fic: To Fly Toward a Secret Sky
Title: To Fly Toward a Secret Sky
Author: lonewytch
Fandom/Characters: Doctor Who; Eleven/River
Wordcount: 1559
Rating: T
Spoilers: Through to the present
A/N: This fic (or, rather, series of mini-fics) is a result of this discussion on owlsie's journal about Dom/sub dynamics in the Doctor and River's relationship, and of some discussions i had witha_phoenixdragon. It was originally conceived as smut, but it didn't work out that way at all and is actually much softer than that, with no explicit sexytimes.
Warnings: Looks at Doctor/River as a D/s relationship
My fic Masterlist
Fingers
Torrential rain drums onto them both as his wet hands wrap hers. His fingers are cool, settling upon her and encasing her until she becomes only a shape beneath them. He pulls the gun from her hand, lets it drop to the floor, and it’s washed by the flow of water along the cobbles, away from the streetlights. She feels a momentary annoyance, but her hands are so small inside his and her fingers curl so easily under his grasp that it wanes. She is like paper folded into him, smaller and smaller.
Smiling he pushes her arms behind her, forms her fingers round the cast iron of the park railings that are digging into her back. His hands press the cold metal hard into the creases of her palms, and she can see the deep blue tinge of a large moon flickering through the rain as he begins to speak to her. It casts a blue light that plays across his hair, and there is a quiet intensity to his voice, a deep dangerous thrum as he warns her to hold her hands tight, to make sure she doesn’t let go. She nods as she watches the moon over his shoulder, then there’s the deep release of a sigh that’s been welling up in her for hours now, amidst all the running, all the shooting.
She can feel his eyes looking down upon her, daring her to move as he unbuttons her shirt, slides his hands onto her damp and waiting breasts.
*
Mind
The first time he steps through her skin it is unfamiliar, yet familiar all at once. Old forgotten parts of her mind are switched on, lit up like both an invasion and a homecoming. Despite his reassuring hands cupping her face, his lips whispering and pressing hard against hers she is terrified at the echoing of old forgotten songs drifting up to play across the surface of her thoughts. The moan of the wind through the orphanage windows, the drills, the forgetting, the stories recited until she was numb…
He holds her head still against the pillow, and his tendons tighten when she tests her muscles against him. Pressing his forehead to hers he streams through her. He dances along the cells of her brain, pushing here, teasing there; insistent against barriers and doorways, and she lets them fall like cloth before him, until he is layered and pressing across her, holding her in him.
Then there is a moment like glass, like still water. She thinks it’s called peace.
*
Eyes
He watches her closely as he touches her, eyes intense, boring into her. She fancies she can see all of his memories stacked up in them, time playing across his irises. There are black feathers inside her, a fear stroking her guts from the inside and racing across her skin. She is bound, rope scratching against her wrists as she twists them, and he is above her, upon her. The blood racing through her feels like it will slowly burn her up with need, but this fear in her throat is stealing her breath and it feels like it might strangle her. He pushes his hands against her belly, her chest, her breasts, her neck, holding her to the floor. She tries to arch against him wanting him to push all the way through her, but his eyes are travelling the length of her, pinning her there.
Whether she struggles or no, there is nowhere else to be, nowhere she wants to be except exactly there. The bird inside her suddenly takes flight as he enters her - and there’s nothing but sky all around her and all her body expanding outwards and upwards, until she’s laughing with joy.
*
Skin
There’s a beautiful noise that his skin makes when it contacts hers, hard, fast and feral. A bright sound that echoes from the Tardis walls with a surprising clarity.
There’s the sweet and sharp burst of pain, a flowering and a blooming she feels run across her surface. The reciprocity of both their nerve endings singing and humming. A tenderness and a bruising, all her blood rising to the surface, her insides laid bare across her for him to read over and over with his hands.
*
Head
He has one hand gripped to the console; the other traces lines across her head. He is forming a map with his fingertips, a map that spreads a shiver along her whole skull, then down through her body, searching out pathways along her nerves. When he digs his fingers into her hair a tremble runs through her. All her attention is focused on the place where his hand is gently grasping, tugging absentmindedly. He is lecturing on the correct manner to rewire the time rotor and she cannot keep a smirk from playing across her face, followed by an uncontrollable burst of laughter.
His voice falters, then there’s warm and welcome pressure of his palm pressed to her head. She can feel how tenderly he cups her, yet he pushes her steadily downwards and she collapses gently under the insistent pressure of his hand. Her knees meet the warm floor and the hum of the engines. Her thighs meet her calves, her chin meets her chest, and she casts her eyes downwards to floor. His hand remains there, an insistent pressure holding her to that spot, holding her still and calm, the deep pool of a torrent dammed against him. She can see his reflection above her, mirrored in the floor of the Tardis and he is smiling at her.
*
Wrists
Metal touches her skin and it is colder than stone. It’s the best and the worst of everything.
It’s the wires of the suit round her wrists and ankles, needles bending into her skin, pushed into her nerves.
It’s the colours of the Gamma forest rivers viewed from an orbiting Tardis, the thrill of flight as they trace the winding path of silver water from the air above.
It’s mercury, the madness that flows through her veins.
In the end though it’s the push of her face into satin pillows, the slight panic in her chest as she searches for air followed by an expanding inside her as she hears the metallic click, click, click of the cuffs sliding home.
*
Mouth
They have been running. Sweat sheens her back, and the smoky smell of her discharged plasma gun hangs in her curls. They both smell like the forest, like wild earth and sweat. He is breathing heavily with exertion, his hair unkempt and his eyes hungry, predatory, as he slams the door behind him.
He begins to walk around her, methodically using his mother tongue to wrap and bind her to the spot. There is a low, melodic note of warning in his voice that sends a thrill pulsing through her, stealing all tension from the muscles of her legs, buckling her knees so that she almost overbalances where she stands. She knows the language deep in her bones, and it resonates through them as he tells her not to move a muscle, that she’s brought enough trouble on them for today, that he’s had enough of her games and of her guns.
He circles as if hunting her. His voice works continually, lilting the vowels and caressing the consonants of Gallifreyan, humming with the edge of threat as he strings together elaborate phrases which become more and more intimate and direct the closer he moves. His hand trails her hip, her belly, her breasts, between her legs, a slow smile spreading across his face as he asks her what she thinks he is going to do now.
She opens her mouth to reply to him, but his fingers against her lips are a warning to be still, to be quiet. She sneaks a taste of them with the tip of her tongue all salt and electricity and smoke.
Being devoured by him that night is a singular pleasure and cannot be matched. Wherever his clever mouth roams, open and hot, it seems to possess her skin.
*
Neck
Tonight her dress is the deep colour of midnight viewed through a thick atmosphere. All heavy blues and greys, it shines and refracts the gravity globes against her eyelashes as she walks through the ballroom. When she glances at him, his eyes are busy roaming her body approvingly, as well they might. He took great delight in selecting this dress for her - figure hugging and sleek, long skirt and sleeves snug around her form. Enough movement to dance, enough to walk, yet hugging her tightly.
A thick deep blue choker is wrapped around her neck, a gift from him. It is silk, twin to his bow tie, and intricate, delicate chains and beads hang from it, trailing coolly along her throat . She knows how it cuts a line sharp around her slender pale neck, saw how firmly it wrapped her as he fastened it tight around her, each of them watching the other in the bedroom mirror.
As they walk the slick wooden floor of the ballroom his hand rests against the top of her spine, a finger pressed against the back of the choker, toying with the fabric.
*
Heart
Where it belongs.
Inside his hands, inside his voice and breath.
Moving through time bound into him and him into her.
Author: lonewytch
Fandom/Characters: Doctor Who; Eleven/River
Wordcount: 1559
Rating: T
Spoilers: Through to the present
A/N: This fic (or, rather, series of mini-fics) is a result of this discussion on owlsie's journal about Dom/sub dynamics in the Doctor and River's relationship, and of some discussions i had witha_phoenixdragon. It was originally conceived as smut, but it didn't work out that way at all and is actually much softer than that, with no explicit sexytimes.
Warnings: Looks at Doctor/River as a D/s relationship
My fic Masterlist
Fingers
Torrential rain drums onto them both as his wet hands wrap hers. His fingers are cool, settling upon her and encasing her until she becomes only a shape beneath them. He pulls the gun from her hand, lets it drop to the floor, and it’s washed by the flow of water along the cobbles, away from the streetlights. She feels a momentary annoyance, but her hands are so small inside his and her fingers curl so easily under his grasp that it wanes. She is like paper folded into him, smaller and smaller.
Smiling he pushes her arms behind her, forms her fingers round the cast iron of the park railings that are digging into her back. His hands press the cold metal hard into the creases of her palms, and she can see the deep blue tinge of a large moon flickering through the rain as he begins to speak to her. It casts a blue light that plays across his hair, and there is a quiet intensity to his voice, a deep dangerous thrum as he warns her to hold her hands tight, to make sure she doesn’t let go. She nods as she watches the moon over his shoulder, then there’s the deep release of a sigh that’s been welling up in her for hours now, amidst all the running, all the shooting.
She can feel his eyes looking down upon her, daring her to move as he unbuttons her shirt, slides his hands onto her damp and waiting breasts.
*
Mind
The first time he steps through her skin it is unfamiliar, yet familiar all at once. Old forgotten parts of her mind are switched on, lit up like both an invasion and a homecoming. Despite his reassuring hands cupping her face, his lips whispering and pressing hard against hers she is terrified at the echoing of old forgotten songs drifting up to play across the surface of her thoughts. The moan of the wind through the orphanage windows, the drills, the forgetting, the stories recited until she was numb…
He holds her head still against the pillow, and his tendons tighten when she tests her muscles against him. Pressing his forehead to hers he streams through her. He dances along the cells of her brain, pushing here, teasing there; insistent against barriers and doorways, and she lets them fall like cloth before him, until he is layered and pressing across her, holding her in him.
Then there is a moment like glass, like still water. She thinks it’s called peace.
*
Eyes
He watches her closely as he touches her, eyes intense, boring into her. She fancies she can see all of his memories stacked up in them, time playing across his irises. There are black feathers inside her, a fear stroking her guts from the inside and racing across her skin. She is bound, rope scratching against her wrists as she twists them, and he is above her, upon her. The blood racing through her feels like it will slowly burn her up with need, but this fear in her throat is stealing her breath and it feels like it might strangle her. He pushes his hands against her belly, her chest, her breasts, her neck, holding her to the floor. She tries to arch against him wanting him to push all the way through her, but his eyes are travelling the length of her, pinning her there.
Whether she struggles or no, there is nowhere else to be, nowhere she wants to be except exactly there. The bird inside her suddenly takes flight as he enters her - and there’s nothing but sky all around her and all her body expanding outwards and upwards, until she’s laughing with joy.
*
Skin
There’s a beautiful noise that his skin makes when it contacts hers, hard, fast and feral. A bright sound that echoes from the Tardis walls with a surprising clarity.
There’s the sweet and sharp burst of pain, a flowering and a blooming she feels run across her surface. The reciprocity of both their nerve endings singing and humming. A tenderness and a bruising, all her blood rising to the surface, her insides laid bare across her for him to read over and over with his hands.
*
Head
He has one hand gripped to the console; the other traces lines across her head. He is forming a map with his fingertips, a map that spreads a shiver along her whole skull, then down through her body, searching out pathways along her nerves. When he digs his fingers into her hair a tremble runs through her. All her attention is focused on the place where his hand is gently grasping, tugging absentmindedly. He is lecturing on the correct manner to rewire the time rotor and she cannot keep a smirk from playing across her face, followed by an uncontrollable burst of laughter.
His voice falters, then there’s warm and welcome pressure of his palm pressed to her head. She can feel how tenderly he cups her, yet he pushes her steadily downwards and she collapses gently under the insistent pressure of his hand. Her knees meet the warm floor and the hum of the engines. Her thighs meet her calves, her chin meets her chest, and she casts her eyes downwards to floor. His hand remains there, an insistent pressure holding her to that spot, holding her still and calm, the deep pool of a torrent dammed against him. She can see his reflection above her, mirrored in the floor of the Tardis and he is smiling at her.
*
Wrists
Metal touches her skin and it is colder than stone. It’s the best and the worst of everything.
It’s the wires of the suit round her wrists and ankles, needles bending into her skin, pushed into her nerves.
It’s the colours of the Gamma forest rivers viewed from an orbiting Tardis, the thrill of flight as they trace the winding path of silver water from the air above.
It’s mercury, the madness that flows through her veins.
In the end though it’s the push of her face into satin pillows, the slight panic in her chest as she searches for air followed by an expanding inside her as she hears the metallic click, click, click of the cuffs sliding home.
*
Mouth
They have been running. Sweat sheens her back, and the smoky smell of her discharged plasma gun hangs in her curls. They both smell like the forest, like wild earth and sweat. He is breathing heavily with exertion, his hair unkempt and his eyes hungry, predatory, as he slams the door behind him.
He begins to walk around her, methodically using his mother tongue to wrap and bind her to the spot. There is a low, melodic note of warning in his voice that sends a thrill pulsing through her, stealing all tension from the muscles of her legs, buckling her knees so that she almost overbalances where she stands. She knows the language deep in her bones, and it resonates through them as he tells her not to move a muscle, that she’s brought enough trouble on them for today, that he’s had enough of her games and of her guns.
He circles as if hunting her. His voice works continually, lilting the vowels and caressing the consonants of Gallifreyan, humming with the edge of threat as he strings together elaborate phrases which become more and more intimate and direct the closer he moves. His hand trails her hip, her belly, her breasts, between her legs, a slow smile spreading across his face as he asks her what she thinks he is going to do now.
She opens her mouth to reply to him, but his fingers against her lips are a warning to be still, to be quiet. She sneaks a taste of them with the tip of her tongue all salt and electricity and smoke.
Being devoured by him that night is a singular pleasure and cannot be matched. Wherever his clever mouth roams, open and hot, it seems to possess her skin.
*
Neck
Tonight her dress is the deep colour of midnight viewed through a thick atmosphere. All heavy blues and greys, it shines and refracts the gravity globes against her eyelashes as she walks through the ballroom. When she glances at him, his eyes are busy roaming her body approvingly, as well they might. He took great delight in selecting this dress for her - figure hugging and sleek, long skirt and sleeves snug around her form. Enough movement to dance, enough to walk, yet hugging her tightly.
A thick deep blue choker is wrapped around her neck, a gift from him. It is silk, twin to his bow tie, and intricate, delicate chains and beads hang from it, trailing coolly along her throat . She knows how it cuts a line sharp around her slender pale neck, saw how firmly it wrapped her as he fastened it tight around her, each of them watching the other in the bedroom mirror.
As they walk the slick wooden floor of the ballroom his hand rests against the top of her spine, a finger pressed against the back of the choker, toying with the fabric.
*
Heart
Where it belongs.
Inside his hands, inside his voice and breath.
Moving through time bound into him and him into her.