Fic: DW: [title is spoilery, highlight to read] (Eleven/River, R)
Title: I do consent and gladly give
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Eleven/River
Rating: R
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries.
A/N: Spoilers for everything current including 6x13. Finally, I accomplish the smut I set out to write Saturday night. This wouldn't have taken so long, but I had so many feelings. Thanks to leiascully for looking this over!
He turns up at Stormcage, the TARDIS barely finished materializing before he strides out of the door, sonics open her cell, takes her hand, and pulls her close, pressing his lips to hers, no fanfare, no prelude, no "Hi honey, I'm home," just one long, lingering kiss.
The last time he kissed her like that, the world ended.
He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't really even stop kissing her, just tugs her backwards out of her cell and into the TARDIS, pushing her up against the inside of the door to close it, hands gripping her hips so tightly that it's like he's trying to meld into her body. She'd love to tell him that there are better ways to do that, but he hasn't stopped kissing her and she doesn't want him to.
If this is some kind of Gallifreyan mating ritual she has been hitherto unaware of, she's not complaining.
His kisses are slower now, less frantic, and his hands move up from her hips to caress her face, which somehow makes her want him even more than the hard, desperate pressure of moments before. She pushes her hips towards his, her hands making fists in the loose material of his shirt, and he drags his lips from hers at last, trailing more kisses down her neck. She opens her mouth to speak, but he presses one long finger to her lips and she nods, just once, a simple promise to do as she's told, and when he smiles at her she has to close her eyes against the glory of it.
He kisses her cheeks, her neck, her collarbones. Her fingers tug at his bow tie, work at his buttons, push past layers of clothing to find the smooth skin beneath, and he moves them away from the door, up the platform to the console. She finds a spot near the stabilizers and he helps leverage her up, stepping in close to her as she reaches out to wrap her legs around his waist, the hard, delicious length of him pressing against her thigh as his hands roam under the thin material of her shirt. She's making noise, now, she can't help it, but they aren't words, because there are no words in any language to properly express the exquisite intangible delight she feels when he touches her, when he looks at her and she knows that he knows her.
Between the heady rush of the lack of space between their bodies and the visions of what dreams may come exploding behind her closed eyes, it takes her several long moments to realize what he's about, but then he pulls back, just a bit, and looks meaningfully down at their hands, bound together once again by the blue fabric of his bow tie. There are tears in her eyes when she meets his, and they are his eyes this time, no secrets there but his own, and more than secrets, there is love, admiration, and hope. She reaches out with her unbound hand for his beautiful idiot face, her thumb caressing his cheek, pulling him gently toward her and pressing her forehead against his, resting, waiting, answering his unspoken question, as though the answer would have been anything but yes. The answer is always yes.
They haven't any witnesses, except, of course, their beloved TARDIS, but her parents aren't here, so much the better, because she has plans for the end of this little ceremony, and she doesn't want to share them with anyone but him.
"I," he begins, then leans in to whisper a word long unspoken in her ear, and now she understands why he hadn't wanted her to speak, that he needed his name to be the first thing she heard. It's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to her. "Do consent and gladly give," he finishes, leaning back.
"I, River Song, do consent and gladly give," she returns, her voice so rich with emotion that it sounds strange to her own ears. He chases the tears away from her face with gentle fingers, and she does the same for him.
"May I kiss the bride?" he asks, and she beams at him.
"Absolutely," she says, and tugs him toward her, their hands, still bound together by his bow tie, sliding up in tandem to caress each other's faces, one perfectly synchronized gesture of affection.
It's a long kiss, and the lights in the TARDIS are so bright that for a moment she almost believes the world is ending again, but it's just the TARDIS, the only witness to the wedding of River Song and the Doctor, the child of the TARDIS and the TARDIS' stolen Time Lord, expressing her own consent in the only way she can.
They unravel the bow tie together.
"Thank you," River says, speaking to the TARDIS, her hand lovingly resting on the stabilizers.
"Yes, thank you," the Doctor agrees. "Wife?"
"Husband?" she asks, savoring the word.
"I have a request," he says, speaking directly into her ear.
"Yes," she answers, looping her arms around his neck, and he lifts her off the console, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist. "You didn't even have to ask, you know. You can't kiss a girl like that and leave her hanging."
"I would never," he says, setting her down at the top of the stairs.
"Weren't you supposed to carry me across the threshold?" she teases.
"Maybe later," he says, his nose against her temple. "This way."
There's a bedroom just off the main corridor, and it looks exactly as she would have wanted it to, right down to the enormous bed. She smiles her thanks to the TARDIS, then sets about removing her new husband's clothes.
He makes quick work of hers, but he makes a long study of her body, pushing her carefully down onto the bed and planting exploratory kisses on her ankles, her knees, her inner thighs, her stomach, her breasts. He stretches his body out over hers and looks at her like she's the only light he's seen in a very, very long while, and after a few minutes of breathless kisses, she runs one hand down the long length of his body, her fingers curling around his cock.
"I have a request," she whispers, stroking him gently, and he groans and kisses her.
"Yes," he answers, and they both moan as he complies with her unspoken request.
The Doctor is a talker. In her bliss at the thrill of their bodies sliding together, she doesn't notice at first that he's not just mumbling incoherencies into her ear as they push against each other, but they're not just nonsense words, she realizes. It's long, elegant sentences, all in Gallifreyan, and it's ancient and exquisite and pretentious and perfect, just like her beautiful, arrogant Doctor, the man who married her, claiming her with words that could build worlds and destroy stars, but it's her name on his lips, so full of wonder and joy, that pushes her past the brink of conscious pleasure, and the only word she can remember to shout is his name.
"River," he says again, and she reaches up to pull his lips to hers.
"You really are a screamer," he observes, propping himself up on his elbow. There's a very smug smile on his face, and as it should be, she thinks.
"Have I mentioned it?"
"You will have done, my love," he says, taking one of her hands in his and bringing it up to his lips. "Not that I'll need a reminder from now on."
"I tried to make it memorable, sweetie," she says, winking at him.
"Never a dull moment with you, is it," he murmurs.
"Marital bliss," she says, closing her eyes, and he laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek before settling in beside her, his fingers laced through hers, love and time binding them together.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Eleven/River
Rating: R
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries.
A/N: Spoilers for everything current including 6x13. Finally, I accomplish the smut I set out to write Saturday night. This wouldn't have taken so long, but I had so many feelings. Thanks to leiascully for looking this over!
He turns up at Stormcage, the TARDIS barely finished materializing before he strides out of the door, sonics open her cell, takes her hand, and pulls her close, pressing his lips to hers, no fanfare, no prelude, no "Hi honey, I'm home," just one long, lingering kiss.
The last time he kissed her like that, the world ended.
He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't really even stop kissing her, just tugs her backwards out of her cell and into the TARDIS, pushing her up against the inside of the door to close it, hands gripping her hips so tightly that it's like he's trying to meld into her body. She'd love to tell him that there are better ways to do that, but he hasn't stopped kissing her and she doesn't want him to.
If this is some kind of Gallifreyan mating ritual she has been hitherto unaware of, she's not complaining.
His kisses are slower now, less frantic, and his hands move up from her hips to caress her face, which somehow makes her want him even more than the hard, desperate pressure of moments before. She pushes her hips towards his, her hands making fists in the loose material of his shirt, and he drags his lips from hers at last, trailing more kisses down her neck. She opens her mouth to speak, but he presses one long finger to her lips and she nods, just once, a simple promise to do as she's told, and when he smiles at her she has to close her eyes against the glory of it.
He kisses her cheeks, her neck, her collarbones. Her fingers tug at his bow tie, work at his buttons, push past layers of clothing to find the smooth skin beneath, and he moves them away from the door, up the platform to the console. She finds a spot near the stabilizers and he helps leverage her up, stepping in close to her as she reaches out to wrap her legs around his waist, the hard, delicious length of him pressing against her thigh as his hands roam under the thin material of her shirt. She's making noise, now, she can't help it, but they aren't words, because there are no words in any language to properly express the exquisite intangible delight she feels when he touches her, when he looks at her and she knows that he knows her.
Between the heady rush of the lack of space between their bodies and the visions of what dreams may come exploding behind her closed eyes, it takes her several long moments to realize what he's about, but then he pulls back, just a bit, and looks meaningfully down at their hands, bound together once again by the blue fabric of his bow tie. There are tears in her eyes when she meets his, and they are his eyes this time, no secrets there but his own, and more than secrets, there is love, admiration, and hope. She reaches out with her unbound hand for his beautiful idiot face, her thumb caressing his cheek, pulling him gently toward her and pressing her forehead against his, resting, waiting, answering his unspoken question, as though the answer would have been anything but yes. The answer is always yes.
They haven't any witnesses, except, of course, their beloved TARDIS, but her parents aren't here, so much the better, because she has plans for the end of this little ceremony, and she doesn't want to share them with anyone but him.
"I," he begins, then leans in to whisper a word long unspoken in her ear, and now she understands why he hadn't wanted her to speak, that he needed his name to be the first thing she heard. It's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to her. "Do consent and gladly give," he finishes, leaning back.
"I, River Song, do consent and gladly give," she returns, her voice so rich with emotion that it sounds strange to her own ears. He chases the tears away from her face with gentle fingers, and she does the same for him.
"May I kiss the bride?" he asks, and she beams at him.
"Absolutely," she says, and tugs him toward her, their hands, still bound together by his bow tie, sliding up in tandem to caress each other's faces, one perfectly synchronized gesture of affection.
It's a long kiss, and the lights in the TARDIS are so bright that for a moment she almost believes the world is ending again, but it's just the TARDIS, the only witness to the wedding of River Song and the Doctor, the child of the TARDIS and the TARDIS' stolen Time Lord, expressing her own consent in the only way she can.
They unravel the bow tie together.
"Thank you," River says, speaking to the TARDIS, her hand lovingly resting on the stabilizers.
"Yes, thank you," the Doctor agrees. "Wife?"
"Husband?" she asks, savoring the word.
"I have a request," he says, speaking directly into her ear.
"Yes," she answers, looping her arms around his neck, and he lifts her off the console, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist. "You didn't even have to ask, you know. You can't kiss a girl like that and leave her hanging."
"I would never," he says, setting her down at the top of the stairs.
"Weren't you supposed to carry me across the threshold?" she teases.
"Maybe later," he says, his nose against her temple. "This way."
There's a bedroom just off the main corridor, and it looks exactly as she would have wanted it to, right down to the enormous bed. She smiles her thanks to the TARDIS, then sets about removing her new husband's clothes.
He makes quick work of hers, but he makes a long study of her body, pushing her carefully down onto the bed and planting exploratory kisses on her ankles, her knees, her inner thighs, her stomach, her breasts. He stretches his body out over hers and looks at her like she's the only light he's seen in a very, very long while, and after a few minutes of breathless kisses, she runs one hand down the long length of his body, her fingers curling around his cock.
"I have a request," she whispers, stroking him gently, and he groans and kisses her.
"Yes," he answers, and they both moan as he complies with her unspoken request.
The Doctor is a talker. In her bliss at the thrill of their bodies sliding together, she doesn't notice at first that he's not just mumbling incoherencies into her ear as they push against each other, but they're not just nonsense words, she realizes. It's long, elegant sentences, all in Gallifreyan, and it's ancient and exquisite and pretentious and perfect, just like her beautiful, arrogant Doctor, the man who married her, claiming her with words that could build worlds and destroy stars, but it's her name on his lips, so full of wonder and joy, that pushes her past the brink of conscious pleasure, and the only word she can remember to shout is his name.
"River," he says again, and she reaches up to pull his lips to hers.
"You really are a screamer," he observes, propping himself up on his elbow. There's a very smug smile on his face, and as it should be, she thinks.
"Have I mentioned it?"
"You will have done, my love," he says, taking one of her hands in his and bringing it up to his lips. "Not that I'll need a reminder from now on."
"I tried to make it memorable, sweetie," she says, winking at him.
"Never a dull moment with you, is it," he murmurs.
"Marital bliss," she says, closing her eyes, and he laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek before settling in beside her, his fingers laced through hers, love and time binding them together.