fic: dw: take me dancing tonight (Eleven/River, PG)
Title: take me dancing tonight
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Eleven/River
Summary: The Doctor dances.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for the fun of the spoiler_song ficathon! All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song of Wham!'s, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: Prompt was: River/Doctor, wake me up before you go. No spoilers to speak of, just moderately schmoopy fic for trialia. I hope this is cheery, love! ♥
She dreams of him often, of course, but she doesn't often hear him, even in her dreams. She wakes with a start when someone pokes her shoulder. Here he is, all done up in a top hat and tails, standing inside the tent she's pitched at a desert dig site on one of Jupiter's moons in the forty-third century.
"River! Hello," he says, twirling his sonic screwdriver like it's a cane. "Sorry to wake you, but I was in the neighborhood."
"You have a time machine," she says grumpily. She runs a hand through her hair and blinks at him, bleary-eyed. "You could have been in the neighborhood whenever you liked."
"Still and all, I'm here now," he points out. "And you are, conveniently, not in prison at the moment."
"Inconveniently, I was asleep," she says.
"Ah, but you're not now," he says, bouncing up and down on his heels.
"And why am I no longer asleep?" she queries, shrugging off her thin blankets and reaching for a jacket.
"Friend of mine is getting married, a few thousand years ago," he says, grinning. "Big party. Lots of dancing. Thought you might like a break where there's more going on than just boring sand shifting about in the wind. How about it?"
She goes, of course. There's never really a question, where the Doctor is concerned: he shows up, she grabs her diary and off she goes, just her, the Doctor, and the TARDIS, next stop, everywhere. This particular stop turns out to be a rather fabulous party, and she reminds herself to thank her beloved TARDIS for setting out a deep blue evening gown that suits her and the occasion perfectly.
The Doctor dances. He twirls around the dance floor like the ridiculous, enchanting mad man that he is, spinning in circles and shaking his arms above his head. He dances with both brides at the same time, still kicking about like a loon, until finally River cuts in.
"Can't let you have all the fun," she laughs, and borrows one of the ladies for a tango.
The newlyweds drift back to each other when a slower number starts up. The Doctor sidles over to her; he holds out his hand. She takes it, her fingers curling around his, and they fold into each other. She can feel his hearts beating, the rhythm of them soothing her, calming fears she hadn't even known she'd been harboring. She knows, of course, that it's only a few minutes, but the time they have together is so fleeting that even the smallest increments of time can stretch out before her like centuries.
He drops her off on the moon; he kisses her good night.
"It was a lovely wedding," she says, her hands still curled into the loose material of his jacket. "Any more of those in my future?"
"Spoilers, Doctor Song," he says, grinning, tapping a finger against her nose.
"Of course," she sighs, but she's smiling.
"By way of a preview, though, I will say that I expect an invitation to the wedding of Canton Everett Delaware III any day now. You haven't met him. Yet."
"There's a name and no mistake," she says. She pats his chest, once, smoothing the lines of his lapels. "Will there be dancing?"
He laughs. "Isn't there always?"
"Wake me up before you go, then," she says, and he tips his hat.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Eleven/River
Summary: The Doctor dances.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for the fun of the spoiler_song ficathon! All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song of Wham!'s, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: Prompt was: River/Doctor, wake me up before you go. No spoilers to speak of, just moderately schmoopy fic for trialia. I hope this is cheery, love! ♥
She dreams of him often, of course, but she doesn't often hear him, even in her dreams. She wakes with a start when someone pokes her shoulder. Here he is, all done up in a top hat and tails, standing inside the tent she's pitched at a desert dig site on one of Jupiter's moons in the forty-third century.
"River! Hello," he says, twirling his sonic screwdriver like it's a cane. "Sorry to wake you, but I was in the neighborhood."
"You have a time machine," she says grumpily. She runs a hand through her hair and blinks at him, bleary-eyed. "You could have been in the neighborhood whenever you liked."
"Still and all, I'm here now," he points out. "And you are, conveniently, not in prison at the moment."
"Inconveniently, I was asleep," she says.
"Ah, but you're not now," he says, bouncing up and down on his heels.
"And why am I no longer asleep?" she queries, shrugging off her thin blankets and reaching for a jacket.
"Friend of mine is getting married, a few thousand years ago," he says, grinning. "Big party. Lots of dancing. Thought you might like a break where there's more going on than just boring sand shifting about in the wind. How about it?"
She goes, of course. There's never really a question, where the Doctor is concerned: he shows up, she grabs her diary and off she goes, just her, the Doctor, and the TARDIS, next stop, everywhere. This particular stop turns out to be a rather fabulous party, and she reminds herself to thank her beloved TARDIS for setting out a deep blue evening gown that suits her and the occasion perfectly.
The Doctor dances. He twirls around the dance floor like the ridiculous, enchanting mad man that he is, spinning in circles and shaking his arms above his head. He dances with both brides at the same time, still kicking about like a loon, until finally River cuts in.
"Can't let you have all the fun," she laughs, and borrows one of the ladies for a tango.
The newlyweds drift back to each other when a slower number starts up. The Doctor sidles over to her; he holds out his hand. She takes it, her fingers curling around his, and they fold into each other. She can feel his hearts beating, the rhythm of them soothing her, calming fears she hadn't even known she'd been harboring. She knows, of course, that it's only a few minutes, but the time they have together is so fleeting that even the smallest increments of time can stretch out before her like centuries.
He drops her off on the moon; he kisses her good night.
"It was a lovely wedding," she says, her hands still curled into the loose material of his jacket. "Any more of those in my future?"
"Spoilers, Doctor Song," he says, grinning, tapping a finger against her nose.
"Of course," she sighs, but she's smiling.
"By way of a preview, though, I will say that I expect an invitation to the wedding of Canton Everett Delaware III any day now. You haven't met him. Yet."
"There's a name and no mistake," she says. She pats his chest, once, smoothing the lines of his lapels. "Will there be dancing?"
He laughs. "Isn't there always?"
"Wake me up before you go, then," she says, and he tips his hat.