Fic! The Next Word Out of Your Mouth (Eleven/River)
It is possible that this took longer to name than to write. It is hard to name things when not much happens in them plotwise.
Title: The Next Word Out of Your Mouth
Rating: R maybe for words and vague sexytimes
Pairing: Eleven/River
Summary: “Are we arguing or flirting?”
The TARDIS materialised in River's house with her usual wheezing. The brakes might not be standard for leaving the vortex, but silent materialisations didn't attract nearly enough attention for her pilot to be content with them.
The Doctor stepped out into the sitting-room and checked his watch. Too early, but what was one day when you considered the size of the universe and the sheer number of days in its quite impressive lifetime?
“River?” he called to the air. When there was no answer he assumed she wasn't in and decided to wait. She was probably at the shops buying some mysterious feminine item or other. He switched on her television and settled on her sofa with the remote control. It was always best to just act like you owned the place, after all.
After ten minutes of lesser-quality reality television he heard a key turning in the lock. He switched off the television and stood up, checking his hair in a mirror on the wall. He straightened his clothes and tried to look like he wasn't at all concerned about his appearance. It wouldn't do to give her the wrong idea, after all. (That it was, in fact, the right idea was a minor detail and hardly worth considering.)
River entered the room carrying a large rucksack and with dirt on her skin and in her hair.
“River,” he said, “you look -”
River held up a hand to silence him. “Doctor, the next word out of your mouth will greatly affect your chances of having sex in the foreseeable future.”
“Beautiful?” he ventured.
“I've been travelling all day,” said River, setting her bag down on the floor. “I didn't have time to clean off the mud.”
“Was it an archaeological dig or a mud-wrestling contest?” he asked.
“Bit of both, actually.” River produced her diary from a pocket in her trousers. “So when are we?”
“The Ponds are on honeymoon and I've just met Jo Grant again. Jones. Jo Jones. She changed her name to confuse me.”
River nodded and turned a few pages of the diary. “Have we done the thing with the candle-wax yet?”
“I think I'd remember if we had.”
“Hmm, I'm not sure, you'd had quite a bit of champagne. Have you marr... have you met Marilyn yet?”
The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. “She's not talking to me any more.”
“So that's a yes.” She vanished her diary back into her pocket and smiled at the Doctor. “How's the TARDIS?”
“In a bit of a mood, I think she's missing Amy. And Rory. Mustn't forget Rory. Again.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it was only for a few hours, he was still alive when we went back for him. Just a bit irritated. And damp.”
“Gosh,” said River, “there was nothing significant about that, was there?”
“It was an accident!” He shrugged. “Anyway, I came when you called, aren't you pleased about that?”
“I didn't call you,” said River.
The Doctor produced the psychic paper from his inside pocket. “See? You did. Not often you see Ancient Gallifreyan that's so... graphic.”
River looked at the note she hadn't written yet. “I'll send it after you leave. Don't let me forget. I don't want to collapse the universe over a booty call.”
“A... did you just call this a booty call?”
“Well, I can't think why else I'd have sent for you at this point.”
“Perhaps you were in need of my sparkling wit,” he suggested.
River snorted. “You just keep thinking that, Sweetie.” She stretched and yawned. “I'll have a quick shower. Alone. You can stay here and watch the television.”
Being told to watch the television was much less appealing than watching it without having asked, so the Doctor decided instead to explore a bit. He pocketed a suspiciously priceless-looking ornament from the mantle over the fireplace and turned to the bookcase. The works were more-or-less alphabetised and he recognised most of the authors. He stopped with a smirk at The Oncoming Storm: A Biography, picked it from the shelf and settled on the sofa to read.
“Well, that's wrong for a start,” he said as he read the first sentence.
River returned spotless and dry in a pair of jeans and a loose red shirt. She tied her hair back as she looked at the Doctor sitting with his feet on her coffee table. “What are you reading? Is it the Draconian pornography?”
He held up the book. “No wonder you know so much about me. I think that counts as cheating.”
“Accurate, is it?”
He closed the book and set it down next to him. “It contained at least three facts that were close to being true.”
River sat next to him, moving the book to the table and flapping her hands at him until he put his feet back on the floor. “I found it in a second-hand shop. I wasn't looking.”
“That would be why it says 'Do Not Remove From Williams University Library' then.”
“Bought, found, stole, they're all much the same thing.”
“So not only have you been reading up on me behind my back, you also lie about it when confronted.”
“You call that a confrontation?”
The Doctor thought for a moment. “Are we arguing or flirting?”
“There's a difference?”
“Because it affects what I say next. I don't want to lead you on or accidentally give you the brush-off.”
“What were you going to say?” asked River, looking amused.
“I was going to say you're quite attractive when you get caught in a lie.”
“'Quite'?”
“Very. I meant very. Exceptionally. Overwhelmingly.”
“Good save.”
“Thank you.”
“I knew you were going to be an interesting one when you brought a toothbrush and handcuffs to our first date.”
“Isn't that normal in your time?” he asked, not quite wanting to admit his limited knowledge of the period.
“Not for people who wear tweed,” she said.
The Doctor sulked half-heartedly. “Why do people always insult my clothes?”
“Fashion's never been your forte, you must admit.”
He wondered if River had ever seen The Coat. “Don't you think it makes me look like Indiana Jones when he's being an academic? He's quite sexy, isn't he? Is he sexy?”
River patted his arm. “I think it's very...”
“Do you remember what you said earlier about the next thing you say determining whether or not you get to have sex?”
“Fetching,” she finished. “In a sort of drunken-hipster way.”
“I suppose that's the best I can expect from a human.”
“Insulting someone's species isn't generally considered attractive,” she warned.
“I was merely commenting on how shallow you all are at times.”
“Oh, stop, you're making me blush.”
“Sarcasm doesn't suit you, River.”
River put a hand on his thigh. “I think you should stop talking before you dig any deeper.”
The Doctor looked down at her hand. “That's quite an intimate position.” He didn't move, though. He didn't especially want to.
“Do you plan on kissing me at some point?” asked River. “Or would you rather I put the kettle on?”
“How can a man make a choice like that? That's just cruel.”
“Tea it is, then,” said River, moving to stand up.
The Doctor caught her hand and pulled her back down on the sofa. “A watched River never boils,” he said. He made a face. “Forget I said that, it didn't come out like I thought it would.”
“Actually,” she said, “Tea's quite tempting at the moment.”
So he kissed her.
Kissing was quite nice, he liked kissing. He liked to think he was good at it, though he did acknowledge that a skilled partner helped the overall quality of the act. He had to give River some of the credit for the high level of niceness involved.
He had his jacket off and one of his braces was hanging loose. The bow-tie was somewhere on the floor behind the sofa, which wasn't fair because River hadn't lost any clothes despite his efforts to pluck up the courage to undo a few buttons on her blouse.
“Don't be shy,” she told him, making him wonder if she could read his mind. She probably couldn't.
He asked anyway, just in case.
“You keep not taking my clothes off,” she explained. “It's getting a bit distracting.”
“I haven't done this before,” he admitted.
River produced a sceptical laugh. “Oh, Doctor, you're a terrible liar sometimes.”
“I mean with you. I'm not sure what you like.”
“Just use your initiative.”
The Doctor was quite good at using his initiative, and managed to get River down to her underwear by the time they stumbled through her bedroom door. He still had his trousers on, so it was either a draw or he'd won. He had a fairly good idea what the prize probably was.
He was fumbling with her bra as they fell onto the bed. He continued fumbling for long enough to start blushing furiously.
“How does this come off?” he asked. He looked over her shoulder, trying to get a good look at it. “Are you sure this is a normal bra?”
“It fastens at the front,” said River, demonstrating.
“Are you trying to confuse me? Oh, breasts,” he added, staring.
“You're very observant.”
“Your breasts,” he said, “are the ripe fruit of dreams.”
“Not very eloquent today, are you?”
“Someone keeps distracting me,” he replied, squeezing gently.
River pushed him onto his back. “Trousers off,” she said, taking no argument.
He just had time to worry whether he'd worn the neon green boxers with the little spaceships on before whatever they were vanished with his trousers onto the floor by the bed. River wriggled from her knickers and swung her leg across to sit straddling his thighs. She smiled and started stroking his cock with one hand.
“Well?”
“Well what?” asked the Doctor, trying to concentrate on the conversation. River's hand was lovely, really lovely. She had wonderful hands. He was in love with her hands, most likely.
“Shall we continue or should I put the kettle on?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “That was uncalled for,” he complained. Then he said “Oh," and then he didn't say anything coherent for some time.
River yawned sleepily.
“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked the Doctor, not sure how offended he should feel. Tiring your partner out was good, wasn't it? But boring them to sleep was bad. He wished these things were easier to figure out.
“I spent all morning digging a trench,” said River. “I'm not getting any younger, you know. Unlike some people.”
“I think I'll look distinguished in a few years,” he said defensively.
“Try a few decades.”
“They asked for my ID in a pub last week,” he complained.
“Did you have any?”
“The barman asked if the picture was my dad.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It's just,” he continued, “if you're going to sleep I could fix the blue stabilisers.”
“Did you break them on purpose?” asked River with obvious suspicion.
“It may have been a somewhat deliberate accident.”
She sighed. “Boys and their toys.”
“Girls and their guns,” he countered.
“I'm not in the mood for a lecture about pacifism, thank you.”
“Can I have a cup of tea?” he asked, rather suddenly. “Only you put the idea in my head earlier and it's been at the back of my mind ever since. I have a complex mind,” he added, “I wasn't just not paying attention to you.”
“Kitchen cupboard to the left of the sink. There's no milk, though. Or if there is then it's so mouldy that you may have to commit genocide.” River yawned again and closed her eyes.
“I'll just skip the milk, then.” He leaned over the edge of the bed to look for his trousers. This was all getting a bit domestic, but he could worry about that later. Much later, he decided, watching River curl up under the covers.
Much to his relief, he managed to burn the water while making tea, but by then River was asleep and the television just didn't understand his concerns.
Title: The Next Word Out of Your Mouth
Rating: R maybe for words and vague sexytimes
Pairing: Eleven/River
Summary: “Are we arguing or flirting?”
The TARDIS materialised in River's house with her usual wheezing. The brakes might not be standard for leaving the vortex, but silent materialisations didn't attract nearly enough attention for her pilot to be content with them.
The Doctor stepped out into the sitting-room and checked his watch. Too early, but what was one day when you considered the size of the universe and the sheer number of days in its quite impressive lifetime?
“River?” he called to the air. When there was no answer he assumed she wasn't in and decided to wait. She was probably at the shops buying some mysterious feminine item or other. He switched on her television and settled on her sofa with the remote control. It was always best to just act like you owned the place, after all.
After ten minutes of lesser-quality reality television he heard a key turning in the lock. He switched off the television and stood up, checking his hair in a mirror on the wall. He straightened his clothes and tried to look like he wasn't at all concerned about his appearance. It wouldn't do to give her the wrong idea, after all. (That it was, in fact, the right idea was a minor detail and hardly worth considering.)
River entered the room carrying a large rucksack and with dirt on her skin and in her hair.
“River,” he said, “you look -”
River held up a hand to silence him. “Doctor, the next word out of your mouth will greatly affect your chances of having sex in the foreseeable future.”
“Beautiful?” he ventured.
“I've been travelling all day,” said River, setting her bag down on the floor. “I didn't have time to clean off the mud.”
“Was it an archaeological dig or a mud-wrestling contest?” he asked.
“Bit of both, actually.” River produced her diary from a pocket in her trousers. “So when are we?”
“The Ponds are on honeymoon and I've just met Jo Grant again. Jones. Jo Jones. She changed her name to confuse me.”
River nodded and turned a few pages of the diary. “Have we done the thing with the candle-wax yet?”
“I think I'd remember if we had.”
“Hmm, I'm not sure, you'd had quite a bit of champagne. Have you marr... have you met Marilyn yet?”
The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. “She's not talking to me any more.”
“So that's a yes.” She vanished her diary back into her pocket and smiled at the Doctor. “How's the TARDIS?”
“In a bit of a mood, I think she's missing Amy. And Rory. Mustn't forget Rory. Again.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it was only for a few hours, he was still alive when we went back for him. Just a bit irritated. And damp.”
“Gosh,” said River, “there was nothing significant about that, was there?”
“It was an accident!” He shrugged. “Anyway, I came when you called, aren't you pleased about that?”
“I didn't call you,” said River.
The Doctor produced the psychic paper from his inside pocket. “See? You did. Not often you see Ancient Gallifreyan that's so... graphic.”
River looked at the note she hadn't written yet. “I'll send it after you leave. Don't let me forget. I don't want to collapse the universe over a booty call.”
“A... did you just call this a booty call?”
“Well, I can't think why else I'd have sent for you at this point.”
“Perhaps you were in need of my sparkling wit,” he suggested.
River snorted. “You just keep thinking that, Sweetie.” She stretched and yawned. “I'll have a quick shower. Alone. You can stay here and watch the television.”
Being told to watch the television was much less appealing than watching it without having asked, so the Doctor decided instead to explore a bit. He pocketed a suspiciously priceless-looking ornament from the mantle over the fireplace and turned to the bookcase. The works were more-or-less alphabetised and he recognised most of the authors. He stopped with a smirk at The Oncoming Storm: A Biography, picked it from the shelf and settled on the sofa to read.
“Well, that's wrong for a start,” he said as he read the first sentence.
River returned spotless and dry in a pair of jeans and a loose red shirt. She tied her hair back as she looked at the Doctor sitting with his feet on her coffee table. “What are you reading? Is it the Draconian pornography?”
He held up the book. “No wonder you know so much about me. I think that counts as cheating.”
“Accurate, is it?”
He closed the book and set it down next to him. “It contained at least three facts that were close to being true.”
River sat next to him, moving the book to the table and flapping her hands at him until he put his feet back on the floor. “I found it in a second-hand shop. I wasn't looking.”
“That would be why it says 'Do Not Remove From Williams University Library' then.”
“Bought, found, stole, they're all much the same thing.”
“So not only have you been reading up on me behind my back, you also lie about it when confronted.”
“You call that a confrontation?”
The Doctor thought for a moment. “Are we arguing or flirting?”
“There's a difference?”
“Because it affects what I say next. I don't want to lead you on or accidentally give you the brush-off.”
“What were you going to say?” asked River, looking amused.
“I was going to say you're quite attractive when you get caught in a lie.”
“'Quite'?”
“Very. I meant very. Exceptionally. Overwhelmingly.”
“Good save.”
“Thank you.”
“I knew you were going to be an interesting one when you brought a toothbrush and handcuffs to our first date.”
“Isn't that normal in your time?” he asked, not quite wanting to admit his limited knowledge of the period.
“Not for people who wear tweed,” she said.
The Doctor sulked half-heartedly. “Why do people always insult my clothes?”
“Fashion's never been your forte, you must admit.”
He wondered if River had ever seen The Coat. “Don't you think it makes me look like Indiana Jones when he's being an academic? He's quite sexy, isn't he? Is he sexy?”
River patted his arm. “I think it's very...”
“Do you remember what you said earlier about the next thing you say determining whether or not you get to have sex?”
“Fetching,” she finished. “In a sort of drunken-hipster way.”
“I suppose that's the best I can expect from a human.”
“Insulting someone's species isn't generally considered attractive,” she warned.
“I was merely commenting on how shallow you all are at times.”
“Oh, stop, you're making me blush.”
“Sarcasm doesn't suit you, River.”
River put a hand on his thigh. “I think you should stop talking before you dig any deeper.”
The Doctor looked down at her hand. “That's quite an intimate position.” He didn't move, though. He didn't especially want to.
“Do you plan on kissing me at some point?” asked River. “Or would you rather I put the kettle on?”
“How can a man make a choice like that? That's just cruel.”
“Tea it is, then,” said River, moving to stand up.
The Doctor caught her hand and pulled her back down on the sofa. “A watched River never boils,” he said. He made a face. “Forget I said that, it didn't come out like I thought it would.”
“Actually,” she said, “Tea's quite tempting at the moment.”
So he kissed her.
Kissing was quite nice, he liked kissing. He liked to think he was good at it, though he did acknowledge that a skilled partner helped the overall quality of the act. He had to give River some of the credit for the high level of niceness involved.
He had his jacket off and one of his braces was hanging loose. The bow-tie was somewhere on the floor behind the sofa, which wasn't fair because River hadn't lost any clothes despite his efforts to pluck up the courage to undo a few buttons on her blouse.
“Don't be shy,” she told him, making him wonder if she could read his mind. She probably couldn't.
He asked anyway, just in case.
“You keep not taking my clothes off,” she explained. “It's getting a bit distracting.”
“I haven't done this before,” he admitted.
River produced a sceptical laugh. “Oh, Doctor, you're a terrible liar sometimes.”
“I mean with you. I'm not sure what you like.”
“Just use your initiative.”
The Doctor was quite good at using his initiative, and managed to get River down to her underwear by the time they stumbled through her bedroom door. He still had his trousers on, so it was either a draw or he'd won. He had a fairly good idea what the prize probably was.
He was fumbling with her bra as they fell onto the bed. He continued fumbling for long enough to start blushing furiously.
“How does this come off?” he asked. He looked over her shoulder, trying to get a good look at it. “Are you sure this is a normal bra?”
“It fastens at the front,” said River, demonstrating.
“Are you trying to confuse me? Oh, breasts,” he added, staring.
“You're very observant.”
“Your breasts,” he said, “are the ripe fruit of dreams.”
“Not very eloquent today, are you?”
“Someone keeps distracting me,” he replied, squeezing gently.
River pushed him onto his back. “Trousers off,” she said, taking no argument.
He just had time to worry whether he'd worn the neon green boxers with the little spaceships on before whatever they were vanished with his trousers onto the floor by the bed. River wriggled from her knickers and swung her leg across to sit straddling his thighs. She smiled and started stroking his cock with one hand.
“Well?”
“Well what?” asked the Doctor, trying to concentrate on the conversation. River's hand was lovely, really lovely. She had wonderful hands. He was in love with her hands, most likely.
“Shall we continue or should I put the kettle on?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “That was uncalled for,” he complained. Then he said “Oh," and then he didn't say anything coherent for some time.
River yawned sleepily.
“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked the Doctor, not sure how offended he should feel. Tiring your partner out was good, wasn't it? But boring them to sleep was bad. He wished these things were easier to figure out.
“I spent all morning digging a trench,” said River. “I'm not getting any younger, you know. Unlike some people.”
“I think I'll look distinguished in a few years,” he said defensively.
“Try a few decades.”
“They asked for my ID in a pub last week,” he complained.
“Did you have any?”
“The barman asked if the picture was my dad.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It's just,” he continued, “if you're going to sleep I could fix the blue stabilisers.”
“Did you break them on purpose?” asked River with obvious suspicion.
“It may have been a somewhat deliberate accident.”
She sighed. “Boys and their toys.”
“Girls and their guns,” he countered.
“I'm not in the mood for a lecture about pacifism, thank you.”
“Can I have a cup of tea?” he asked, rather suddenly. “Only you put the idea in my head earlier and it's been at the back of my mind ever since. I have a complex mind,” he added, “I wasn't just not paying attention to you.”
“Kitchen cupboard to the left of the sink. There's no milk, though. Or if there is then it's so mouldy that you may have to commit genocide.” River yawned again and closed her eyes.
“I'll just skip the milk, then.” He leaned over the edge of the bed to look for his trousers. This was all getting a bit domestic, but he could worry about that later. Much later, he decided, watching River curl up under the covers.
Much to his relief, he managed to burn the water while making tea, but by then River was asleep and the television just didn't understand his concerns.