Fic: Sex Drives
Title: Sex Drives
Author: stick_poker
Rating: Adult, though not hardcore. I need better ratings.
Characters: Amy / TARDIS, Eleven
Spoilers: For up to the S5 finale
Note/Summary: A thing that came out of nowhere, and rewritten a little here, from a kink-meme prompt that went "Amy and the TARDIS pleasure each other every night. The Doctor doesn't know... or does he?"
Since when did spaceships have sex drives? And how had this become some sort of regular relationship, to the point where she’s not even certain who she’s cheating on tonight?
It’s her wedding night, for fuck’s sake, and she’d have been worn out enough from all the excitement of the day, but then there were some very important things she had to do with Rory. Because it’s their wedding night, to find out if it’s different now, but most of all to bring them back down to earth, to ground themselves after all those memories came rushing back, memories of the years of waiting and loss that made their union today all the sweeter.
And then this demanding ship pulls her back into outer space again. Well, some sort of fantastic simulation of it. These memories came back too, a tiny, cell-like room with a thing that looks like a bed in the middle, but once the TARDIS gets fired up it becomes a huge space-scape, a glittering vista of stars and planets and galaxies, and Amy floats in the middle of it. She pleasures herself, and the TARDIS listens or senses or whatever along with her, lighting up the sky in response, building new nebulae that coalesce into swirls of stars and skim over her body. Tonight the colours are stranger, dark fringes around the washes of light, perhaps because she’s come several times already and everything’s over-sensitive, sharp-edged.
The first time she felt the insistent tug at her sleeping mind, she thought it was just a dream. The night-time ship, and a door opening in her bedroom wall that was never there before, and a force pulling her into the small room beyond it. She sat on the narrow bed, and then lay on it, and then when nothing seemed to be happening she set about trying to do what she did with all her dreams when they got boring; turn it into a sex dream. May as well; Rory was gone from her life then, although she didn’t know it, and for a girl with an appetite going unserviced, any opportunity for satisfaction was welcome.
It was a bit cringe-worthy, looking back, to remember what she’d thought of that first time. The Doctor, her Raggedy Doctor, as he tended to be in those sorts of dreams, and Jeff. Well, he had called him ‘the good-looking one’. The Doctor in his torn clothes, glimpses of pale skin showing through the rips, and Jeff, muscle-bound lummox that he was but good fantasy fuel, at least, with his summer-tanned skin and cute little arse. Some bodies you never really forget, no matter how incompatible they’d been as girlfriend and boyfriend. So, Jeff’s muscular, naked body, his tongue exploring the rips in the Doctor’s clothes, the Doctor lying back and running his hands over Jeff’s shoulders, and both of them flicking hooded glances back at her like good boys, putting on a show for her. Well, why not? The TARDIS gave her a sky full of stars for it, and even remembering that scene now gets her a new swirl of colour and light, brighter than before, and the first stroke at her mind, thrilling through her.
That’s what she comes back for. That’s why she left Rory sleeping in their bed, even tonight, when that door opened, and that’s why this is something more than just a complicated wank. Once she’s properly excited, the ship is so clearly there with her, a real presence, a sentient thing, and a willing partner. Amy feels like she only knows some corner of her, like she can’t really connect fully, but what she can get is brilliant. This beautiful ship, she doesn’t communicate in anything as context-riddled as words, but directly, with her mind. Her touch is vibrant and warm, orange like the glow of her walls, spicy and sharp and sweet like crystallised ginger. Once they get to a certain point, now, Amy doesn’t have to think of other people, of the real world, of boys and bodies and tongues, and barely even of her fingers on her clit, the base physical stuff she has to do to make this work. She thinks of her lover, the ship, her stars and her space and her barely-glimpsed power, and they fly together, laughing.
Something is wrong. There is sadness, regret, mixed in with the joy, and that’s where the dark fringes are coming from. Amy concentrates, trying to grasp the message, trying to ask without words. It’s there and she can’t understand it, so frustrating sometimes... Something about an ending... This is the last time? A soothing spread of stars across her cheek, and she nuzzles into it, but yes, that’s it, this is the last time. What, because of Rory being back? No answer comes to that one, and this is the wrong time to be pursuing reasons. One last time to enjoy it, so she does just that, lost in the starscape, the ever-brightening field of light until there is nothing but intensity and the mind joined with hers and a blissful release for both of them.
She spins back down through the dissipating starfield, bright points turning to dissociating wisps, everything dimming, until there is nothing but a small room again, a subdued glow, her body lying on a narrow bed. She spreads her hands on its surface and tries to think, to remember the knowledge that had been there. Why was that the last time?
“Because she’s mine.”
The Doctor’s voice comes from the side of the bed and she rolls over in panic, suddenly aware of her naked and disheveled state.
He laughs a creaky, old man laugh at her. “Bit late for that, Pond. Why do people never think I know what’s happening in my own ship, honestly...” He turns around and flicks out the tails of his wedding-day coat to sit down, and rests his hands on his knees. “Frisky old girl, isn’t she?”
She tries to shift across the narrow bed far enough to conceal herself, and avoid touching him, but there isn’t enough of it or there’s too much of him and, anyway, it appears they’re going to talk about her shagging his ship. She feels herself blush violently, and doesn’t trust herself to answer.
“And so, it appears, are you.” He shrugs the lovely coat off, dropping it in a heap at the side of the bed, and the white waistcoat follows it. “You can imagine, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for fun after I got Rory killed, and then you weren’t getting seen to any more, and she decided to solve both your problems at once. Quite a good idea, in the circumstances.” He pulls his shoes and socks off, throwing them impatiently into a corner.
“What do you... I mean, if you know what she’s up to, how much...” What is he doing? He doesn’t seem to be at all bothered by her nakedness. And possibly he thinks it’s quite a good idea.
“What sort of detail do I get, you mean?” he smirks, leaning towards her. “Oh, enough,” he says, standing up again to lever his braces off in a flurry of elbows, pull the high-waisted trousers down and kick them away. “Enough to know you’ve got an active imagination. And a good memory. That Jeff, dear me...” He sits down again and pats her thoughtfully on the shoulder, staring into space.
“So you’re more in the mood for fun, now Rory’s back?” she ventures. She sits up, making more room for him on the cramped little bed.
He takes the space, flashing her a brief smile of thanks. “Well, everything seems to have worked out all right now.” He makes a grimace as he stretches his neck up, undoing the white bow tie and the top buttons of his shirt. “Universe back in one piece, your family back, me and my ship remembered back into existence...” He carries on unbuttoning his shirt, fiddling with the complicated cuffs, and a new thought strikes him, “Ooh, no way you were going to forget her after this, was there? I hadn’t even thought of that. She’s always liked you, trusted you, and of course she’s been proved right again. Clever old girl.” He pats the surface of the bed, smiling at the walls, and then throws his shirt off, leaving him sitting only in shorts.
She stares at him in bemusement, his nearly naked form so close to her, caught in the confines of a room that doesn’t seem to have been built for two. Or two that aren’t very good friends. He likes her imagination, and even his ship likes her. Well, well; this is an interesting development.
He turns to look at her again with a wide-eyed beam. “And you’re safely married to the lovely Mr. Pond! No need for a sentient ship to keep you amused, any more. But she wanted one more go with you and I hadn’t the heart to refuse her. And tonight, too! Crikey, you’ve got stamina, haven’t you?” He lies down on the bed, settling himself around her, and takes one of her hands in his. “So. I wanted to say thanks, Amy, thanks for looking after her. She appreciates it, I’m sure you know that, but so do I.”
She smiles down at him, holding his hand, feeling his warm body behind her. “That’s okay,“ she says. “I can never resist an offer of some good, clean fun.”
“Well, hopefully you won’t have to, after tonight. Both of you seem to have forgotten something important, and it’s time I did some reminding.” He lets go of her hand, rolls further into the bed, and begins to stroke its surface possessively. “She’s mine. Aren’t you, dear?”
The door back to her room flies open, so hard it bounces off the wall. She can see Rory’s sleeping form through the doorway, sees him stir at the noise. The force that tugs her to her feet and makes her walk away is irresistible, and though she fights it, she’s at the threshold before she can even slow down. She manages to stall there just for a moment, turning around, and sees him stretched out on the bed, thumbs tucked under the waistband of his shorts.
“Run along, Pond,” he says with a dismissive flick of his eyebrows.
The force drags her further backwards. The door slams shut, and then fades into the wall like it had never existed.
Author: stick_poker
Rating: Adult, though not hardcore. I need better ratings.
Characters: Amy / TARDIS, Eleven
Spoilers: For up to the S5 finale
Note/Summary: A thing that came out of nowhere, and rewritten a little here, from a kink-meme prompt that went "Amy and the TARDIS pleasure each other every night. The Doctor doesn't know... or does he?"
Since when did spaceships have sex drives? And how had this become some sort of regular relationship, to the point where she’s not even certain who she’s cheating on tonight?
It’s her wedding night, for fuck’s sake, and she’d have been worn out enough from all the excitement of the day, but then there were some very important things she had to do with Rory. Because it’s their wedding night, to find out if it’s different now, but most of all to bring them back down to earth, to ground themselves after all those memories came rushing back, memories of the years of waiting and loss that made their union today all the sweeter.
And then this demanding ship pulls her back into outer space again. Well, some sort of fantastic simulation of it. These memories came back too, a tiny, cell-like room with a thing that looks like a bed in the middle, but once the TARDIS gets fired up it becomes a huge space-scape, a glittering vista of stars and planets and galaxies, and Amy floats in the middle of it. She pleasures herself, and the TARDIS listens or senses or whatever along with her, lighting up the sky in response, building new nebulae that coalesce into swirls of stars and skim over her body. Tonight the colours are stranger, dark fringes around the washes of light, perhaps because she’s come several times already and everything’s over-sensitive, sharp-edged.
The first time she felt the insistent tug at her sleeping mind, she thought it was just a dream. The night-time ship, and a door opening in her bedroom wall that was never there before, and a force pulling her into the small room beyond it. She sat on the narrow bed, and then lay on it, and then when nothing seemed to be happening she set about trying to do what she did with all her dreams when they got boring; turn it into a sex dream. May as well; Rory was gone from her life then, although she didn’t know it, and for a girl with an appetite going unserviced, any opportunity for satisfaction was welcome.
It was a bit cringe-worthy, looking back, to remember what she’d thought of that first time. The Doctor, her Raggedy Doctor, as he tended to be in those sorts of dreams, and Jeff. Well, he had called him ‘the good-looking one’. The Doctor in his torn clothes, glimpses of pale skin showing through the rips, and Jeff, muscle-bound lummox that he was but good fantasy fuel, at least, with his summer-tanned skin and cute little arse. Some bodies you never really forget, no matter how incompatible they’d been as girlfriend and boyfriend. So, Jeff’s muscular, naked body, his tongue exploring the rips in the Doctor’s clothes, the Doctor lying back and running his hands over Jeff’s shoulders, and both of them flicking hooded glances back at her like good boys, putting on a show for her. Well, why not? The TARDIS gave her a sky full of stars for it, and even remembering that scene now gets her a new swirl of colour and light, brighter than before, and the first stroke at her mind, thrilling through her.
That’s what she comes back for. That’s why she left Rory sleeping in their bed, even tonight, when that door opened, and that’s why this is something more than just a complicated wank. Once she’s properly excited, the ship is so clearly there with her, a real presence, a sentient thing, and a willing partner. Amy feels like she only knows some corner of her, like she can’t really connect fully, but what she can get is brilliant. This beautiful ship, she doesn’t communicate in anything as context-riddled as words, but directly, with her mind. Her touch is vibrant and warm, orange like the glow of her walls, spicy and sharp and sweet like crystallised ginger. Once they get to a certain point, now, Amy doesn’t have to think of other people, of the real world, of boys and bodies and tongues, and barely even of her fingers on her clit, the base physical stuff she has to do to make this work. She thinks of her lover, the ship, her stars and her space and her barely-glimpsed power, and they fly together, laughing.
Something is wrong. There is sadness, regret, mixed in with the joy, and that’s where the dark fringes are coming from. Amy concentrates, trying to grasp the message, trying to ask without words. It’s there and she can’t understand it, so frustrating sometimes... Something about an ending... This is the last time? A soothing spread of stars across her cheek, and she nuzzles into it, but yes, that’s it, this is the last time. What, because of Rory being back? No answer comes to that one, and this is the wrong time to be pursuing reasons. One last time to enjoy it, so she does just that, lost in the starscape, the ever-brightening field of light until there is nothing but intensity and the mind joined with hers and a blissful release for both of them.
She spins back down through the dissipating starfield, bright points turning to dissociating wisps, everything dimming, until there is nothing but a small room again, a subdued glow, her body lying on a narrow bed. She spreads her hands on its surface and tries to think, to remember the knowledge that had been there. Why was that the last time?
“Because she’s mine.”
The Doctor’s voice comes from the side of the bed and she rolls over in panic, suddenly aware of her naked and disheveled state.
He laughs a creaky, old man laugh at her. “Bit late for that, Pond. Why do people never think I know what’s happening in my own ship, honestly...” He turns around and flicks out the tails of his wedding-day coat to sit down, and rests his hands on his knees. “Frisky old girl, isn’t she?”
She tries to shift across the narrow bed far enough to conceal herself, and avoid touching him, but there isn’t enough of it or there’s too much of him and, anyway, it appears they’re going to talk about her shagging his ship. She feels herself blush violently, and doesn’t trust herself to answer.
“And so, it appears, are you.” He shrugs the lovely coat off, dropping it in a heap at the side of the bed, and the white waistcoat follows it. “You can imagine, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for fun after I got Rory killed, and then you weren’t getting seen to any more, and she decided to solve both your problems at once. Quite a good idea, in the circumstances.” He pulls his shoes and socks off, throwing them impatiently into a corner.
“What do you... I mean, if you know what she’s up to, how much...” What is he doing? He doesn’t seem to be at all bothered by her nakedness. And possibly he thinks it’s quite a good idea.
“What sort of detail do I get, you mean?” he smirks, leaning towards her. “Oh, enough,” he says, standing up again to lever his braces off in a flurry of elbows, pull the high-waisted trousers down and kick them away. “Enough to know you’ve got an active imagination. And a good memory. That Jeff, dear me...” He sits down again and pats her thoughtfully on the shoulder, staring into space.
“So you’re more in the mood for fun, now Rory’s back?” she ventures. She sits up, making more room for him on the cramped little bed.
He takes the space, flashing her a brief smile of thanks. “Well, everything seems to have worked out all right now.” He makes a grimace as he stretches his neck up, undoing the white bow tie and the top buttons of his shirt. “Universe back in one piece, your family back, me and my ship remembered back into existence...” He carries on unbuttoning his shirt, fiddling with the complicated cuffs, and a new thought strikes him, “Ooh, no way you were going to forget her after this, was there? I hadn’t even thought of that. She’s always liked you, trusted you, and of course she’s been proved right again. Clever old girl.” He pats the surface of the bed, smiling at the walls, and then throws his shirt off, leaving him sitting only in shorts.
She stares at him in bemusement, his nearly naked form so close to her, caught in the confines of a room that doesn’t seem to have been built for two. Or two that aren’t very good friends. He likes her imagination, and even his ship likes her. Well, well; this is an interesting development.
He turns to look at her again with a wide-eyed beam. “And you’re safely married to the lovely Mr. Pond! No need for a sentient ship to keep you amused, any more. But she wanted one more go with you and I hadn’t the heart to refuse her. And tonight, too! Crikey, you’ve got stamina, haven’t you?” He lies down on the bed, settling himself around her, and takes one of her hands in his. “So. I wanted to say thanks, Amy, thanks for looking after her. She appreciates it, I’m sure you know that, but so do I.”
She smiles down at him, holding his hand, feeling his warm body behind her. “That’s okay,“ she says. “I can never resist an offer of some good, clean fun.”
“Well, hopefully you won’t have to, after tonight. Both of you seem to have forgotten something important, and it’s time I did some reminding.” He lets go of her hand, rolls further into the bed, and begins to stroke its surface possessively. “She’s mine. Aren’t you, dear?”
The door back to her room flies open, so hard it bounces off the wall. She can see Rory’s sleeping form through the doorway, sees him stir at the noise. The force that tugs her to her feet and makes her walk away is irresistible, and though she fights it, she’s at the threshold before she can even slow down. She manages to stall there just for a moment, turning around, and sees him stretched out on the bed, thumbs tucked under the waistband of his shorts.
“Run along, Pond,” he says with a dismissive flick of his eyebrows.
The force drags her further backwards. The door slams shut, and then fades into the wall like it had never existed.