Day 8: Hum
Doctor Who, Martha Jones(Tenth Doctor) explicit. Nights in the TARDIS.
At night (at least the nights when they aren't running for their lives, and that takes up quite a few of them) Martha goes to her room, and listens to the nearly-inaudible hum of the TARDIS. She can't hear it during the day; the Doctor's always talking, always excited, always finding something new to devote his seemingly boundless energy to.
But in the night, there's that hum, comforting, in the darkness.
One night it occurs to her that it's like she was back in student housing, and she could hear, through the walls, one of her neighbors running her vibrator. The first time she'd heard that, she'd been embarrassed. But after a while, it had been just a normal part of living crammed in like sardines.
She wonders if the Doctor masturbates. If his people even do -- did -- that.
He looks human. Same general shape and parts.
Once she's summoned the image, she can't let it go. Imagines him pulling his dick out of his trousers, biting his lip as he strokes it. She wonders what it looks like; pale like the rest of him, she assumes, until blood flow starts to darken the tip.
She slips her hand between her own legs, then, and times her imaginary Doctor's strokes to the slipslide of her fingers over her own clit. Nobody can control the actual Doctor, she's certain. But she can control this one, keep him on edge, matching her pace, until finally the orgasm rocks through her body and she comes, silently but hard, and all she hears is her own ragged breathing and the soothing hum of the TARDIS.
This entry was originally posted at http://were-lemur.dreamwidth.org/237589.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
At night (at least the nights when they aren't running for their lives, and that takes up quite a few of them) Martha goes to her room, and listens to the nearly-inaudible hum of the TARDIS. She can't hear it during the day; the Doctor's always talking, always excited, always finding something new to devote his seemingly boundless energy to.
But in the night, there's that hum, comforting, in the darkness.
One night it occurs to her that it's like she was back in student housing, and she could hear, through the walls, one of her neighbors running her vibrator. The first time she'd heard that, she'd been embarrassed. But after a while, it had been just a normal part of living crammed in like sardines.
She wonders if the Doctor masturbates. If his people even do -- did -- that.
He looks human. Same general shape and parts.
Once she's summoned the image, she can't let it go. Imagines him pulling his dick out of his trousers, biting his lip as he strokes it. She wonders what it looks like; pale like the rest of him, she assumes, until blood flow starts to darken the tip.
She slips her hand between her own legs, then, and times her imaginary Doctor's strokes to the slipslide of her fingers over her own clit. Nobody can control the actual Doctor, she's certain. But she can control this one, keep him on edge, matching her pace, until finally the orgasm rocks through her body and she comes, silently but hard, and all she hears is her own ragged breathing and the soothing hum of the TARDIS.
This entry was originally posted at http://were-lemur.dreamwidth.org/237589.html. Please comment there using OpenID.