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tellitslantTitle: and I will stop for you
Author:tellitslant
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: River Song (River/Eleven)
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Mild spoilers for 6.01-6.02.
Word count: 1500
Summary: River knows a bit of anticipation does wonders for the sex life, but she's getting tired of having to take matters into her own hands while waiting for the Doctor.
Notes: This was sort of inspired by a long-ago conversation in the comments of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nostalgia_lj's Eleven fic The Soloist. It is also written in the spirit of May, the Merry Month of Masturbation.
River jerked awake, a scream strangling in her throat. She stared unseeing into the darkness that surrounded her, searching for something to ground her, anything to take her out of the nightmare world and bring her safely to – where was she? For a heart-stopping moment she didn't know, until a bank of lights began to glow dimly in a corner. They pulsed with what felt like concern and she relaxed, leaning back against her headboard. The TARDIS. Of course.
"Thank you, dear," she said out loud. "Just like that is lovely, if you don't mind." The light warmed slightly in acknowledgement.
River shoved her hair out of her face and looked around, calming herself with the familiarity of her room. Everything was as her past self, or perhaps her future self, had left it, burnished wood furnishings gleaming in the low light and mounds of cushions heaped at strategic intervals. It was a monument to comfort and hedonism, as different as possible from her cell in Stormcage.
River shivered, burrowing deeper into the comforting embrace of the duvet. She wasn't going to think about that now. The grey pallor of her dead days in Stormcage weren't going to wipe away the awful emptiness of her nightmares, with their unknown prey always just around the corner. But what, then? A cup of tea? She considered, then discarded, the idea of going to the kitchen. Never mind that it was the middle of the night, she'd probably run into the Doctor, and, well. She cast a wry glance at the other, empty, side of her bed. It wasn't that she'd mind being comforted, exactly. But not by this Doctor, not quite yet. He wasn't ready for her to need him that much.
She rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to force it into a more comfortable shape. Her hand hit a hard edge and she pulled the diary out from its resting place, rifling through the pages even though the light was too dim to read by. No wonder she'd dreamed – she'd been reading just before bed, remembering their exploits with Jim the Fish. That had been a particularly... trying experience, full of moments when she hadn't been sure even the Doctor's brand of madcap genius would be enough to save them. It had, of course, but even now her skin crawled at the memories.
River ran a finger across the rough page, puckered where water droplets had fallen on it, and pushed the fear back down. The rest of the adventure had more than compensated for the danger, after all. She couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the look on the Doctor's face as he overbalanced and fell, arms waving wildly, into the lake they'd just decontaminated. Or the sight of him climbing out of the water, hair plastered to his forehead and bow tie dripping sadly down the front of his shirt. That had almost made up for the near-death experiences all on its own.
And she remembered later, steam rising from the water under the blue light of the stars as the tension drained from her muscles, remembered the chill of the Doctor's hands against her overheated flesh. She'd laughed at him, all lanky limbs and pale skin as he winced his way into the heated pool, anachronistic swimming shorts clinging precariously to his sharp hipbones. He'd laughed too, settling into the water next to her and tucking his arm around her as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
After that it had been easy to turn in his embrace and kiss him, both of them for once with the weight of time on their side. They climbed out of the pool, dripping, water puddling around them as they sank to the ground. The evaporating moisture sensitized River's skin and she smiled as droplets fell from her hair onto the Doctor's chest below her. He leaned forward, licking rivulets of water off the line of her collarbone, and she gasped and shuddered around him, watching the stars reflected in his wide eyes.
Back in her bed on the TARDIS, River felt more than saw the lights fade again, shifting to echo the glow of the stars in her memory. She took a breath, smiling as the hint of a salt breeze rustled through her hair. "Very funny," she whispered, chiding the TARDIS even as she acknowledged a tingle of arousal, which spread through her body in response to her memories as much as the manipulation of the physical atmosphere.
Dropping the diary carelessly on the rumpled duvet, River ran one hand down over the fabric of her tank top and under the waistband of her knickers. She arched into her fingers and sighed, half in pleasure, half in frustration. Her own touch was nice enough, but she hadn't broken out of prison – again – to have to take care of herself.
"It's not like I'm asking for much," she said breathlessly into the dimness, working her fingers against slippery, sensitive skin. She'd never been able to train herself out of talking during sex. Terrible habit; it gave far too much away. "I know a bit of anticipation does wonders for the sex life, but this is getting ridiculous. And I know he wants me."
Oh, he wanted her; she could tell by the way he reached out when she passed, taking every little opportunity to touch her, just not where she needed him to. He wanted her, and she couldn't understand why he was waiting; usually the adrenaline of life and death experiences was enough to drive them into each other's arms.
River rubbed the pad of her thumb over her nipple and pretended it was him, his long cunning fingers cradling her breast. He was young, this one, and maybe that was the problem, maybe they weren't as comfortable together as they usually were. Maybe – "Oh!" She bit her lip and felt her skin flush. Maybe she'd have to show him what to do.
Yes, that had possibilities. He was always so eager to learn. She could see him now, sprawling across her bed and watching, taking note of every little motion of her hand. She slid a finger inside herself, curling it up and whimpering, and then added another, because he would never watch when he could join in, thinking he knew everything already.
And maybe he would know everything. Even so young, once he had his hands on her, maybe he'd already know every touch, every place that would drive her wild. "Not that I'd tell him," River muttered, biting back a moan. But she'd never been able to lie to him with her body – and really, she wouldn't want to. Sometime soon, they'd stop running, and then she'd make him make it up to her, all this waiting and the empty beds and the nightmares. Soon, she'd get him on his knees for her, make him apologize with words and fingers and tongue.
And once he'd proven that he was very sorry – her breath hitched and she shuddered, thinking of taking him in hand literally as well as figuratively. It had been too long since she'd seen that look on his face as he finally let his walls down and let himself need her. She felt fantasy and memory blur, twisting against her silk sheets and imagining him inside her, awkward and heavy despite his skinny frame and yet perfect for all of that, weighing her down and keeping her still for one shared moment.
She managed not to call out as she came – she never quite trusted the walls to be as thick as they looked, especially when the TARDIS was feeling playful – and sank back into her pillows, breathing hard. The lights flickered, dimming considerately, and River laughed. "Yes, exactly what I needed," she said, reaching behind her to pat the wall above her headboard. "Now if you could only give him a telepathic nudge or two in the right direction..."
Loose-limbed in the afterglow and with all hints of her nightmare gone, she couldn't work up the outrage that had plagued her earlier. Instead she slipped back into the cocoon of her duvet and closed her eyes. Patience had never been her strong suit before, but she would try it for now. Some days it felt like there was an hourglass in her head, sand slipping away with each wasted moment... but if she had learned anything in her time with the Doctor, it was that he always came through in the end. As sleep crept up on her, she smiled. She was counting on him.
Author:
tellitslantFandom: Doctor Who
Characters: River Song (River/Eleven)
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Mild spoilers for 6.01-6.02.
Word count: 1500
Summary: River knows a bit of anticipation does wonders for the sex life, but she's getting tired of having to take matters into her own hands while waiting for the Doctor.
Notes: This was sort of inspired by a long-ago conversation in the comments of
nostalgia_lj's Eleven fic The Soloist. It is also written in the spirit of May, the Merry Month of Masturbation.River jerked awake, a scream strangling in her throat. She stared unseeing into the darkness that surrounded her, searching for something to ground her, anything to take her out of the nightmare world and bring her safely to – where was she? For a heart-stopping moment she didn't know, until a bank of lights began to glow dimly in a corner. They pulsed with what felt like concern and she relaxed, leaning back against her headboard. The TARDIS. Of course.
"Thank you, dear," she said out loud. "Just like that is lovely, if you don't mind." The light warmed slightly in acknowledgement.
River shoved her hair out of her face and looked around, calming herself with the familiarity of her room. Everything was as her past self, or perhaps her future self, had left it, burnished wood furnishings gleaming in the low light and mounds of cushions heaped at strategic intervals. It was a monument to comfort and hedonism, as different as possible from her cell in Stormcage.
River shivered, burrowing deeper into the comforting embrace of the duvet. She wasn't going to think about that now. The grey pallor of her dead days in Stormcage weren't going to wipe away the awful emptiness of her nightmares, with their unknown prey always just around the corner. But what, then? A cup of tea? She considered, then discarded, the idea of going to the kitchen. Never mind that it was the middle of the night, she'd probably run into the Doctor, and, well. She cast a wry glance at the other, empty, side of her bed. It wasn't that she'd mind being comforted, exactly. But not by this Doctor, not quite yet. He wasn't ready for her to need him that much.
She rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to force it into a more comfortable shape. Her hand hit a hard edge and she pulled the diary out from its resting place, rifling through the pages even though the light was too dim to read by. No wonder she'd dreamed – she'd been reading just before bed, remembering their exploits with Jim the Fish. That had been a particularly... trying experience, full of moments when she hadn't been sure even the Doctor's brand of madcap genius would be enough to save them. It had, of course, but even now her skin crawled at the memories.
River ran a finger across the rough page, puckered where water droplets had fallen on it, and pushed the fear back down. The rest of the adventure had more than compensated for the danger, after all. She couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the look on the Doctor's face as he overbalanced and fell, arms waving wildly, into the lake they'd just decontaminated. Or the sight of him climbing out of the water, hair plastered to his forehead and bow tie dripping sadly down the front of his shirt. That had almost made up for the near-death experiences all on its own.
And she remembered later, steam rising from the water under the blue light of the stars as the tension drained from her muscles, remembered the chill of the Doctor's hands against her overheated flesh. She'd laughed at him, all lanky limbs and pale skin as he winced his way into the heated pool, anachronistic swimming shorts clinging precariously to his sharp hipbones. He'd laughed too, settling into the water next to her and tucking his arm around her as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
After that it had been easy to turn in his embrace and kiss him, both of them for once with the weight of time on their side. They climbed out of the pool, dripping, water puddling around them as they sank to the ground. The evaporating moisture sensitized River's skin and she smiled as droplets fell from her hair onto the Doctor's chest below her. He leaned forward, licking rivulets of water off the line of her collarbone, and she gasped and shuddered around him, watching the stars reflected in his wide eyes.
Back in her bed on the TARDIS, River felt more than saw the lights fade again, shifting to echo the glow of the stars in her memory. She took a breath, smiling as the hint of a salt breeze rustled through her hair. "Very funny," she whispered, chiding the TARDIS even as she acknowledged a tingle of arousal, which spread through her body in response to her memories as much as the manipulation of the physical atmosphere.
Dropping the diary carelessly on the rumpled duvet, River ran one hand down over the fabric of her tank top and under the waistband of her knickers. She arched into her fingers and sighed, half in pleasure, half in frustration. Her own touch was nice enough, but she hadn't broken out of prison – again – to have to take care of herself.
"It's not like I'm asking for much," she said breathlessly into the dimness, working her fingers against slippery, sensitive skin. She'd never been able to train herself out of talking during sex. Terrible habit; it gave far too much away. "I know a bit of anticipation does wonders for the sex life, but this is getting ridiculous. And I know he wants me."
Oh, he wanted her; she could tell by the way he reached out when she passed, taking every little opportunity to touch her, just not where she needed him to. He wanted her, and she couldn't understand why he was waiting; usually the adrenaline of life and death experiences was enough to drive them into each other's arms.
River rubbed the pad of her thumb over her nipple and pretended it was him, his long cunning fingers cradling her breast. He was young, this one, and maybe that was the problem, maybe they weren't as comfortable together as they usually were. Maybe – "Oh!" She bit her lip and felt her skin flush. Maybe she'd have to show him what to do.
Yes, that had possibilities. He was always so eager to learn. She could see him now, sprawling across her bed and watching, taking note of every little motion of her hand. She slid a finger inside herself, curling it up and whimpering, and then added another, because he would never watch when he could join in, thinking he knew everything already.
And maybe he would know everything. Even so young, once he had his hands on her, maybe he'd already know every touch, every place that would drive her wild. "Not that I'd tell him," River muttered, biting back a moan. But she'd never been able to lie to him with her body – and really, she wouldn't want to. Sometime soon, they'd stop running, and then she'd make him make it up to her, all this waiting and the empty beds and the nightmares. Soon, she'd get him on his knees for her, make him apologize with words and fingers and tongue.
And once he'd proven that he was very sorry – her breath hitched and she shuddered, thinking of taking him in hand literally as well as figuratively. It had been too long since she'd seen that look on his face as he finally let his walls down and let himself need her. She felt fantasy and memory blur, twisting against her silk sheets and imagining him inside her, awkward and heavy despite his skinny frame and yet perfect for all of that, weighing her down and keeping her still for one shared moment.
She managed not to call out as she came – she never quite trusted the walls to be as thick as they looked, especially when the TARDIS was feeling playful – and sank back into her pillows, breathing hard. The lights flickered, dimming considerately, and River laughed. "Yes, exactly what I needed," she said, reaching behind her to pat the wall above her headboard. "Now if you could only give him a telepathic nudge or two in the right direction..."
Loose-limbed in the afterglow and with all hints of her nightmare gone, she couldn't work up the outrage that had plagued her earlier. Instead she slipped back into the cocoon of her duvet and closed her eyes. Patience had never been her strong suit before, but she would try it for now. Some days it felt like there was an hourglass in her head, sand slipping away with each wasted moment... but if she had learned anything in her time with the Doctor, it was that he always came through in the end. As sleep crept up on her, she smiled. She was counting on him.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-23 04:37 pm (UTC)