Fic: Them Girls
Title: Them Girls
Author: stick_poker
Rating: Adult
Characters: Eleven, Amy, River
Summary: Set just after the end of Flesh & Stone - the Doctor is contemplating compatibility. Spoilers for up to there, just about.
Oh, Amy. She really doesn't know why that wouldn't work, poor girl. She's too young, she'll be all sorts of unimaginative yet demanding, and too bony! Two skinny bodies makes for a lot of awkwardness, hip bones clashing, elbows everywhere - how could you go down on her? Legs that would flop away from her hips at funny angles, like a colt rolling in hay; what sort of secrets could they conceal? No pillow of a thigh to smooth your face against, just tendons and shifting muscles, distracting machinery. And everything all pink and puckered and tight, like some sort of porn cliché. Youth has its appeal, but no mystery.
Tiny breasts, too, barely there, although those pouty little nipples, there's something he hasn't done in a while. He knows how sensitive they must be or they wouldn't keep coming up all the time in her dreams. Honestly, a chap tries to get a bit of shut-eye and there she is, dreaming so loud the TARDIS can't help but pass on the vibrations - "Oh, Doctor!" she squeals as he suckles at her like an incompetent teenager, leering up at her with an expression he's sure he'd never be so coarse as to assume, although interestingly, he's still got the bow-tie on. Ha! He knew it'd be a hit! Honestly, some people just don't appreciate style when they see it.
Ah, delicious pink nipples, though, to lick, suck, bite like cherries, although he could just see her twitching up a bony knee and catching him in the groin with it if he ever did. This body of his is a bit clumsy and he bets hers gets that way when you mess with its senses. No, he likes her enthusiasm and energy (and nipples) but two clumsy people does not make for good sex.
Now, River, there was a proposition to look forward to. A woman, not a girl; she's been around, she won't want to rush. There's been little enough of her on display every time he's seen her so far, under spacesuits, army fatigues, and even that ball-gown was remarkably chaste - none of those short little skirts and clingy jersey. But enough to know that her breasts will have the weight and movement to make them delightful to cup, firm but yielding, inviting you to caress and toy, the nipples delightful accessories, not the sole point. In fact those fatigues revealed more than the flattery of the dress; good grief, her arse! Blethering about rewriting time to Amy on the beach because it's really not the done thing to say "I'm going over what I can remember of River's splendid thighs, the way they smooth so perfectly into that full, firm bottom, and what it might feel like to nuzzle my head between them, because I was quite distracted with trying to save you when I noticed them in the control room earlier but it would be criminal of me not to take the time to appreciate them, so I'm doing it now."
And her hair! He's seen it tied up and clamped down for functionality, strait-jacketed into rolls and waves for elegance, but he can't wait to see it as a riotous mass of curls and spirals in the morning. He's looking forward to teasing it out of its constraints, its increasing disorder echoing a slow explosion of desire, oh yes.
And of course, their first time for him probably won't be their first for her. She'll know what works for him already. Must make sure to tell her when it's his first time, then, because she'll no doubt make it even better, drawing out her store of knowledge, laying out a trail of fresh little surprises for him, half of which he won't know about himself yet. He'll do the same for her, when however much later it's her first time, although best not to think about that; their beginnings and ends are so confused, where meeting is death, that it's best to think about the middle. The apex, the nub, the central mystery, the confluence, the warm, wet junction...
Well, that's done it. He's all hard now, and these trousers are too tight for it not to be obvious. And for shifting around not to make it worse. All these controls on the TARDIS console in front of him, all these things that were designed to do other things too, and running his fingers over them is another new sensual experience. There's more angles in this time round's design, more ridges, but more aged surfaces, worn smooth as if his hands have been caressing them for years. New but old, beginnings and endings messed up as always, but this time with extra ribbing, and will you look at that bloody glass dildo of a rotor? It's not like she doesn't know, the old girl, it's not like she doesn't see all his dreams, but how did she know before he did that this version was going to have a woman like River working her? Oh, the TARDIS likes to work her glass dildo for River, doesn't she... He chuckles to himself and gives a few switches an affectionate tweak.
"What's so funny?" asks Amy, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs, grumpy from sleeping, and not with him either.
"Nothing! Nothing, just... thinking about an old friend," he replies, shuffling round the console and bending over forwards, pretending to peer at something, trying to hide his hard-on and not look too guilty. She looks guilty too; she's just had the dream about him sucking her nipples again, only this time with more information about his wide, soft mouth and astonished but astonishing tongue, and she's been thinking about the TARDIS and the things it picks up and what else it might pick up from her mind. She glares at him, knowing something's up with him, dreading to think what, and unable to frame an innocent-sounding question about whether his ship is telepathic and how this relates to nipples. Dreams! Damn it. It's one thing to want him, to pursue him, but she hates the idea of anything being out of her control. She frowns, giving up for now, and walks out to nurse her suspicions elsewhere.
He blows out his cheeks in relief and straightens up, leaning against the console, still hard against the edge. He briefly considers letting some echoes of his own dreams out to her tonight, but that would be a pretty creepy way for her to find out what he thinks about her and, well, there are a lot of other things in there that she doesn't need to know. And he'd rather save her the embarrassment of knowing that he knows. In the meantime, he supposes he'd better take care of this ridiculous swollen cock. He heads off to a quiet room Amy doesn't know about, musing as he goes. Two clumsy bodies, that’s no good, but what about two clumsy ones and one elegantly rounded one?
Author: stick_poker
Rating: Adult
Characters: Eleven, Amy, River
Summary: Set just after the end of Flesh & Stone - the Doctor is contemplating compatibility. Spoilers for up to there, just about.
Oh, Amy. She really doesn't know why that wouldn't work, poor girl. She's too young, she'll be all sorts of unimaginative yet demanding, and too bony! Two skinny bodies makes for a lot of awkwardness, hip bones clashing, elbows everywhere - how could you go down on her? Legs that would flop away from her hips at funny angles, like a colt rolling in hay; what sort of secrets could they conceal? No pillow of a thigh to smooth your face against, just tendons and shifting muscles, distracting machinery. And everything all pink and puckered and tight, like some sort of porn cliché. Youth has its appeal, but no mystery.
Tiny breasts, too, barely there, although those pouty little nipples, there's something he hasn't done in a while. He knows how sensitive they must be or they wouldn't keep coming up all the time in her dreams. Honestly, a chap tries to get a bit of shut-eye and there she is, dreaming so loud the TARDIS can't help but pass on the vibrations - "Oh, Doctor!" she squeals as he suckles at her like an incompetent teenager, leering up at her with an expression he's sure he'd never be so coarse as to assume, although interestingly, he's still got the bow-tie on. Ha! He knew it'd be a hit! Honestly, some people just don't appreciate style when they see it.
Ah, delicious pink nipples, though, to lick, suck, bite like cherries, although he could just see her twitching up a bony knee and catching him in the groin with it if he ever did. This body of his is a bit clumsy and he bets hers gets that way when you mess with its senses. No, he likes her enthusiasm and energy (and nipples) but two clumsy people does not make for good sex.
Now, River, there was a proposition to look forward to. A woman, not a girl; she's been around, she won't want to rush. There's been little enough of her on display every time he's seen her so far, under spacesuits, army fatigues, and even that ball-gown was remarkably chaste - none of those short little skirts and clingy jersey. But enough to know that her breasts will have the weight and movement to make them delightful to cup, firm but yielding, inviting you to caress and toy, the nipples delightful accessories, not the sole point. In fact those fatigues revealed more than the flattery of the dress; good grief, her arse! Blethering about rewriting time to Amy on the beach because it's really not the done thing to say "I'm going over what I can remember of River's splendid thighs, the way they smooth so perfectly into that full, firm bottom, and what it might feel like to nuzzle my head between them, because I was quite distracted with trying to save you when I noticed them in the control room earlier but it would be criminal of me not to take the time to appreciate them, so I'm doing it now."
And her hair! He's seen it tied up and clamped down for functionality, strait-jacketed into rolls and waves for elegance, but he can't wait to see it as a riotous mass of curls and spirals in the morning. He's looking forward to teasing it out of its constraints, its increasing disorder echoing a slow explosion of desire, oh yes.
And of course, their first time for him probably won't be their first for her. She'll know what works for him already. Must make sure to tell her when it's his first time, then, because she'll no doubt make it even better, drawing out her store of knowledge, laying out a trail of fresh little surprises for him, half of which he won't know about himself yet. He'll do the same for her, when however much later it's her first time, although best not to think about that; their beginnings and ends are so confused, where meeting is death, that it's best to think about the middle. The apex, the nub, the central mystery, the confluence, the warm, wet junction...
Well, that's done it. He's all hard now, and these trousers are too tight for it not to be obvious. And for shifting around not to make it worse. All these controls on the TARDIS console in front of him, all these things that were designed to do other things too, and running his fingers over them is another new sensual experience. There's more angles in this time round's design, more ridges, but more aged surfaces, worn smooth as if his hands have been caressing them for years. New but old, beginnings and endings messed up as always, but this time with extra ribbing, and will you look at that bloody glass dildo of a rotor? It's not like she doesn't know, the old girl, it's not like she doesn't see all his dreams, but how did she know before he did that this version was going to have a woman like River working her? Oh, the TARDIS likes to work her glass dildo for River, doesn't she... He chuckles to himself and gives a few switches an affectionate tweak.
"What's so funny?" asks Amy, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs, grumpy from sleeping, and not with him either.
"Nothing! Nothing, just... thinking about an old friend," he replies, shuffling round the console and bending over forwards, pretending to peer at something, trying to hide his hard-on and not look too guilty. She looks guilty too; she's just had the dream about him sucking her nipples again, only this time with more information about his wide, soft mouth and astonished but astonishing tongue, and she's been thinking about the TARDIS and the things it picks up and what else it might pick up from her mind. She glares at him, knowing something's up with him, dreading to think what, and unable to frame an innocent-sounding question about whether his ship is telepathic and how this relates to nipples. Dreams! Damn it. It's one thing to want him, to pursue him, but she hates the idea of anything being out of her control. She frowns, giving up for now, and walks out to nurse her suspicions elsewhere.
He blows out his cheeks in relief and straightens up, leaning against the console, still hard against the edge. He briefly considers letting some echoes of his own dreams out to her tonight, but that would be a pretty creepy way for her to find out what he thinks about her and, well, there are a lot of other things in there that she doesn't need to know. And he'd rather save her the embarrassment of knowing that he knows. In the meantime, he supposes he'd better take care of this ridiculous swollen cock. He heads off to a quiet room Amy doesn't know about, musing as he goes. Two clumsy bodies, that’s no good, but what about two clumsy ones and one elegantly rounded one?