Snippet: No You Girls Never Know
Apr. 9th, 2012 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wildestrangerIt is Easter, and yet we don't have Doctor Who. Have Moffat and co actually said anything about this unconscionable delay? I do not hold with this.
Since we are thus cruelly denied, here's a snippet from a fic I've been writing since last June. I don't have any great hopes of finishing it before this June, since the world refuses to provide me with inspiration. Damn you, world.
No You Girls Never Know. River Song/Doctor,Warnings Advertisements: Crossdressing, pegging, virginity.
The Doctor shuffles from one foot to the other. One hand clutches the console of the TARDIS, making the harmonic generator twitch and hum. His knuckles are white.
The other hand is pulling his skirt down.
River smiles, and takes a deep breath against the gurgle of glee that’s been growing in her throat since he walked in. The skirt she has chosen for him is nine inches long, red and brown tartan, thick wool but silk on the inside.
It won’t give no matter how much he pulls.
He’s still talking, an extended babble about Silurians and bananas and how strange humans are, hear that River, strange, and honestly…
“…honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t worn a skirt before, the Veretuxans have a whole celebration about them, lasts a week, and everybody has to put on the Retexxettet for the final shebang, which is even shorter than this, and really…”
River takes hold of his hand, the one tugging at the skirt, and the Doctor falls silent. Her fingers brush his thigh, just once, almost as if by accident.
The Doctor swallows.
“Turn around,” she says. Her heartbeat is a fast as his, but her shirt, held in place by her braces and the bowtie, keeps her throat hidden. In any case, he’s not looking at her, is looking at anything except her, eyes flitting from wall to console to another wall to the door.
She needs to nip that thought in the bud.
“Turn around, hands on the console. It’s all switched off, so don’t worry about accidentally sending us off.”
The Doctor opens his mouth to argue, but takes a deep breath instead. River lets her hand fall, and stands back. He shakes his head a little, shudders, and tries to look stern and preoccupied. It’s somehow adorable and breathtaking at the same time.
“Switched off? You can’t switch off the TARDIS, it doesn’t work like that!”
“She is not going to respond to any stimuli from you until I tell her to. We have an agreement.”
The Doctor scowls, and another time River would enjoy playing this out, but there is other business at hand now. She slides her thumbs down under the braces, coming to rest at her belt with its complicated mesh of leather straps. She won’t touch it yet. She doesn’t have to.
“Stop prevaricating, love. Turn around.”
The Doctor’s scowl deepens for a moment, but he turns to face the central column. His hands pause before landing hesitantly on the control panel.
“Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
That produces a harrumphing noise, but eventually the Doctor reaches out to grip two levers. One of which, River notes, is the emergency break.
The gurgle in her throat threatens to escape again, and she has to remind herself that any hint of mockery would be fatal at this stage. There will be time for that afterwards.
“Do you remember the safe word?”
The Doctor’s mumble is both inaudible and entirely predictable.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“I said, there’s no need for that. You’re not going to do,” deep gulp, “do anything I won’t like.”
River considers pointing out that he doesn’t know what he likes quite yet. But the Doctor is skittish enough as it is.
“Humour me. It’s all part of the tradition, and you know how I like my traditions. And at least I didn’t ask you to dress up as a Roman this time.”
Another inaudible mumble, but River knows him too well by now.
“Yes, dear, but it really wouldn’t be fair to expect me to give up a whole world of strapping men in skirts, just because of my father. And you’ll recall it was your idea to dress him so.”
The Doctor replies with an eloquent silence.
“So, safe word?”
The Doctor sighs, and shifts his feet a little wider.
“Pineapple.”
“Good.” River steps closer and trails a finger down the Doctor’s back. He shivers under her hand. “Now, let’s get started.”
Slowly, she pushes him down to lean on his arms.
Since we are thus cruelly denied, here's a snippet from a fic I've been writing since last June. I don't have any great hopes of finishing it before this June, since the world refuses to provide me with inspiration. Damn you, world.
No You Girls Never Know. River Song/Doctor,
The Doctor shuffles from one foot to the other. One hand clutches the console of the TARDIS, making the harmonic generator twitch and hum. His knuckles are white.
The other hand is pulling his skirt down.
River smiles, and takes a deep breath against the gurgle of glee that’s been growing in her throat since he walked in. The skirt she has chosen for him is nine inches long, red and brown tartan, thick wool but silk on the inside.
It won’t give no matter how much he pulls.
He’s still talking, an extended babble about Silurians and bananas and how strange humans are, hear that River, strange, and honestly…
“…honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t worn a skirt before, the Veretuxans have a whole celebration about them, lasts a week, and everybody has to put on the Retexxettet for the final shebang, which is even shorter than this, and really…”
River takes hold of his hand, the one tugging at the skirt, and the Doctor falls silent. Her fingers brush his thigh, just once, almost as if by accident.
The Doctor swallows.
“Turn around,” she says. Her heartbeat is a fast as his, but her shirt, held in place by her braces and the bowtie, keeps her throat hidden. In any case, he’s not looking at her, is looking at anything except her, eyes flitting from wall to console to another wall to the door.
She needs to nip that thought in the bud.
“Turn around, hands on the console. It’s all switched off, so don’t worry about accidentally sending us off.”
The Doctor opens his mouth to argue, but takes a deep breath instead. River lets her hand fall, and stands back. He shakes his head a little, shudders, and tries to look stern and preoccupied. It’s somehow adorable and breathtaking at the same time.
“Switched off? You can’t switch off the TARDIS, it doesn’t work like that!”
“She is not going to respond to any stimuli from you until I tell her to. We have an agreement.”
The Doctor scowls, and another time River would enjoy playing this out, but there is other business at hand now. She slides her thumbs down under the braces, coming to rest at her belt with its complicated mesh of leather straps. She won’t touch it yet. She doesn’t have to.
“Stop prevaricating, love. Turn around.”
The Doctor’s scowl deepens for a moment, but he turns to face the central column. His hands pause before landing hesitantly on the control panel.
“Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
That produces a harrumphing noise, but eventually the Doctor reaches out to grip two levers. One of which, River notes, is the emergency break.
The gurgle in her throat threatens to escape again, and she has to remind herself that any hint of mockery would be fatal at this stage. There will be time for that afterwards.
“Do you remember the safe word?”
The Doctor’s mumble is both inaudible and entirely predictable.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“I said, there’s no need for that. You’re not going to do,” deep gulp, “do anything I won’t like.”
River considers pointing out that he doesn’t know what he likes quite yet. But the Doctor is skittish enough as it is.
“Humour me. It’s all part of the tradition, and you know how I like my traditions. And at least I didn’t ask you to dress up as a Roman this time.”
Another inaudible mumble, but River knows him too well by now.
“Yes, dear, but it really wouldn’t be fair to expect me to give up a whole world of strapping men in skirts, just because of my father. And you’ll recall it was your idea to dress him so.”
The Doctor replies with an eloquent silence.
“So, safe word?”
The Doctor sighs, and shifts his feet a little wider.
“Pineapple.”
“Good.” River steps closer and trails a finger down the Doctor’s back. He shivers under her hand. “Now, let’s get started.”
Slowly, she pushes him down to lean on his arms.
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 10:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-18 10:42 pm (UTC)And tantilising.
Is there more? I added it to my reading list when it was posted and have only just come to read it.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 05:13 pm (UTC)We are only getting sort series of DW late autumn, in run up to new companion come Christmas. Is kind of rubbish.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 09:07 pm (UTC)*prod*
no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-10 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-11 07:41 pm (UTC)MORE TARTAN MINI SKIRTS PLEASE. MORE RIVER.
See. If this happened in Dr Who I might actually watch it. Maybe I just need to watch the episodes with River?
no subject
Date: 2012-04-15 11:06 pm (UTC)But yes, clearly the Doctor needs to get himself a tartan mini skirt. He has the legs for it.