Fic: Take Me Somewhere Nice
Take Me Somewhere Nice
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith
Rating: PG
Word Count: 431
Warnings: implied, but cute, nudity
Author's Note: It's taken me far too long to finish something so short.
Sarah Jane Smith had given up trying to retain any veneer of modesty. The bathtub was far too cramped to seat two people, the soap smelled far too much like old hospitals, and the Doctor seemed to find it all far too amusing. All the rubber duckies and sailboats had had to be tossed overboard, strewn among the remains of half a dozen bottles of this disinfecting cleanser and that. It was times like these - as few and far between as they may have been - that Sarah felt she would have given her right arm for a quiet week on a planet where nothing much exciting happened at all, that served really good scones and strawberry jam twenty-four hours a day.
“Well, that certainly was a memorable planet,” huffed Sarah, squeezing a spongeful of soapy water over her head. “‘We’ll save time by taking the yak up the mountain,’ you said, ‘it’s docile, see? It likes you,’ you said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ you said.”
“Yes, it rather was fun, wasn’t it?” replied the Doctor with a playful grin, scrubbing meticulously behind his ear.
“Doctor, we’ve got fleas!” exclaimed Sarah, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’ve never felt so miserable in my whole life.”
“Oh, but they’re perfectly friendly fleas, Sarah,” reasoned the Doctor, pantomimetically examining a theoretical flea between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s one. I’ve named it Jefferson. Say hello to Jefferson, Sarah.”
“That’s not funny!” she grumped, tossing the Doctor a clean flannel. “Here. You can scrub my back.”
“Do you know where they haven’t got any fleas at all?” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows at her as she attempted as unobtrusively as possible to scoot herself back to front. “Florana.”
“Really, now?” Sarah grumped, wringing out the ends of her hair. “How many times have you promised Florana, Doctor?”
“This time, for absolute certain,” assured the Doctor. Sarah was loath to admit how much the Doctor’s thorough scrubbing was soothing to her beleaguered, infested skin.
“What, seventeenth time’s a charm, then?” she asked incredulously.
“Oh, Sarah,” the Doctor said, the warmth in his voice such that Sarah could almost hear that ludicrous smile of his, “seventeen happens to be my lucky number.”
The Doctor ducked to one side just in time, narrowly missing the waterlogged loofah Sarah deftly tossed over her shoulder, aiming squarely for his head; instead, it landed some considerable distance away with a cold squish.
“Yes, and where have I heard that before?” she replied, giggling in spite of herself.
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith
Rating: PG
Word Count: 431
Warnings: implied, but cute, nudity
Author's Note: It's taken me far too long to finish something so short.
Sarah Jane Smith had given up trying to retain any veneer of modesty. The bathtub was far too cramped to seat two people, the soap smelled far too much like old hospitals, and the Doctor seemed to find it all far too amusing. All the rubber duckies and sailboats had had to be tossed overboard, strewn among the remains of half a dozen bottles of this disinfecting cleanser and that. It was times like these - as few and far between as they may have been - that Sarah felt she would have given her right arm for a quiet week on a planet where nothing much exciting happened at all, that served really good scones and strawberry jam twenty-four hours a day.
“Well, that certainly was a memorable planet,” huffed Sarah, squeezing a spongeful of soapy water over her head. “‘We’ll save time by taking the yak up the mountain,’ you said, ‘it’s docile, see? It likes you,’ you said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ you said.”
“Yes, it rather was fun, wasn’t it?” replied the Doctor with a playful grin, scrubbing meticulously behind his ear.
“Doctor, we’ve got fleas!” exclaimed Sarah, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’ve never felt so miserable in my whole life.”
“Oh, but they’re perfectly friendly fleas, Sarah,” reasoned the Doctor, pantomimetically examining a theoretical flea between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s one. I’ve named it Jefferson. Say hello to Jefferson, Sarah.”
“That’s not funny!” she grumped, tossing the Doctor a clean flannel. “Here. You can scrub my back.”
“Do you know where they haven’t got any fleas at all?” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows at her as she attempted as unobtrusively as possible to scoot herself back to front. “Florana.”
“Really, now?” Sarah grumped, wringing out the ends of her hair. “How many times have you promised Florana, Doctor?”
“This time, for absolute certain,” assured the Doctor. Sarah was loath to admit how much the Doctor’s thorough scrubbing was soothing to her beleaguered, infested skin.
“What, seventeenth time’s a charm, then?” she asked incredulously.
“Oh, Sarah,” the Doctor said, the warmth in his voice such that Sarah could almost hear that ludicrous smile of his, “seventeen happens to be my lucky number.”
The Doctor ducked to one side just in time, narrowly missing the waterlogged loofah Sarah deftly tossed over her shoulder, aiming squarely for his head; instead, it landed some considerable distance away with a cold squish.
“Yes, and where have I heard that before?” she replied, giggling in spite of herself.