When correctly viewed, everything is lewd
In commemoration of this week's DW casting announcement, and in anticipation of the fountain of fanfictional speculation, sensationalism and simply-made-up-in-ten-minutes-ness that is almost certain to follow it, here's a little silly something I scribbled earlier.
(A few of you may have already seen it elsewhere, but this is me owning up to it in public, hem hem.)
Title: Something In The Hair
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Eleventh Doctor
Rating: PG-13 for rampant double entendre
Notes: 400 words, and many of them are appalling puns. Sorry.
Summary: The Tenth and Eleventh Doctors mutually express their irresistible physical attraction to each other's most prominent attribute.
* * * * *
The Tenth Doctor gazed at his future self in wonder. "Wow," he breathed. "That's beautiful."
He couldn't tear his eyes away. True, it wasn't ginger, but it was impressively huge and impossibly erect. It was amazing to think that it would one day be his. But somehow that wasn't enough. He wanted it now.
Fortunately, the other him knew him as well as he knew himself. "Go on," he said, with a wicked glint in his eye. "I know you can't wait to give it a good ruffling."
Delicately, he reached out and slid an exploratory hand into the lush and hairy prize. His counterpart sighed with pleasure at this sensual parting of the waves.
"Wow," the Doctor gasped. "It's even bigger than mine."
"Well, maybe," said the other him, as casually as any man could whose earlier self was lasciviously fingering his bulbous head. "But when it's bigger, it's harder to stop it from going floppy. I must admit, I was always very fond of yours, you know. Yours is stickier. You might almost say it has natural lubrication..."
By now, they were both feeling much too bouffant to restrain themselves. They reached for each other hungrily, their greedy fingers raking and teasing, all rough tufts and wandering strands, rising higher and higher into delicious peaks of pleasure.
The Doctor was dimly aware that his counterpart was reaching into a pocket, pulling out something long and hard and thrusting it into his fingers. He gasped as he saw what it was; his future self nodded and grinned. "That's right. I want to watch you comb. Comb for me, comb for me hard."
Then they knew nothing else but the insistent pull of their hands on each other's erect locks. As they lay exhausted, tangled and limp from their passionate exertions, they realized that the old saying was true: there was no turn-on like a lover's quiff.
"There's just one thing missing," said the Doctor, gazing at himself with post-tonsorial tenderness. "Namely, your eyebrows."
His other self looked slightly offended. "I think you'll find that my brows are subtle, delicate and mysterious, thank you. Yours, however, are positively bushy. I rather wish I could do something about them."
"Then I've got a brilliant idea," said the Doctor. "You can pluck me all night long, and I'll pencil you in for next week..."
FIN
* * * * *
(A few of you may have already seen it elsewhere, but this is me owning up to it in public, hem hem.)
Title: Something In The Hair
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Eleventh Doctor
Rating: PG-13 for rampant double entendre
Notes: 400 words, and many of them are appalling puns. Sorry.
Summary: The Tenth and Eleventh Doctors mutually express their irresistible physical attraction to each other's most prominent attribute.
* * * * *
The Tenth Doctor gazed at his future self in wonder. "Wow," he breathed. "That's beautiful."
He couldn't tear his eyes away. True, it wasn't ginger, but it was impressively huge and impossibly erect. It was amazing to think that it would one day be his. But somehow that wasn't enough. He wanted it now.
Fortunately, the other him knew him as well as he knew himself. "Go on," he said, with a wicked glint in his eye. "I know you can't wait to give it a good ruffling."
Delicately, he reached out and slid an exploratory hand into the lush and hairy prize. His counterpart sighed with pleasure at this sensual parting of the waves.
"Wow," the Doctor gasped. "It's even bigger than mine."
"Well, maybe," said the other him, as casually as any man could whose earlier self was lasciviously fingering his bulbous head. "But when it's bigger, it's harder to stop it from going floppy. I must admit, I was always very fond of yours, you know. Yours is stickier. You might almost say it has natural lubrication..."
By now, they were both feeling much too bouffant to restrain themselves. They reached for each other hungrily, their greedy fingers raking and teasing, all rough tufts and wandering strands, rising higher and higher into delicious peaks of pleasure.
The Doctor was dimly aware that his counterpart was reaching into a pocket, pulling out something long and hard and thrusting it into his fingers. He gasped as he saw what it was; his future self nodded and grinned. "That's right. I want to watch you comb. Comb for me, comb for me hard."
Then they knew nothing else but the insistent pull of their hands on each other's erect locks. As they lay exhausted, tangled and limp from their passionate exertions, they realized that the old saying was true: there was no turn-on like a lover's quiff.
"There's just one thing missing," said the Doctor, gazing at himself with post-tonsorial tenderness. "Namely, your eyebrows."
His other self looked slightly offended. "I think you'll find that my brows are subtle, delicate and mysterious, thank you. Yours, however, are positively bushy. I rather wish I could do something about them."
"Then I've got a brilliant idea," said the Doctor. "You can pluck me all night long, and I'll pencil you in for next week..."
FIN
* * * * *