Christmas Ficathon: Day 12
Title: Traditions, Part 3
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Fifth Doctor, Tegan
Rating: PG (slightly suggestive language, nothing too offensive)
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: The Doctor decides to have Christmas in the TARDIS. Shenanigans ensue.
Part 1 | Part 2
Oh hai! To make up for yesterday's fail!post, here's some extra-long, extra-cute fluff. Continuation of the Christmasy bit plucked from my NaNo fic. All you really need to know is Tegan & the Doctor have an established...thing. Anyway. It's just fluff. I'll get the final parts up at some point within the next week or so, but they're pure smut so you can either skip it or get excited for it.
Also, woo! I am halfway through this little adventure. I hope some of you are enjoying the daily stories. I've had a lot of fun writing from your prompts ♥
It had been the most blissfully uneventful trip Tegan could recall. The afternoon had been spent exploring the town; apart from an odd look or two at their dress (though Turlough had blended in quite easily) they had been well received by the locals. The Doctor had been all charm and smiles, wishing everyone they encountered a “Happy Christmas” with a boyish enthusiasm that had surprised even her. And there had been not one crisis, not one alien invasion, not one odd occurrence to blemish the day. Though she was chilled to the bone from an afternoon in the cold, Tegan could not recall feeling happier outside the TARDIS. The feeling seemed to be mutual; the Doctor was all smiles as he led her by the hand back in the direction of the TARDIS. Turlough had been reluctant to leave the comfort of the local tavern, and Tegan, head swimming from the mulled wine, had not had the energy to protest when the Doctor suggested they head back before dark.
The sun had nearly sunk by the time they crested the hill where the TARDIS was parked. Ascending the hill had been more of a challenge than the journey down; the snow had accumulated and Tegan’s steps were slow and sluggish; the Doctor tugged her along, more than once threatening to carry her himself. The suggestion did not have the desired effect, as she had merely stopped in her tracks, waiting for him to comply.
“Honestly, Tegan,” he called behind him the third time she stopped. “I’m beginning to think taking you anywhere near alcohol was a mistake. Humans are poorly designed to handle it in the first place. Turlough, for instance, is biologically suited to consuming alcohol properly. None of this silly giggling and loss of coordination; this is precisely why you will never see an intoxicated Time Lord, though most would not deign to…Tegan?” The Doctor had paused to glance behind him; he froze when Tegan was nowhere to be seen.
He called her name again, spinning on his heels. The Doctor was squinting into the fading light, searching for her slight, familiar form when three things happened: there was a light thwack, his panama hat was knocked from his head, and the remnants of what he strongly suspected was a snowball began to drip down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.
It was the giggling that gave her location away; but superior Time Lord hearing or no, he would not have had much trouble finding her anyway. She had drunk enough that subtlety was no longer coming easy to her. The Doctor turned slowly, fully prepared to show Tegan exactly why he was known in several galaxies as the Oncoming Storm. Something about his appearance was apparently amusing, as her fit of giggles dissolved into full out laughter the moment he turned.
“Your face - Doc, it’s priceless.” She took a few staggering steps in his direction, clutching her stomach as she laughed, and promptly fell backwards into a snow drift, overcome by hysterics. With a huff, the Doctor came to stand over her.
“Tegan, this is precisely why humans should not drink. Come on. We’ll put you to bed.” He held out a hand to lift her out of the snow bank; instead, Tegan caught him off guard by pulling on his hand with more strength than he thought her capable of at present, and he landed on top of her; he braced his hands in the snow, and his arms promptly sunk into the drift until their faces were flush.
“Hi, Doc.” Tegan’s giggling was beginning to subside, but she had to bite her lip to contain the last of her laughter.
“That was a rather childish thing to do.” The Doctor attempted the stern tone of a lecturing parent, but it rather failed at such close quarters.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Tegan attempted to pout coyly, and, under the circumstances, achieved the look remarkably well.
“You’re drunk.”
“Not nearly as much as you think I am, Doc. I can hold my own.” She ran a hand through his hair where it was still wet from the snow. “I think you could do with a surprise now and then.”
The Doctor hummed, as if considering this. Tegan squirmed beneath him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“You’re heavy. And I’m cold.”
“You never seemed to mind the cold before.”
Tegan gave him an arch look, voice low. “Not when it’s you.”
He nodded once, and instead of rising to stand as she expected him to, the Doctor gripped her by the waist and rolled them in a swift movement so that he lay back in the snow and she rested on his lap. Her face seemed to glow, reflected in the dim golden light of the setting sun. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and she bent at the waist until their faces were flush once more.
“Better, Tegan?”
She smiled before brushing her lips against his. “Much.” Her mouth was warm, tasting of the mulled wine she had nursed, like cinnamon and nutmeg and something that was sweet and purely, unmistakably Tegan. He couldn’t help himself; his tongue darted out to lick his lips as she pulled back.
“What was that for?”
She kissed the tip of his nose before replying; under different circumstances, he might have found the gesture silly, but it was gentle and intimate. “You kept your promise.”
His lips found the soft skin of her eyelid. “I did?”
“Mmmm. You promised me one perfect trip.” She trailed her lips across his hairline, punctuating each word with a kiss.
The Doctor paused, surprised. “Tegan, there’s nothing remarkable about nineteenth century Earth. And we didn’t even manage to land in the right time to begin with.”
“Doesn’t matter, Doc. It was perfect.” Her lips found his again at last, and he surrendered willingly, enjoying the mingling of their breaths and the sweet taste of her earnest kisses.
“Tegan,” he managed as she emerged for air. “As long as I live I will never understand you.”
“Doc, the day you know everything there is to know about me, I might as well give up.” The Doctor had no reply, but neither of them much cared for talking anymore.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Fifth Doctor, Tegan
Rating: PG (slightly suggestive language, nothing too offensive)
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: The Doctor decides to have Christmas in the TARDIS. Shenanigans ensue.
Part 1 | Part 2
Oh hai! To make up for yesterday's fail!post, here's some extra-long, extra-cute fluff. Continuation of the Christmasy bit plucked from my NaNo fic. All you really need to know is Tegan & the Doctor have an established...thing. Anyway. It's just fluff. I'll get the final parts up at some point within the next week or so, but they're pure smut so you can either skip it or get excited for it.
Also, woo! I am halfway through this little adventure. I hope some of you are enjoying the daily stories. I've had a lot of fun writing from your prompts ♥
It had been the most blissfully uneventful trip Tegan could recall. The afternoon had been spent exploring the town; apart from an odd look or two at their dress (though Turlough had blended in quite easily) they had been well received by the locals. The Doctor had been all charm and smiles, wishing everyone they encountered a “Happy Christmas” with a boyish enthusiasm that had surprised even her. And there had been not one crisis, not one alien invasion, not one odd occurrence to blemish the day. Though she was chilled to the bone from an afternoon in the cold, Tegan could not recall feeling happier outside the TARDIS. The feeling seemed to be mutual; the Doctor was all smiles as he led her by the hand back in the direction of the TARDIS. Turlough had been reluctant to leave the comfort of the local tavern, and Tegan, head swimming from the mulled wine, had not had the energy to protest when the Doctor suggested they head back before dark.
The sun had nearly sunk by the time they crested the hill where the TARDIS was parked. Ascending the hill had been more of a challenge than the journey down; the snow had accumulated and Tegan’s steps were slow and sluggish; the Doctor tugged her along, more than once threatening to carry her himself. The suggestion did not have the desired effect, as she had merely stopped in her tracks, waiting for him to comply.
“Honestly, Tegan,” he called behind him the third time she stopped. “I’m beginning to think taking you anywhere near alcohol was a mistake. Humans are poorly designed to handle it in the first place. Turlough, for instance, is biologically suited to consuming alcohol properly. None of this silly giggling and loss of coordination; this is precisely why you will never see an intoxicated Time Lord, though most would not deign to…Tegan?” The Doctor had paused to glance behind him; he froze when Tegan was nowhere to be seen.
He called her name again, spinning on his heels. The Doctor was squinting into the fading light, searching for her slight, familiar form when three things happened: there was a light thwack, his panama hat was knocked from his head, and the remnants of what he strongly suspected was a snowball began to drip down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.
It was the giggling that gave her location away; but superior Time Lord hearing or no, he would not have had much trouble finding her anyway. She had drunk enough that subtlety was no longer coming easy to her. The Doctor turned slowly, fully prepared to show Tegan exactly why he was known in several galaxies as the Oncoming Storm. Something about his appearance was apparently amusing, as her fit of giggles dissolved into full out laughter the moment he turned.
“Your face - Doc, it’s priceless.” She took a few staggering steps in his direction, clutching her stomach as she laughed, and promptly fell backwards into a snow drift, overcome by hysterics. With a huff, the Doctor came to stand over her.
“Tegan, this is precisely why humans should not drink. Come on. We’ll put you to bed.” He held out a hand to lift her out of the snow bank; instead, Tegan caught him off guard by pulling on his hand with more strength than he thought her capable of at present, and he landed on top of her; he braced his hands in the snow, and his arms promptly sunk into the drift until their faces were flush.
“Hi, Doc.” Tegan’s giggling was beginning to subside, but she had to bite her lip to contain the last of her laughter.
“That was a rather childish thing to do.” The Doctor attempted the stern tone of a lecturing parent, but it rather failed at such close quarters.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Tegan attempted to pout coyly, and, under the circumstances, achieved the look remarkably well.
“You’re drunk.”
“Not nearly as much as you think I am, Doc. I can hold my own.” She ran a hand through his hair where it was still wet from the snow. “I think you could do with a surprise now and then.”
The Doctor hummed, as if considering this. Tegan squirmed beneath him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“You’re heavy. And I’m cold.”
“You never seemed to mind the cold before.”
Tegan gave him an arch look, voice low. “Not when it’s you.”
He nodded once, and instead of rising to stand as she expected him to, the Doctor gripped her by the waist and rolled them in a swift movement so that he lay back in the snow and she rested on his lap. Her face seemed to glow, reflected in the dim golden light of the setting sun. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and she bent at the waist until their faces were flush once more.
“Better, Tegan?”
She smiled before brushing her lips against his. “Much.” Her mouth was warm, tasting of the mulled wine she had nursed, like cinnamon and nutmeg and something that was sweet and purely, unmistakably Tegan. He couldn’t help himself; his tongue darted out to lick his lips as she pulled back.
“What was that for?”
She kissed the tip of his nose before replying; under different circumstances, he might have found the gesture silly, but it was gentle and intimate. “You kept your promise.”
His lips found the soft skin of her eyelid. “I did?”
“Mmmm. You promised me one perfect trip.” She trailed her lips across his hairline, punctuating each word with a kiss.
The Doctor paused, surprised. “Tegan, there’s nothing remarkable about nineteenth century Earth. And we didn’t even manage to land in the right time to begin with.”
“Doesn’t matter, Doc. It was perfect.” Her lips found his again at last, and he surrendered willingly, enjoying the mingling of their breaths and the sweet taste of her earnest kisses.
“Tegan,” he managed as she emerged for air. “As long as I live I will never understand you.”
“Doc, the day you know everything there is to know about me, I might as well give up.” The Doctor had no reply, but neither of them much cared for talking anymore.