The Doctor lay on his side, naked on TARDIS-blue sheets, admiring his peacefully sleeping wife. They'd been married only for a few hours (from his perspective), and he marvelled at his good fortune. What had he ever done to deserve this kind of love from her - to deserve her? He didn't believe in a deity - he'd seen too many proven to be simply more advanced aliens for that - but he decided he would happily swear by any God, if that one was the God who had gifted him with River Song.
She stirred in her sleep, and murmured something he couldn't quite hear. He put his hand out, intending to soothe her back to sleep, but found himself running his fingers gently through her wild halo of dark blonde hair, revelling in the way it felt against his skin. So silky and crinkly and spicy-sweet. In his mind her hair was sort of a microcosm of River herself, unruly but sweet, larger-than-life but oh so soft. She stirred again, and he watched her lips curve into that half-mocking, half-sexy smile. Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "Hello, Sweetie," and stretched.
The stretch was interesting to watch - it suggested intriguing possibilities - and he felt himself become aroused again at the sight of her. He let his fingers slip out of her hair and down the curve of her neck to her breast, and he stroked the soft skin there until it became a hard peak. River's stretch transformed into greedily arching into his touch. "Mmm," she said, her voice slow and soft with sleep, "My love, are you really this insatiable? I've lost count..." Her eyes were still closed, but the sexy smile was definitely wider now.
"Two hearts," he pointed out, chuckling, "I recover quickly. And it's been centuries since I last, er... " He trailed off, embarrassed to say it, but he moved his questing fingers to the other breast, stroking until its peak was equally as firm as the first.
"Made love?" she suggested delicately, arching into his hand again. Her eyes were open now but heavy with sleep and desire. With aching slowness, he dragged the hand downward, caressing her skin and eliciting shivers and moans as he stroked her.
"Had sexual relations," he corrected, shaking his head, hair flopping into his eyes. "It's been considerably longer than that since I made love. If even then." This last was said under his breath, so quietly she almost didn't hear the words. She murmured his name - his true name - and turned to face him, sliding her own hands along his body, pulling his hips hard against hers. "River..." he breathed her name into her mouth as she nuzzled at his lips, nipping his lower lip gently with her teeth. Her hands were the questing ones now, stroking and caressing until he thought he would go mad with the sensations. He groaned as she took him into her body, and it was his turn to arch into her touch until they both cried out their pleasure in each other and slowly, slowly came to rest together, bodies limp with the lassitude brought on by loving each other for hours.
"Tell me what you meant," she asked sleepily, later, nestling her head on his shoulder.
"You said you hadn't made love for 'longer than centuries', although you'd had sexual relations," she replied, candidly. "I know about some of those - Liz the First, for example, and there was a young noblewoman who liked to paint you in, um, heroic poses." She laughed as he groaned with embarrassment at that recollection. It wasn't hard to fluster him, but actually making him blush - that took talent. And practice. And she so loved to do it.
"Oh, River. How did you know about that?" He sounded scandalized.
"Archaeologist," she responded, still laughing.
He groaned again, avoiding her gaze. "You mean that painting is still intact and on view somewhere? In public?"
"Well... time-travelling archaeologist. It was still shown in galleries in the early 20th century, my love, but I haven't seen it anywhen after, oh, perhaps the Blitz?" She was still chuckling. She heard him mutter something about other reasons to have a deity to thank, and decided to relent; he was adorable when he was embarrassed, but no sense in overdoing it. Besides, he was avoiding the more serious question. She sobered. "I am an archaeologist, my love, so I know about many of your... adventures, but I don't know much about them. The people themselves. I know some of their names, and I know a bit about the most... notorious of them-" She broke off and grinned at him as he flushed with fresh embarrassment - he was pretty sure he knew which of his friends she was talking about - but she quickly became serious again. "I want to know you, and knowing them will help. Tell me about them?"
The question disturbed him, but he was honest enough to acknowledge that it was a reasonable one, especially for someone brought up - more or less - as a 21st century human on Earth. At least for bits of her upbringing, the bits when she was Mels. Earth humans of that era were obsessed with each others' sexual and romantic histories and... wait. He was getting a little far afield. Focus, Time Lord. She just wanted some knowledge of her husband's friends and family. He could tell her the highlights without hurting her or making her jealous, he was sure of it. So he began to speak, haltingly at first.
"Long ago, in my first incarnation, I stole a TARDIS - or she stole me - and I had three companions. Or assistants. Or... friends. Their names were Susan, Barbara, and Ian..."