TARDIS door with excitement to see this tiny spark in River, one of his favorite galactic phenomenon.
And concurrent with a loud, excited, "Sweetie!", he saw the glittering of her eyes that he knew so well.
She was dressed in dark green sweatpants, scarred with a small bleach spot on her right thigh, her beloved boots, and a tight, very, er….flattering gray t-shirt. He jerked his head up when he realized he was eyeing her a little too voraciously.
"Doctor, what is it?" Her eyes scrunched up in a perplexed glance.
"Nothing, nothing, just heard you wanted a little field trip." He held up his psychic paper and offered her a comforting smile. Her face ignited with anticipation as she brushed by him, and made her way toward the TARDIS.
"Well, come on then! You promised me a trip." She made her way toward the console, as he followed behind her.
"So where to, Sir?" She grabbed the monitor and swung her way around the console. His console.
"Sorry, Mrs. Song, but I do believe this is my TARDIS, therefore I drive."
"Oh please, honey, I pilot her just as well as you can. Some might even say better."
And with that, he placed his hands around her compact, unexpecting waist, and (despite a reluctant, shocked gasp, and a temptingly indignant "DOCTOR!") he lifted her away from the console.
"Sorry, you are just too stubborn of a woman for your own good," he scolded, turning his attention to the monitor.
"You know…that's not always a complaint," she purred with a voice that was low and primal. It sent a slight twitch through the highways of nerves from his forehead to his toenails, and his hearts sped up a little, but with a nervous scratch of his cheek, he refocused on the keyboard in front of him.
"So where should we go? Oh, Lucian, where they have forests of colored lights depending on your body temperature when you touch them. Or this new planet, Crespique, where they have caves that are completely made of edible sugar crystals. Just like cotton candy!" He frantically punched coordinates into the keyboard, reminiscent of a child running to get to a county fair. After a few seconds of no elicited response, he was jolted to find two arms looped underneath his shoulders, and two French-manicured palms splayed flat across his chest.
In his ear, there was a soft, delicate, yet guttural whisper. "Sweetie, why don't we stay in for the day, hmm?"
He twisted his neck to face River as best as he could, and lowered his voice to the same hushed volume. "I thought you said you wanted an adventure."
"Well, then, sweetie, can't we make our own?" Then, in the next few seconds, although the Doctor lacked the capacity to deduce exactly how it happened, there were moist lips dancing against each other, clicking teeth, and hands bundled underneath thick, golden, curls.
"River, not now, not here." Sleeping with his spouse in the console room was not something he was used to. In some ways, he almost perceived it as defamation of something sacred. However, River ignored his plea. And she was just so soft, and tasted like honey, and his hands fit just right in the cinch of her waist and on the flare of her hips, and her nails and her lips had burned their way into his skin….well, what the hell. He knew that Sexy wouldn't mind.
River placed her lips on the pulse point racing in his neck. He loved it when she did that.
With two eager snaps and a swish, he stood bare-chested in front of his wife, braces at his side, as his deft, yet anxious, hands lifted the hem of soft gray cotton over the bulk of her head of hair. He nipped at her earlobe and the gap between her collarbones as she clandestinely unhooked her lace-adorned red bra and tossed it to the floor like crumpled paper. The clack of the hook-and-eye closure against the metal ground was his cue to trace his tongue along the blank canvas of her sternum. He placed gentle kisses on each of her hearts, branding them as his. He used his lips and thumbs to write elaborate circular images on the peaks of both breasts: powerful, evocative symbols for "heat", "sex", "love", "beauty". She let out a gentle hum of approval, and she fiddled delicate hands through boyish brown hair, sending tingles of raw erotic electricity through his entire face. She placed two fingers underneath his strong chin in order to nudge him back to face her; when she looked at him, her seemingly innocent Doctor, his eyes were stained with lust and a half-arousing, half-frightening hunger.
Even in her euphoric haze, River forced her lips onto his with all the energy she could muster, tongues dancing together, teeth nipping at necks and lower lips. He heard her nails click against the button of his trousers, with her attention still directly beamed at planting kisses along his collarbones and strong jaw. She tore herself away in order to push his trousers to his ankles, and he fiercely kicked them away, like a snake abandoning its oppressing skin.
The Doctor pressed his calloused and well-worn palms on his wife's hips with a possessiveness she was not used to. But the moan that came from the back of her throat indicated that this was a change for the better.
Although all that took up the capacity of her brilliant mind was wanting him, all of him; she couldn't help to wonder, even for a short second, if her future self would have to school a younger, more awkward, Doctor how to tune his wife's body the way she liked. Because for now, he certainly knew what he was doing. Her attention looped its way back to her husband's hands painting every inch of her hips.
In one smooth motion, while planting his lips from stomach to thigh, he managed to toss her sweatpants and lacy red thong to the other side of the console room.
"What a talent," she moaned as she gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Time travel…," his breath hitched as she grabbed the hard, throbbing length of him from his boxers, "makes you a great multi-tasker."
"I'm sure," she whispered, as she ripped herself away from his wanting eyes and ravenous body, and hoisted her naked figure on the console. With a crooked finger, she beckoned him further, and with a wry smile, he more than complied. Neither of the two lovers noticed a lever had been jolted downwards.
With a wandering finger, he traced a lined from her neck down, giggling at her gasp as his knuckle gently grazed her nipple. He placed two palms on both of her sides, tracing the perfect hourglass frame, from feminine wasped waist, to her generous hips. Gently walking two fingers along her inner thigh, her breath came our in short gasps, heavy with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She was silky, wet, and hot, just pleading him to enter her. He let his hands do the talking, and she whimpered as he finally found the small button of nerves at her core. He was playing her like some sort of tantric instrument, evoking sounds and sobs of pure euphoria with every clockwise motion around her clit.
He sunk his teeth into her neck, with one hand kneading her full breast and the other still inside her, making her squirm. He knew she just wanted to be full of him already; his angular, sharp body the perfect counterpart to her thick, curvaceous frame. He assumed the whirring of the TARDIS was just Sexy's participation to their torrid encounter.
He sucked at the nape of her neck, wondering if he had seen that mark in his past.
Her nails were making tracks on his back now, and that was his confirmation. With quick gasps and a shaky grip, he slowly guided himself into her. He felt her blow a long, warm exhale, and the back of his neck, causing him to quake, as she slowly muttered, "Harder, honey…please." He did his duty, and obliged to his wife's cry, thrusting inside her with force and voracity, both their hips rotating in a fluid motion, that soon turned wobbly and jerky, like some carnal, ritualistic dance to the gods. Her buxom figure bounced and he steadied her long legs around his back, mesmerized by the motions her breasts and ass were making on the console, and just how sexy she really was, even when she was panting and her body slick with sweat. He could feel the air around that had gotten heavy and humid, and weighed on his lungs. Their movements had become slow and distant, but he knew she was close. With one final thrust, she gave in, her head tilting back, curls flung freely, and a powerful scream, his name, offered up to the universe.
Stars began to etch themselves in his vision, and all he could see was his future and his past; her glowing face. He quietly muttered "River" with one short breath, but even at its miniscule volume it carried a constraining and uplifting power…with all his love for her.
And no one had even paid the smallest amount of attention to the brakes of the TARDIS. Or how the monitor indicated their arrival in the Pond's backyard.
He slowly and exhaustedly lifted his whimpering and giggling wife off of the console, and they both laid on the floor in a tangle of limbs, letting the heat wick itself off their bodies. With a low chuckle, she rolled over on top of him.
"See, sweetie? Aren't you glad we stayed in? Better than any planet you could have dreamed up." They were then jolted awake from their afterglow by a loud booming knock on the TARDIS door.
"DOCTOR! Doctor, come out and see us!" shouted a woman's thick Scottish accent through the blue-painted concrete.
With eyes the size of planets, a still-naked River clumsily scattered her way on her hands and knees behind the console.
"What are you DOING? She's your mother!" he indignantly pleaded while pulling up his trousers at a cheetah's pace.
And with a thunk, the door flung open. The Doctor felt his stomach fall into his legs.
"It was open, so me and Rory thought-," she paused, stood silent for a while, and giggled. Rory stood there looking like a confused toddler.
"Lose your shirt in the vortex, did you?" Amy teased. It was then he realized his wife had his used his shirt to cover herself. He glared at her in her hiding place. She gave him a more fatal expression. He quickly forfeited the argument.
In a low, embarrassed tone, Rory reluctantly added, "Seriously, mate, put your shirt on. That's my wife."
"Well, I hate to annoy you, Mr. Williams, but my shirt is currently incapacitated at the moment." It was then that a loud giggle escaped River's lips.
"Doctor, who was that?" Amy's neck perched up inquisitively, "Is there a new lady friend that we should know about?" She began to make her way around the console room. And there she found her paradoxical daughter, crumpled in a clandestine ball, with the Doctor's shirt over her torso. "What the hell? RIVER!"
Rory rolled his eyes and lips scowled tight across his face. A pantless River stood from up behind the console. She was blushing. River, his gun-wielding, wanted criminal, psychopathic River…was blushing. The Doctor stood with a mixture of shock, utter terror, and humiliation heavy in his face. His mouth was dry, and yet he tried to gulp down his worry. It didn't work.
"You slept…with my daughter….and best childhood mate." Rory nodded as he calmly strolled towards the still shirtless Doctor, and at the end of his calm stroll, he calmly decked the Doctor in the jaw.
"Rory!" The Pond girls shouted in unison.
"I guess I deserve that. But we are married, you know," the Doctor smugly offered. Rory gave him a dangerous glare that genetics had most definitely passed down to the man's daughter.
With her arm around River's shoulder, Amy conceded to the Doctor's point. "You know, Rory, he's right. They are husband and wife, and I'm sure the Doctor walked in on us more than once." The Doctor cringed, thinking of unpleasant and awkward memories.
"Yeah, I know," Rory agreed with his wife, which he did so well, and he looked like a scolded puppy dog, "But still…that's our daughter, man."
"Who also happens to be older than us," Amy interjected. Somehow River had managed to wiggle her way out the console room, and 5 minutes later returned, fully clothed, into a massive air of tension.
"So much for family reunions, eh?" And when she was met by no response, she fiddled with her vortex manipulator, and disappeared with a few sparks and a puff of smoke.