Ficathon Entry: Living Legend (1/2)
Title: Living Legend
by Musedepandora (see: Master List of Fanfics)
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to various persons and corporations that are not me or associated with me. This piece of fanfiction is written with the admiration and respect for the original work. I claim no ownership of Doctor Who's creations. No profit is made from this material, now or in the future.
Rating: NC17, adult (for explicit sexual content)
Word Count: 11,816 (because the Doctor is a wordy fuck)
Characters: Eleven/River Song
Warnings: Don't read this if you're a minor, and your parents would get mad at me. This contains spoilers up to and including 06x07 so don't read if you'd get mad at me.
Summary: Really, he should have expected this. Not the sex - Well, yes, that too- but the fact that the Shah of the Seven Sands was River Song.
Notes: This was written for the Guns and Curls Ficathon over on the spoiler_song community. This was actually a response to two prompts, though I feel that I might technically have only fulfilled the spirit of one since this is River/Doctor, not just River + the Doctor. Oh well. The two prompts I worked off of were: (1.) "River/Doctor (any), pulling River's hair, NC-17 welcome... ♥" set by trialia and (2.) "River + the Doctor, Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." by ms_rubiks . Also, I've had to split this story into two posts because of the size but it's not meant to be split into two, so I'm splitting it right before it starts earning its rating. But please, take the piece as if it were not broken like that.
Special thanks: To my beta, r34dinglight , for making fun and encouraging me in the correct doses. To several of my friends that had discussions with me about what exactly Eleven would call his penis while having sex with River (suggestions included: TARDIS since it has a time and relative dimension in space, his special companion, his original sonic, and Jim the Fish). Thanks also to those online that have given me encouragement when I said I was considering writing adult material. Also, thanks to leiascully who made this really fantastic post ( Smut: You're Doing It Wrong (Or How to Do It Right)) over on her lj that really helped me concentrate my own thoughts and prompt me to try my hand at this.
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Really, he should have expected this. Not the sex - Well, yes, that too- but the fact that the Shah of the Seven Sands was River Song. The Doctor knew the stories. A warrior woman who led an army of thieves, mercenaries, and the disenfranchised against the bloody rule of an inept and apathetic king. A freedom fighter that inspired a people to topple the thousand year oppression of a foreign dynasty. A fae enchantress sent by the gods to sow discord and chaos amongst the giants, throwing a million bodies down in her wake; reducing a great empire to ashes, from which a new age of peace and prosperity could spring. A mortal myth. A living legend in her own time. Honestly, the Doctor had always wanted to meet her. He wasn't terribly surprised to realize he already had.
Of course, it all starts with him as her prisoner.
It might seem like a bit of a cliche, but the Doctor has a knack for cliches, tropes, and tawdry quirks. He likes to believe he brings a sort of intrepid style and frankly unparalleled genius to the table that more than makes up for it. From the smirk on River Song's face as he's led into her yurt in chains, the Doctor is sure she agrees. He can't help but smile in return, giving her a cheeky little finger-wave with his bound hands when his two guards turn their backs.
"Was he alone?" she asks, her eyes laughing with the Doctor at their own private joke. They both know how likely that is.
"No, my lord," one of his guards replies. "We found three others sneaking around the perimeter of the camp: a woman with red hair, a man in strange armour, and a boy-child, no more than ten years old."
"Royal spies," a large man with a ridiculously big sword to River's side hisses. "We should send their heads back to the king in a box."
"Is this how you treat all your visitors?" The Doctor knows it'd be wiser to keep quiet and let River sort this out. But that's also exactly why he doesn't. "Knock them unconscious. Chain them up. Threaten their heads with boxes of all things. And who sends a head in a box? I mean, really. I see why you didn't show very well in the travel guide. The least you could do is offer me tea." The nearest guard grabs a hold of him and no doubt he would have received quite a wallop but River laughs and that causes all her men to pause. Even the Doctor, who is still a little ashamed by the involuntary twist in his chest and jump of his stomach at the sound of it. He consoles himself that after nearly a thousand years, his poker face is so good he's sure no one else noticed. Except maybe River herself, but that's always been the problem.
"You think I shouldn't execute you?"
"Yes," the Doctor replies. "No," he corrects and then shakes his head. "I mean, yes. Did you really have to word the question like that? I hate when I answer right and it still sounds wrong."
"Well, if you prefer, I could just execute you and not ask at all." River is good. So good, in fact, that if he didn't know better and was just going off the tone of her voice, he'd think execution actually was a possibility and she was only entertaining the alternative for her own amusement. That's certainly what the other people in the room are supposed to think. But the Doctor does know better. This might be the Shah of the Seven Sands, the Destroyer of Kingdoms, the Plague of the Petty People -he just made that one up himself-, but she was also River Song and though that might be just as bad to some, to the Doctor that will always be a good thing.
"No tea?" he snarks back. The room stills and waits for her reaction.
With a couple words, she could have him killed on the spot. He's chained up by the wrists and ankles. They already took his sonic screwdriver. He's unarmed, unable to run, and there are at least three men in this room ready to kill for her. That shouldn't turn him on, but it still does a bit. River raises a slender eyebrow and draws out the moment, as if to say, 'I know'.
"I'd like the key to his chains," River Song remarks to the room and a guard nearly trips on the edge of one of the carpets piled on the ground in his rush to hand it over to her.
"So would I," the Doctor mumbles.
River holds the iron key up so that it glints in the candlelight as if to mock him. Knowing her, that's entirely possible; he certainly couldn't see any other reason for her to do that. There's nothing special about the thing. It's just a normal, old-fashioned metal key. It's actually a little insulting that the Doctor could be held by something so primitive. Or so he's thinking before she slips it into her decolletage. The Doctor clears his throat, though he's not sure exactly why. Well, he knows -he is a genius after all- but he'd never admit it. That's part of his charm.
"I'd like to interrogate the prisoner." The way her eyes trail slowly over his body and then linger for a moment too long on one area in particular, it's scandalous. The Doctor positions his bound hands to cover himself, though he's still fully dressed. "Personally," she purrs.
He appreciates how she poses her orders like each one is an opportunity for her followers to please her. If you're going to be a dictator, might as well be a polite one. Normally, he objects to orders on principle, but even he might be tempted to follow through on a couple of hers if given the opportunity (and only feel a little resentful about it later).
Especially when she does that with her voice.
"My lord?" The Doctor's worked out that the man with the indecent sword is probably her general. It seems like it'd be the only reason he'd get away with questioning her like that. Still, the way River's eyes go cold and cut to the man . . . The Doctor fidgets in his chains to cover the excited shiver that runs down his spine.
"That means, 'Get out,'" she says and they are alone before most people could say, 'Raxacoricofallapatorius'.
"Impressive," he remarks once it's just the two of them inside her rather luxurious surroundings. "Is that a fountain?" He ignores the way the chains clank against his bony wrists and ankles to shuffle across the room and investigate. "It is! You have a fountain. In a yurt."
"Why not?"
"Running water in a pre-modern desert, for one." The Doctor pops a couple grape-like fruit in his mouth from a bowl, then starts fiddling with various, suspiciously anachronistic trinkets on the table.
"You have a swimming pool in a police box."
He smiles at that but can't help asking, precisely because he knows the answer, "And if I jumped off a bridge, would you?"
"Yes."
"So you're the Shah of the Seven Sands." He chooses to let a little bit of pride sneak into his voice. She grins. It obviously pleases her to hear it.
"You can still call me River." She sneaks up behind him and takes the neutron capacitor out of his hands before he can pocket it. "What are you doing here?"
"What? I'm only allowed to visit with an invitation?"
"The war can't be helped. I tried. It didn't work."
"Relax." He reaches out and runs a knuckle down her cheek. It's a bit awkward with the chains, but he also hopes she might take that as a hint and release him. Her eyes flutter closed and the look on her face for a moment is so vulnerable, so trusting, and yet so powerful. His mouth goes dry. He swallows and then mentally shakes himself. Must not get distracted. What was he saying? Oh! "I'm not here to stop you."
"Then . . ." He can practically hear the ellipsis in her voice.
"We meant to visit the Dancing Markets of Delptor Two in the year 91,811," he answers the implied question, leaning back against the table. River crowds his space in a unfortunately pleasant way. From this angle, he can see down the neckline of her dress. Not that he looks.
"And instead, what? Ended up here?"
He scratches his nose, making sure to jingle the chains especially loud. River crosses her arms and he knows she recognizes the hints he's dropping but is refusing to release him just because. He huffs. "Instead, we ended up in the Daraxi Parthenon during the Bloody Riots of 918."
"Oooh." River makes a sympathetic face. "But that was days ago. Why are you still here?" Before he can reply, she answers her own question. "The little boy."
"Amy found him. He was separated from his father in the confusion. We hoped your men might have taken him captive."
River nods. "His name?"
"Djaq Kawapti Sashawn."
She walks to the center of the room, calls for a guard and when he enters, orders a search for a prisoner by that name.
"Thank you," the Doctor whispers over her shoulder, near her ear, when the guard leaves. The way she shivers at the sound of his voice, suddenly so close, makes him smug. He tells himself that's because he moved so silently in chains -not an easy feat.
"The king took more prisoners than we did," River says. "And if this boy's father was one of them . . ."
The Doctor knows how sadly that sentence ends and so changes the subject. "Not to sound rude, but when are you going to unlock my chains?"
River turns with a theatrical gasp. "Release a spy in my own chambers?"
"River."
"Without guards too. I'd be helpless."
"You?" He scoffs. "You, River Song, are never helpless."
"I can be helpless if I want to be. Now, hush, sweetie, and play along."
"I'm also not a spy."
"Oh dear," River places a hand over her mouth, to cover her exaggerated shock. "That is unfortunate."
"Why?" the Doctor asks with suspicion. She's obviously playing a game. Usually, the Doctor has ended up liking her games recently but that doesn't mean he always agrees with her rules.
"Because you're going to be executed for espionage in the morning."
The Doctor blinks several times at that. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, I'm afraid, you are."
"No. I'm not."
"Yes. You are."
"No."
"Yes."
"River!" The Doctor takes a moment for a deep breath and River bites her lip in a way that makes him think she's just barely keeping herself from giggling. He shakes a finger at her and makes wordless sounds of frustration to buy time as he tries to figure out how to reply. She rolls her eyes and saunters across the room to artfully arrange herself on a settee, reminding him of Madame Recamier when she posed for him and Jacques-Louis in 19th century France. But -oh!- compared to River, Madame Recamier was a novice.
She raises one foot to perch on the opposite armrest and through the fall of her dress exposes a rather impressively curved length of leg. The Doctor's head fills with the golden ratio, the pyramids, Cleopatra, River as Cleopatra, even as his hand goes to readjust his bowtie, before he remembers to play it cool. It's rather frustrating, how obvious this regeneration's tells are. Still, at least he doesn't squeak anymore.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?" he asks, though he knows that's not exactly the quote and the film-enthusiast in him dies a little. He couldn't help himself. The opportunity was too perfect. He also knows that it'll infuriate her. And he loves it when River gets annoyed. Sure enough, River frowns and tosses her hair over a shoulder. She pulls her diary out from behind a silk pillow, then throws the pillow at his head. Her aim really is quite spectacular. He'll remember to duck faster next time.
"Where are we then?" she asks, glancing at his face before skipping halfway through her diary. "Have we done the Culling Shores?"
He sees what looks like Gallifreyan symbols and tries to get a closer look. She claps the diary to her chest. The Doctor frowns and decides not to answer her just to be difficult. Also, it might have something to do with the fact that he has no clue about the Culling Shores and she obviously does, but he doesn't like to think he's that petty. He is. But he doesn't like to think about it. "You're not serious about the execution, are you?" He knows she's not. Nevertheless, he'd like to hear her say it.
"Do you know who I am, yet?" Which is probably why she's refusing.
Obviously, they'll get nowhere if they keep answering each other with questions, so he decides to be the bigger person. Also, he hopes she might release him from the chains if he plays along. "Your parents are going to be very cross with you if you execute us."
River smiles. "Oh, don't be silly. Why would I execute them?" She skips at least a dozen pages. "We've done Demon's Run, then. Good. I don't look forward to when we get much earlier than that. How about Las Vegas? My hunk'a, hunk'a burnin' love."
The Doctor is torn between being insulted and tickled pink. He doubts it's a good look for him. "I can quite honestly say, I have never been called that in my entire life. I think, I actually prefer 'sweetie'."
"That's a no, then," River replies and snaps the diary shut. "I think I know about where we are."
"Are we at the part where you unlock the chains?"
"No."
He pouts. River places the diary on a nearby table and lounges back against the arm of the settee. She sighs and mimics his pout. "If you really want to take those off, you know where the key is."
"But it's in your," he gestures to his own chest but he really doesn't have the right bits, "top."
"Yes, Doctor." She smiles. "Is that a problem?"
"A bit. How am I supposed to get it?" he asks. She raises an eyebrow. He gasps. "River Song! I'd never."
"You wanna bet?"
The Doctor pretends to be scandalized for another few seconds, but it's not nearly as fun when everyone in the room knows it's mostly an act. Instead, he takes a few hesitant steps toward her, eyeing her breasts while trying not to look like it.
"They don't bite," she teases.
He tugs on the lapels of his jacket. "I know that." Though, it delays him for a second or two while his brain is distracted with the thought.
However, when he sees that almost sad smile on her face, the one that says she's about to give up on him and offer him a way out, that he's still too young, that he's still not quite enough her Doctor, he's spurred into action. He moves forward and is quite certain he's about to stick his hand down River Song's bosom. At the last second, when his finger catches on the very edge of her neckline, she rolls off the other side of the settee onto her feet and laughs, dancing a few steps away. He reaches out for her and she laughs even more, keeping just beyond his reach.
"Are you physically incapable of playing fair?" He tries to cross his arms but is thwarted by the cuffs and ends up just looking like an idiot instead. The Doctor makes sure River hears him huff and throws himself down on the settee with enough flair to make Cathy Earnshaw jealous. He scowls, though not at River; he thinks he might hate that book this regeneration. He doesn't think he's much for wuthering. His eighth self loved it. Well, not much accounting for taste. Except for jelly babies. He needs to get himself some more of those. "Mmm, jelly babies," he murmurs before realizing he's gotten quite distracted.
Luckily, River seems used to him doing that.
"You're just grumpy that I'm winning." She takes a small step forward, while he shakes the creases out of his trousers. He catches the movement in the corner of his eye and enjoys a sort of chemical cocktail of lingering adrenaline, rising endorphins, and various hormones, both the Human and Time Lord variety. He feels it buzzing beneath his skin, bursting little bubbles of excitement and anticipation that go straight to his brain, leaving him a tiny bit light-headed (like that one time with Jack and the hypervodka . . . or every time he saves the world and runs for his life). The Doctor hears her advance another step behind him and it takes all of his -admittedly, somewhat pathetic- stores of self-control to stay relaxed, body open and closed, biding his time.
"You're not winning," the Doctor corrects her. "You're just awful at losing. I wasn't going to point it out, but if you're going to be all smug about it." He tries to cross his legs but is thwarted in that too. Suddenly, he's overcome by a wave of claustrophobia and starts yanking on the metal cuffs. The Doctor twists his body to slip a foot over the chains between his hands and pulls, nearly dislocating a thumb and kneeing himself in the eye in the process.
"Ohhh, poor baby," River has the gall to coo at him. She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and the Doctor briefly closes his eyes at the feel of it, that shock of contact and electricity, like the static thrum one gets in the fingertips and toes when dragging sock-clad feet over electrically-charged carpet after a storm. In that moment between thought and action, when he is almost too pleased with himself for words, he runs the pads of one thumb and forefinger together, cataloging the similarities of sensation; he's half-tempted to press his fingertips to his tongue, wondering if they'd taste like ozone, rain, and River.
They will soon.
He smirks.
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Click here to read on
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by Musedepandora (see: Master List of Fanfics)
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to various persons and corporations that are not me or associated with me. This piece of fanfiction is written with the admiration and respect for the original work. I claim no ownership of Doctor Who's creations. No profit is made from this material, now or in the future.
Rating: NC17, adult (for explicit sexual content)
Word Count: 11,816 (because the Doctor is a wordy fuck)
Characters: Eleven/River Song
Warnings: Don't read this if you're a minor, and your parents would get mad at me. This contains spoilers up to and including 06x07 so don't read if you'd get mad at me.
Summary: Really, he should have expected this. Not the sex - Well, yes, that too- but the fact that the Shah of the Seven Sands was River Song.
Notes: This was written for the Guns and Curls Ficathon over on the spoiler_song community. This was actually a response to two prompts, though I feel that I might technically have only fulfilled the spirit of one since this is River/Doctor, not just River + the Doctor. Oh well. The two prompts I worked off of were: (1.) "River/Doctor (any), pulling River's hair, NC-17 welcome... ♥" set by trialia and (2.) "River + the Doctor, Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." by ms_rubiks . Also, I've had to split this story into two posts because of the size but it's not meant to be split into two, so I'm splitting it right before it starts earning its rating. But please, take the piece as if it were not broken like that.
Special thanks: To my beta, r34dinglight , for making fun and encouraging me in the correct doses. To several of my friends that had discussions with me about what exactly Eleven would call his penis while having sex with River (suggestions included: TARDIS since it has a time and relative dimension in space, his special companion, his original sonic, and Jim the Fish). Thanks also to those online that have given me encouragement when I said I was considering writing adult material. Also, thanks to leiascully who made this really fantastic post ( Smut: You're Doing It Wrong (Or How to Do It Right)) over on her lj that really helped me concentrate my own thoughts and prompt me to try my hand at this.
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Really, he should have expected this. Not the sex - Well, yes, that too- but the fact that the Shah of the Seven Sands was River Song. The Doctor knew the stories. A warrior woman who led an army of thieves, mercenaries, and the disenfranchised against the bloody rule of an inept and apathetic king. A freedom fighter that inspired a people to topple the thousand year oppression of a foreign dynasty. A fae enchantress sent by the gods to sow discord and chaos amongst the giants, throwing a million bodies down in her wake; reducing a great empire to ashes, from which a new age of peace and prosperity could spring. A mortal myth. A living legend in her own time. Honestly, the Doctor had always wanted to meet her. He wasn't terribly surprised to realize he already had.
Of course, it all starts with him as her prisoner.
It might seem like a bit of a cliche, but the Doctor has a knack for cliches, tropes, and tawdry quirks. He likes to believe he brings a sort of intrepid style and frankly unparalleled genius to the table that more than makes up for it. From the smirk on River Song's face as he's led into her yurt in chains, the Doctor is sure she agrees. He can't help but smile in return, giving her a cheeky little finger-wave with his bound hands when his two guards turn their backs.
"Was he alone?" she asks, her eyes laughing with the Doctor at their own private joke. They both know how likely that is.
"No, my lord," one of his guards replies. "We found three others sneaking around the perimeter of the camp: a woman with red hair, a man in strange armour, and a boy-child, no more than ten years old."
"Royal spies," a large man with a ridiculously big sword to River's side hisses. "We should send their heads back to the king in a box."
"Is this how you treat all your visitors?" The Doctor knows it'd be wiser to keep quiet and let River sort this out. But that's also exactly why he doesn't. "Knock them unconscious. Chain them up. Threaten their heads with boxes of all things. And who sends a head in a box? I mean, really. I see why you didn't show very well in the travel guide. The least you could do is offer me tea." The nearest guard grabs a hold of him and no doubt he would have received quite a wallop but River laughs and that causes all her men to pause. Even the Doctor, who is still a little ashamed by the involuntary twist in his chest and jump of his stomach at the sound of it. He consoles himself that after nearly a thousand years, his poker face is so good he's sure no one else noticed. Except maybe River herself, but that's always been the problem.
"You think I shouldn't execute you?"
"Yes," the Doctor replies. "No," he corrects and then shakes his head. "I mean, yes. Did you really have to word the question like that? I hate when I answer right and it still sounds wrong."
"Well, if you prefer, I could just execute you and not ask at all." River is good. So good, in fact, that if he didn't know better and was just going off the tone of her voice, he'd think execution actually was a possibility and she was only entertaining the alternative for her own amusement. That's certainly what the other people in the room are supposed to think. But the Doctor does know better. This might be the Shah of the Seven Sands, the Destroyer of Kingdoms, the Plague of the Petty People -he just made that one up himself-, but she was also River Song and though that might be just as bad to some, to the Doctor that will always be a good thing.
"No tea?" he snarks back. The room stills and waits for her reaction.
With a couple words, she could have him killed on the spot. He's chained up by the wrists and ankles. They already took his sonic screwdriver. He's unarmed, unable to run, and there are at least three men in this room ready to kill for her. That shouldn't turn him on, but it still does a bit. River raises a slender eyebrow and draws out the moment, as if to say, 'I know'.
"I'd like the key to his chains," River Song remarks to the room and a guard nearly trips on the edge of one of the carpets piled on the ground in his rush to hand it over to her.
"So would I," the Doctor mumbles.
River holds the iron key up so that it glints in the candlelight as if to mock him. Knowing her, that's entirely possible; he certainly couldn't see any other reason for her to do that. There's nothing special about the thing. It's just a normal, old-fashioned metal key. It's actually a little insulting that the Doctor could be held by something so primitive. Or so he's thinking before she slips it into her decolletage. The Doctor clears his throat, though he's not sure exactly why. Well, he knows -he is a genius after all- but he'd never admit it. That's part of his charm.
"I'd like to interrogate the prisoner." The way her eyes trail slowly over his body and then linger for a moment too long on one area in particular, it's scandalous. The Doctor positions his bound hands to cover himself, though he's still fully dressed. "Personally," she purrs.
He appreciates how she poses her orders like each one is an opportunity for her followers to please her. If you're going to be a dictator, might as well be a polite one. Normally, he objects to orders on principle, but even he might be tempted to follow through on a couple of hers if given the opportunity (and only feel a little resentful about it later).
Especially when she does that with her voice.
"My lord?" The Doctor's worked out that the man with the indecent sword is probably her general. It seems like it'd be the only reason he'd get away with questioning her like that. Still, the way River's eyes go cold and cut to the man . . . The Doctor fidgets in his chains to cover the excited shiver that runs down his spine.
"That means, 'Get out,'" she says and they are alone before most people could say, 'Raxacoricofallapatorius'.
"Impressive," he remarks once it's just the two of them inside her rather luxurious surroundings. "Is that a fountain?" He ignores the way the chains clank against his bony wrists and ankles to shuffle across the room and investigate. "It is! You have a fountain. In a yurt."
"Why not?"
"Running water in a pre-modern desert, for one." The Doctor pops a couple grape-like fruit in his mouth from a bowl, then starts fiddling with various, suspiciously anachronistic trinkets on the table.
"You have a swimming pool in a police box."
He smiles at that but can't help asking, precisely because he knows the answer, "And if I jumped off a bridge, would you?"
"Yes."
"So you're the Shah of the Seven Sands." He chooses to let a little bit of pride sneak into his voice. She grins. It obviously pleases her to hear it.
"You can still call me River." She sneaks up behind him and takes the neutron capacitor out of his hands before he can pocket it. "What are you doing here?"
"What? I'm only allowed to visit with an invitation?"
"The war can't be helped. I tried. It didn't work."
"Relax." He reaches out and runs a knuckle down her cheek. It's a bit awkward with the chains, but he also hopes she might take that as a hint and release him. Her eyes flutter closed and the look on her face for a moment is so vulnerable, so trusting, and yet so powerful. His mouth goes dry. He swallows and then mentally shakes himself. Must not get distracted. What was he saying? Oh! "I'm not here to stop you."
"Then . . ." He can practically hear the ellipsis in her voice.
"We meant to visit the Dancing Markets of Delptor Two in the year 91,811," he answers the implied question, leaning back against the table. River crowds his space in a unfortunately pleasant way. From this angle, he can see down the neckline of her dress. Not that he looks.
"And instead, what? Ended up here?"
He scratches his nose, making sure to jingle the chains especially loud. River crosses her arms and he knows she recognizes the hints he's dropping but is refusing to release him just because. He huffs. "Instead, we ended up in the Daraxi Parthenon during the Bloody Riots of 918."
"Oooh." River makes a sympathetic face. "But that was days ago. Why are you still here?" Before he can reply, she answers her own question. "The little boy."
"Amy found him. He was separated from his father in the confusion. We hoped your men might have taken him captive."
River nods. "His name?"
"Djaq Kawapti Sashawn."
She walks to the center of the room, calls for a guard and when he enters, orders a search for a prisoner by that name.
"Thank you," the Doctor whispers over her shoulder, near her ear, when the guard leaves. The way she shivers at the sound of his voice, suddenly so close, makes him smug. He tells himself that's because he moved so silently in chains -not an easy feat.
"The king took more prisoners than we did," River says. "And if this boy's father was one of them . . ."
The Doctor knows how sadly that sentence ends and so changes the subject. "Not to sound rude, but when are you going to unlock my chains?"
River turns with a theatrical gasp. "Release a spy in my own chambers?"
"River."
"Without guards too. I'd be helpless."
"You?" He scoffs. "You, River Song, are never helpless."
"I can be helpless if I want to be. Now, hush, sweetie, and play along."
"I'm also not a spy."
"Oh dear," River places a hand over her mouth, to cover her exaggerated shock. "That is unfortunate."
"Why?" the Doctor asks with suspicion. She's obviously playing a game. Usually, the Doctor has ended up liking her games recently but that doesn't mean he always agrees with her rules.
"Because you're going to be executed for espionage in the morning."
The Doctor blinks several times at that. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, I'm afraid, you are."
"No. I'm not."
"Yes. You are."
"No."
"Yes."
"River!" The Doctor takes a moment for a deep breath and River bites her lip in a way that makes him think she's just barely keeping herself from giggling. He shakes a finger at her and makes wordless sounds of frustration to buy time as he tries to figure out how to reply. She rolls her eyes and saunters across the room to artfully arrange herself on a settee, reminding him of Madame Recamier when she posed for him and Jacques-Louis in 19th century France. But -oh!- compared to River, Madame Recamier was a novice.
She raises one foot to perch on the opposite armrest and through the fall of her dress exposes a rather impressively curved length of leg. The Doctor's head fills with the golden ratio, the pyramids, Cleopatra, River as Cleopatra, even as his hand goes to readjust his bowtie, before he remembers to play it cool. It's rather frustrating, how obvious this regeneration's tells are. Still, at least he doesn't squeak anymore.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?" he asks, though he knows that's not exactly the quote and the film-enthusiast in him dies a little. He couldn't help himself. The opportunity was too perfect. He also knows that it'll infuriate her. And he loves it when River gets annoyed. Sure enough, River frowns and tosses her hair over a shoulder. She pulls her diary out from behind a silk pillow, then throws the pillow at his head. Her aim really is quite spectacular. He'll remember to duck faster next time.
"Where are we then?" she asks, glancing at his face before skipping halfway through her diary. "Have we done the Culling Shores?"
He sees what looks like Gallifreyan symbols and tries to get a closer look. She claps the diary to her chest. The Doctor frowns and decides not to answer her just to be difficult. Also, it might have something to do with the fact that he has no clue about the Culling Shores and she obviously does, but he doesn't like to think he's that petty. He is. But he doesn't like to think about it. "You're not serious about the execution, are you?" He knows she's not. Nevertheless, he'd like to hear her say it.
"Do you know who I am, yet?" Which is probably why she's refusing.
Obviously, they'll get nowhere if they keep answering each other with questions, so he decides to be the bigger person. Also, he hopes she might release him from the chains if he plays along. "Your parents are going to be very cross with you if you execute us."
River smiles. "Oh, don't be silly. Why would I execute them?" She skips at least a dozen pages. "We've done Demon's Run, then. Good. I don't look forward to when we get much earlier than that. How about Las Vegas? My hunk'a, hunk'a burnin' love."
The Doctor is torn between being insulted and tickled pink. He doubts it's a good look for him. "I can quite honestly say, I have never been called that in my entire life. I think, I actually prefer 'sweetie'."
"That's a no, then," River replies and snaps the diary shut. "I think I know about where we are."
"Are we at the part where you unlock the chains?"
"No."
He pouts. River places the diary on a nearby table and lounges back against the arm of the settee. She sighs and mimics his pout. "If you really want to take those off, you know where the key is."
"But it's in your," he gestures to his own chest but he really doesn't have the right bits, "top."
"Yes, Doctor." She smiles. "Is that a problem?"
"A bit. How am I supposed to get it?" he asks. She raises an eyebrow. He gasps. "River Song! I'd never."
"You wanna bet?"
The Doctor pretends to be scandalized for another few seconds, but it's not nearly as fun when everyone in the room knows it's mostly an act. Instead, he takes a few hesitant steps toward her, eyeing her breasts while trying not to look like it.
"They don't bite," she teases.
He tugs on the lapels of his jacket. "I know that." Though, it delays him for a second or two while his brain is distracted with the thought.
However, when he sees that almost sad smile on her face, the one that says she's about to give up on him and offer him a way out, that he's still too young, that he's still not quite enough her Doctor, he's spurred into action. He moves forward and is quite certain he's about to stick his hand down River Song's bosom. At the last second, when his finger catches on the very edge of her neckline, she rolls off the other side of the settee onto her feet and laughs, dancing a few steps away. He reaches out for her and she laughs even more, keeping just beyond his reach.
"Are you physically incapable of playing fair?" He tries to cross his arms but is thwarted by the cuffs and ends up just looking like an idiot instead. The Doctor makes sure River hears him huff and throws himself down on the settee with enough flair to make Cathy Earnshaw jealous. He scowls, though not at River; he thinks he might hate that book this regeneration. He doesn't think he's much for wuthering. His eighth self loved it. Well, not much accounting for taste. Except for jelly babies. He needs to get himself some more of those. "Mmm, jelly babies," he murmurs before realizing he's gotten quite distracted.
Luckily, River seems used to him doing that.
"You're just grumpy that I'm winning." She takes a small step forward, while he shakes the creases out of his trousers. He catches the movement in the corner of his eye and enjoys a sort of chemical cocktail of lingering adrenaline, rising endorphins, and various hormones, both the Human and Time Lord variety. He feels it buzzing beneath his skin, bursting little bubbles of excitement and anticipation that go straight to his brain, leaving him a tiny bit light-headed (like that one time with Jack and the hypervodka . . . or every time he saves the world and runs for his life). The Doctor hears her advance another step behind him and it takes all of his -admittedly, somewhat pathetic- stores of self-control to stay relaxed, body open and closed, biding his time.
"You're not winning," the Doctor corrects her. "You're just awful at losing. I wasn't going to point it out, but if you're going to be all smug about it." He tries to cross his legs but is thwarted in that too. Suddenly, he's overcome by a wave of claustrophobia and starts yanking on the metal cuffs. The Doctor twists his body to slip a foot over the chains between his hands and pulls, nearly dislocating a thumb and kneeing himself in the eye in the process.
"Ohhh, poor baby," River has the gall to coo at him. She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and the Doctor briefly closes his eyes at the feel of it, that shock of contact and electricity, like the static thrum one gets in the fingertips and toes when dragging sock-clad feet over electrically-charged carpet after a storm. In that moment between thought and action, when he is almost too pleased with himself for words, he runs the pads of one thumb and forefinger together, cataloging the similarities of sensation; he's half-tempted to press his fingertips to his tongue, wondering if they'd taste like ozone, rain, and River.
They will soon.
He smirks.
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