Eight/Charleyjedi_penguinMay 31 2008, 00:03:27 UTC
In her entire life, Charley had only refused one dare: to do THAT. That thing that nice girls didn’t do until they were married. That thing that was never talked about in public, but was the subject of much whispering between sisters in the dark.
Alex had laughed at her when she refused to do THAT, and his mockery was the main reason why she’d promised to meet him in Singapore for cocktails. Whether she would have dared to go through with her unspoken promise, she’d never know, but she wishes now that she had. She’d like something with which she might compare THIS.
The Doctor started by urging her to move as close as possible. He’d pulled her next to him, invading her space and forcing her to invade his, and then… he’d pushed. And she’d pushed.
Each had pushed against the other’s hand, merging at the cellular level. It was terrifying, and exhilarating and altogether arousing. Hands into one. Blood and bone and sinew, all one.
Was THAT like THIS? The merging, the oneness, the loss of identity? The soaring sense that you’re becoming more than you’ve ever been?
And it’s not over. “Put your mouth next to mine,” the Doctor orders her. “And press hard, so that our faces become locked together.”
And oh, this is nothing like kissing Alex. Her heart pounds, and pounds even harder as it triples. Her butterfly-filled stomach is filled with anticipation, anticipation that grows as she feels the Doctor’s expectant butterflies as well.
Their heads and hearts and torsos join together, and Charley is certain that she’s going to die if other parts don’t join as well. She may be inexperienced, but she knows-oh GOD how she knows-that all three of her hearts are going to burst if the tension builds much higher.
But higher it goes. She feels the clearly defined muscles in the Doctor’s legs for just a moment, and then she’s pushing into them. And then she feels something hard, something gloriously, perfectly hard against THAT spot, the spot that nice girls never, EVER talk about but which is the only thing she can think about at the moment. And despite all her inexperience, she knows that she wants, no, needs those two body parts to come into contact.
They push, one against the other. His hardness becomes part of her, and her aching neediness becomes part of him. His hardness and her unmentionable spot are one and inseparable, and she’s quite certain that THAT doesn’t normally work like this, but oh, she doesn’t care. The Doctor is in her entirely, filling up ever niche, every cranny. It’s all too much, and yet unbelievably perfect at the same time. Even in this featureless landscape she’s certain that she can see stars, or perhaps that’s just her mind exploding from the release.
The whole question of previous experiences becomes moot because she instinctively knows that there IS no other experience that could compare to this. The Doctor is in every one of her senses, and she can’t imagine ever feeling the way she does now with a joining that’s any less complete than this one.
The Doctor summarizes everything she’s feeling, or perhaps it’s she who summarizes for the Doctor: “And a new creature is born.”
Desire, joining, pleasure and then new life. Perhaps this is not so different from THAT after all.
From the moment he left Androzani Minor, he’s always known that he’s the most intelligent of him all. It’s been a bit of a burden-providing an example of the perfect Doctor-but he’s always felt himself well compensated for his efforts simply by having the privilege of being, well, him. That certainty has been eroding lately, however, and it’s all the fault of that girl.
In fact, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he’d have to say that he’s being quite stupid about that girl. Downright woolyheaded.
Oh, he justifies himself constantly. Most days, he tells himself that Charley (no, CHARLOTTE) is obviously harmless. No one who lies that badly could possibly be a habitual liar, no matter how seldom she tells the truth. On other days, the ones in which he catches her in five falsehoods before elevenses, he assures himself that he’s saving the universe by keeping an eye on her. Who knows what mischief she and her imagination could get into if he were to set her adrift.
But the Doctor is a master of the half-truth, and he’s said too many of them over the centuries to be fooled by them himself. No, Char-- Miss Pollard, is not harmless. She knows more than she should, and knowledge is never harmless. And no, she’s not about to destroy the universe. She may not be truthful, but she’s not evil either. He knows evil, and she... isn’t.
But she is pretty. And charming. And fun and engaging and enthusiastic and sarcastic and delightfully old-fashioned, even when discussing technology that wasn’t invented until centuries after her birth. She’s good company, and he’s missed that.
But he can’t trust her, so therefore, he’ll never tell her how much he enjoys having her on the TARDIS. And that makes him the biggest idiot of them all.
Charley/LucieamaresuSeptember 24 2008, 23:11:56 UTC
Clocks in at about 2523 words.
“What's happening?” “There's another TARDIS materializing-” “-in the same spot we are.” “That's absurd.” “Don't you have some sort of defense-” “-something to stop this from happening.” “Of course there is!” “It's not working.”
She woke up to a the smell of a hospital. She hated that smell. There was nowhere else that ever smelled like it. After a moment she opened her eyes and looked around. There was a row of beds on both sides of the room. Her bed looked to be in the middle. Carefully she pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “No slippers. What kind of hospital doesn't leave you slippers? Am I just supposed to walk around on the cold floor?”
“You're not supposed to walk around at all.” She jumped at the new voice answering her question. Turning she saw a nurse walking towards her. Least she thought it was a nurse. It had a certain nurseiness about it. As much as a giant mantis could anyways. “You've been unconscious for three days. We were beginning to worry about you.”
“What happened?” She tried not to panic. “Where's the Doctor? Where is this place?”
Alex had laughed at her when she refused to do THAT, and his mockery was the main reason why she’d promised to meet him in Singapore for cocktails. Whether she would have dared to go through with her unspoken promise, she’d never know, but she wishes now that she had. She’d like something with which she might compare THIS.
The Doctor started by urging her to move as close as possible. He’d pulled her next to him, invading her space and forcing her to invade his, and then… he’d pushed. And she’d pushed.
Each had pushed against the other’s hand, merging at the cellular level. It was terrifying, and exhilarating and altogether arousing. Hands into one. Blood and bone and sinew, all one.
Was THAT like THIS? The merging, the oneness, the loss of identity? The soaring sense that you’re becoming more than you’ve ever been?
And it’s not over. “Put your mouth next to mine,” the Doctor orders her. “And press hard, so that our faces become locked together.”
And oh, this is nothing like kissing Alex. Her heart pounds, and pounds even harder as it triples. Her butterfly-filled stomach is filled with anticipation, anticipation that grows as she feels the Doctor’s expectant butterflies as well.
Their heads and hearts and torsos join together, and Charley is certain that she’s going to die if other parts don’t join as well. She may be inexperienced, but she knows-oh GOD how she knows-that all three of her hearts are going to burst if the tension builds much higher.
But higher it goes. She feels the clearly defined muscles in the Doctor’s legs for just a moment, and then she’s pushing into them. And then she feels something hard, something gloriously, perfectly hard against THAT spot, the spot that nice girls never, EVER talk about but which is the only thing she can think about at the moment. And despite all her inexperience, she knows that she wants, no, needs those two body parts to come into contact.
They push, one against the other. His hardness becomes part of her, and her aching neediness becomes part of him. His hardness and her unmentionable spot are one and inseparable, and she’s quite certain that THAT doesn’t normally work like this, but oh, she doesn’t care. The Doctor is in her entirely, filling up ever niche, every cranny. It’s all too much, and yet unbelievably perfect at the same time. Even in this featureless landscape she’s certain that she can see stars, or perhaps that’s just her mind exploding from the release.
The whole question of previous experiences becomes moot because she instinctively knows that there IS no other experience that could compare to this. The Doctor is in every one of her senses, and she can’t imagine ever feeling the way she does now with a joining that’s any less complete than this one.
The Doctor summarizes everything she’s feeling, or perhaps it’s she who summarizes for the Doctor: “And a new creature is born.”
Desire, joining, pleasure and then new life. Perhaps this is not so different from THAT after all.
Six/Charley, Charley/Alex Grayle, Charley/Eight/Sebastian Grayle
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In fact, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he’d have to say that he’s being quite stupid about that girl. Downright woolyheaded.
Oh, he justifies himself constantly. Most days, he tells himself that Charley (no, CHARLOTTE) is obviously harmless. No one who lies that badly could possibly be a habitual liar, no matter how seldom she tells the truth. On other days, the ones in which he catches her in five falsehoods before elevenses, he assures himself that he’s saving the universe by keeping an eye on her. Who knows what mischief she and her imagination could get into if he were to set her adrift.
But the Doctor is a master of the half-truth, and he’s said too many of them over the centuries to be fooled by them himself. No, Char-- Miss Pollard, is not harmless. She knows more than she should, and knowledge is never harmless. And no, she’s not about to destroy the universe. She may not be truthful, but she’s not evil either. He knows evil, and she... isn’t.
But she is pretty. And charming. And fun and engaging and enthusiastic and sarcastic and delightfully old-fashioned, even when discussing technology that wasn’t invented until centuries after her birth. She’s good company, and he’s missed that.
But he can’t trust her, so therefore, he’ll never tell her how much he enjoys having her on the TARDIS. And that makes him the biggest idiot of them all.
Charley/Lucie, Eight/Charley/Lucie, Six/Eight
Reply
“What's happening?”
“There's another TARDIS materializing-”
“-in the same spot we are.”
“That's absurd.”
“Don't you have some sort of defense-”
“-something to stop this from happening.”
“Of course there is!”
“It's not working.”
She woke up to a the smell of a hospital. She hated that smell. There was nowhere else that ever smelled like it. After a moment she opened her eyes and looked around. There was a row of beds on both sides of the room. Her bed looked to be in the middle. Carefully she pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “No slippers. What kind of hospital doesn't leave you slippers? Am I just supposed to walk around on the cold floor?”
“You're not supposed to walk around at all.” She jumped at the new voice answering her question. Turning she saw a nurse walking towards her. Least she thought it was a nurse. It had a certain nurseiness about it. As much as a giant mantis could anyways. “You've been unconscious for three days. We were beginning to worry about you.”
“What happened?” She tried not to panic. “Where's the Doctor? Where is this place?”
Breaking Pieces
Headhunter/Karen, Lucie/Karen, Lucie/Headhunter
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