for just_fck_me: Real Sex Is Messy / the realityshifted Kink meme
"Sex was never as neat as the movies made it. Real sex was messy. Good sex was messier." - Laurell K. Hamilton
For the RS Kink meme, the request: Lucy/MJ!Ten, gloves/hair, hatesex, Lucy tops
+~
"You bastard. Notice me!"
He was ignoring her. Beyond ignoring her. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even acknowledge her. She watched him sitting there with his nose in a book on Trovidian mythology, not even acknowledging her presence.
It wasn't that he hated her now, that didn't really bother her. On some level, they always hated each other. It was that she didn't exist to him, now. She ceased to be, wiped from his line of sight like the writing on a chalkboard. Like a year from planet Earth. Gone.
"I don't have to take this," she half-shouted at him, not really caring who on the Plane might hear her. She reached over and snatched the book from his grasp. Like a child throwing a tantrum, she began to tear the pages out of his book, viciously crumpling each and throwing them to the starry ground. Just for a moment, she thought he might struggle for it, but he regained control of himself and put his hands carefully in his lap.
Once every page was torn out, she threw the empty cover at his chest. It bounced off to his lap, where he sighed, then tossed it to the ground. She grinned triumphantly, breathing heavy from the angry exertion, her long hair wild and tousled. Her smile faded as she realized he wasn't looking at the book anymore, and he certainly wasn't looking at her.
"Stop that!" she shouted, stepping over to him. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes stayed open, but he was looking right through her. She shook him again. No reaction. She slapped him across the face and his cheek reddened from the hit, but he didn't so much as bat an eye.
"I'm right here!" she shouted again, dismayed that her voice now broke with her frustration and she sank to her knees in front of him. She let out a brief sob, but he didn't react to that, either. Cold as ice, and unforgiving. She always wondered why people called him all of those very impressive names that made him sound so very tough when she could so easily melt him. But not now. No, now he was an unmovable rock.
She had to make him acknowledge her. He would acknowledge her.
She crawled forwards and placed her hands on his knees, letting her long, red fingernails bite through the cotton of his trousers to his knees. He started a little at the pain, but did not look down at her. She pressed her nails in harder, and then pushed his knees apart, sliding herself between them.
He reacted, only for a moment. He looked down at her with supreme confusion, and then looked away, purposefully. Of course he would. She curled her head to the side, letting her hair brush his left hand. She purred, low in her throat, the way she would when Harry would brush his hands along her shoulders, leather gloves to her bare skin. If she didn't react, his gentle fingers would become a fist.
The Doctor's bare fingers balled into a tight fist under her touch, but he didn't move.
She traced her hands up his thighs, letting her nails scrape as she moved upwards. His breathing changed and she saw him wince as she pressed her nails into his inner thigh. Not enough, though. He was still staring off into space. Ignoring her.
She didn't hesitate to move her hands up, unbuttoning his trousers. He turned again, as though he might react, and his face looked pained, like he wanted to react. His stubbornness was allowing her to embarrass him. Good. He was frustrating her; he deserved to be a little hurt, too.
Once properly unzipped, she saw that he'd reacted in yet another way to her touch. Typical, just typical. One would think she was seducing him by how erect he'd come from her scraping nails. He was reacting, at least.
She took him into her hand, squeezing hard against his shaft. His jaw went tight again. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth, scraping her teeth as she did. He took in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped shut.
He tasted sweet, she decided. Like honey, the way Harry did. But a little bitter, too and, while she'd never done this to the Doctor during their time together, it struck her that this wasn't how she expected him to taste. Not that she had many expectations of him sexually, of course.
The Doctor didn't deserve pleasure, so she nibbled on the tip and dug her nails into the shaft. He kept his eyes shut and strained to control his breathing, even if he couldn't control the blood flow in his body. His fingers relaxed, eventually curling into her hair, twisting into the blonde strands. She felt the sudden, strangest urge to purr, and the Doctor's hands felt strange in her hair, like they were smooth and sterile and gloved, not rough and thin and bare.
But the voice that made the half-strangled gasp above her was certainly the Doctor's.
It wasn't enough. He had to acknowledge her.
She pulled away from his touch, hiking her dress up to her thighs as she straddled him. His eyes were still shut (what a child!), but he struggled, briefly, to move her aside. She gripped his wrists and pushed them down so they rested on her hips.
"Look at me," she demanded.
He set his jaw again and she felt a growl in her throat. She grasped the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his wild hair. "Look at me." After half a second, she added: "Doctor," so quietly she wasn't even certain she'd said it.
As if someone had said a magic word, his eyes snapped open and his gaze locked with hers. She'd expected frustration, stubbornness, but not the rush of hatred in his gaze. Hatred and a raw sort of lust, the kind she'd never really seen from the Doctor before. It made frightened butterflies leap in her stomach and desire pool a little deeper within. She made him want her and the more he wanted her, the more he hated her for it.
Good.
She gripped his wrists tighter and slid herself down, taking him in one quick thrust. She began to ride him, no slow and gentle movements like the last time, the time he was in control. She took him the way their relationship really was: hard and painful. He bucked upwards, driving himself deeper into her.
Something cold and smooth touched her lower back and that need to react surged up her spine, along with a jolt of fear. Leather gloves. Oh, god, she'd forgotten where she was. She turned around, but no one was there. No footsteps of an angry husband retreating. No sounds but the Doctor moving beneath her.
His hand tangled in her hair again, pulling her back to him. He crushed his mouth to hers in a vicious kiss that was all teeth and desire and none of the gentleness she'd expected from him. Her bottom lip split from the force of it, but she kissed him back, tasting him and her own blood and she rode him harder and harder.
He broke the kiss, letting out a strangled cry. "Lucy!"
There it was, that recognition. She existed, she mattered, and he could never make her vanish. She grinned victoriously, even as her own blood dribbled down her chin.
"Lucy." His voice was a growl this time, and he gripped her hair as he kissed her again.
She won. She won. Pleasure shot up her body and she felt herself climb closer, closer to climax. He thrust harder into her and she bucked back. Oh, god. So close. So close.
"Lucy."
Her name was growled again, but this time it wasn't the Doctor. His mouth was against hers, his body in her and she was so close. Oh, god, so close.
"Lucy."
Cool, gloved hands brushed the side of her temple, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from her forehead. Her eyes snapped open. She was in her bedroom in the TARDIS, her husband standing over her, a concerned look on his face.
"Harry?"
He smiled in that small way he always did (the Doctor called it condescending, but that was never how Lucy saw it).
"You were having a bad dream," he said.
She moved to sit up, embarrassed immediately by how flushed and sweaty her body was. "A-A nightmare?" she asked, her voice shaky.
"No," Harry said. His gloved fingers brushed her shoulder, then clenched into a fist. "A bad dream."
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,446
Based on RP with shatteredqueen
For the RS Kink meme, the request: Lucy/MJ!Ten, gloves/hair, hatesex, Lucy tops
+~
"You bastard. Notice me!"
He was ignoring her. Beyond ignoring her. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even acknowledge her. She watched him sitting there with his nose in a book on Trovidian mythology, not even acknowledging her presence.
It wasn't that he hated her now, that didn't really bother her. On some level, they always hated each other. It was that she didn't exist to him, now. She ceased to be, wiped from his line of sight like the writing on a chalkboard. Like a year from planet Earth. Gone.
"I don't have to take this," she half-shouted at him, not really caring who on the Plane might hear her. She reached over and snatched the book from his grasp. Like a child throwing a tantrum, she began to tear the pages out of his book, viciously crumpling each and throwing them to the starry ground. Just for a moment, she thought he might struggle for it, but he regained control of himself and put his hands carefully in his lap.
Once every page was torn out, she threw the empty cover at his chest. It bounced off to his lap, where he sighed, then tossed it to the ground. She grinned triumphantly, breathing heavy from the angry exertion, her long hair wild and tousled. Her smile faded as she realized he wasn't looking at the book anymore, and he certainly wasn't looking at her.
"Stop that!" she shouted, stepping over to him. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes stayed open, but he was looking right through her. She shook him again. No reaction. She slapped him across the face and his cheek reddened from the hit, but he didn't so much as bat an eye.
"I'm right here!" she shouted again, dismayed that her voice now broke with her frustration and she sank to her knees in front of him. She let out a brief sob, but he didn't react to that, either. Cold as ice, and unforgiving. She always wondered why people called him all of those very impressive names that made him sound so very tough when she could so easily melt him. But not now. No, now he was an unmovable rock.
She had to make him acknowledge her. He would acknowledge her.
She crawled forwards and placed her hands on his knees, letting her long, red fingernails bite through the cotton of his trousers to his knees. He started a little at the pain, but did not look down at her. She pressed her nails in harder, and then pushed his knees apart, sliding herself between them.
He reacted, only for a moment. He looked down at her with supreme confusion, and then looked away, purposefully. Of course he would. She curled her head to the side, letting her hair brush his left hand. She purred, low in her throat, the way she would when Harry would brush his hands along her shoulders, leather gloves to her bare skin. If she didn't react, his gentle fingers would become a fist.
The Doctor's bare fingers balled into a tight fist under her touch, but he didn't move.
She traced her hands up his thighs, letting her nails scrape as she moved upwards. His breathing changed and she saw him wince as she pressed her nails into his inner thigh. Not enough, though. He was still staring off into space. Ignoring her.
She didn't hesitate to move her hands up, unbuttoning his trousers. He turned again, as though he might react, and his face looked pained, like he wanted to react. His stubbornness was allowing her to embarrass him. Good. He was frustrating her; he deserved to be a little hurt, too.
Once properly unzipped, she saw that he'd reacted in yet another way to her touch. Typical, just typical. One would think she was seducing him by how erect he'd come from her scraping nails. He was reacting, at least.
She took him into her hand, squeezing hard against his shaft. His jaw went tight again. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth, scraping her teeth as she did. He took in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped shut.
He tasted sweet, she decided. Like honey, the way Harry did. But a little bitter, too and, while she'd never done this to the Doctor during their time together, it struck her that this wasn't how she expected him to taste. Not that she had many expectations of him sexually, of course.
The Doctor didn't deserve pleasure, so she nibbled on the tip and dug her nails into the shaft. He kept his eyes shut and strained to control his breathing, even if he couldn't control the blood flow in his body. His fingers relaxed, eventually curling into her hair, twisting into the blonde strands. She felt the sudden, strangest urge to purr, and the Doctor's hands felt strange in her hair, like they were smooth and sterile and gloved, not rough and thin and bare.
But the voice that made the half-strangled gasp above her was certainly the Doctor's.
It wasn't enough. He had to acknowledge her.
She pulled away from his touch, hiking her dress up to her thighs as she straddled him. His eyes were still shut (what a child!), but he struggled, briefly, to move her aside. She gripped his wrists and pushed them down so they rested on her hips.
"Look at me," she demanded.
He set his jaw again and she felt a growl in her throat. She grasped the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his wild hair. "Look at me." After half a second, she added: "Doctor," so quietly she wasn't even certain she'd said it.
As if someone had said a magic word, his eyes snapped open and his gaze locked with hers. She'd expected frustration, stubbornness, but not the rush of hatred in his gaze. Hatred and a raw sort of lust, the kind she'd never really seen from the Doctor before. It made frightened butterflies leap in her stomach and desire pool a little deeper within. She made him want her and the more he wanted her, the more he hated her for it.
Good.
She gripped his wrists tighter and slid herself down, taking him in one quick thrust. She began to ride him, no slow and gentle movements like the last time, the time he was in control. She took him the way their relationship really was: hard and painful. He bucked upwards, driving himself deeper into her.
Something cold and smooth touched her lower back and that need to react surged up her spine, along with a jolt of fear. Leather gloves. Oh, god, she'd forgotten where she was. She turned around, but no one was there. No footsteps of an angry husband retreating. No sounds but the Doctor moving beneath her.
His hand tangled in her hair again, pulling her back to him. He crushed his mouth to hers in a vicious kiss that was all teeth and desire and none of the gentleness she'd expected from him. Her bottom lip split from the force of it, but she kissed him back, tasting him and her own blood and she rode him harder and harder.
He broke the kiss, letting out a strangled cry. "Lucy!"
There it was, that recognition. She existed, she mattered, and he could never make her vanish. She grinned victoriously, even as her own blood dribbled down her chin.
"Lucy." His voice was a growl this time, and he gripped her hair as he kissed her again.
She won. She won. Pleasure shot up her body and she felt herself climb closer, closer to climax. He thrust harder into her and she bucked back. Oh, god. So close. So close.
"Lucy."
Her name was growled again, but this time it wasn't the Doctor. His mouth was against hers, his body in her and she was so close. Oh, god, so close.
"Lucy."
Cool, gloved hands brushed the side of her temple, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from her forehead. Her eyes snapped open. She was in her bedroom in the TARDIS, her husband standing over her, a concerned look on his face.
"Harry?"
He smiled in that small way he always did (the Doctor called it condescending, but that was never how Lucy saw it).
"You were having a bad dream," he said.
She moved to sit up, embarrassed immediately by how flushed and sweaty her body was. "A-A nightmare?" she asked, her voice shaky.
"No," Harry said. His gloved fingers brushed her shoulder, then clenched into a fist. "A bad dream."
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,446
Based on RP with shatteredqueen