First Annual DW Kinkathon

Punishment

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 23:04:18 GMT

Title: Punishment
Author: Darcy
Pairings: Tegan/Nyssa, Turlough/Five, Turlough/Nyssa, Tegan/Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Roleplaying, spanking. Beta'd by Loros and hakima_sha.

Inside the TARDIS console room, the Doctor was lost in memories. Tegan had left the ship not long ago, and he was knew he was going to miss her. He would miss her fire and spirit and determination, and most of all he would miss their orgies.

Despite her prickly exterior, Tegan had harboured a deep affection for every other member of the TARDIS crew. This included Turlough, despite their frequent arguments. In fact, one of their most memorable nights had occurred very soon after Turlough had joined the little group that had formerly consisted of the Doctor, Tegan, and Nyssa. They were all very happy to learn that Turlough enjoyed roleplaying just as much as they did.

That particular night, the foursome worked off of a loose script that began with Turlough and Nyssa in a room that had been made up to resemble a schoolroom. Nyssa and Turlough were sitting on adjacent chairs, and Turlough had his hand up Nyssa's skirt while his tongue earnestly endeavoured to venture down her throat.

The slam of the classroom door banging against the wall as it opened drove the two apart, Turlough scrambling in a vain attempt to hide and Nyssa attempting to straighten her rumpled clothing.

"Miss Tegan!" Nyssa cried, facing the angry chemistry instructor in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Turlough and I were just --"

"I saw what you were 'just' doing," Tegan interrupted. "As you know very well, your behaviour is very much against school policy, and I must insist that you see the headmaster!"

"Please, no," Turlough begged, blanching. "He might send me down, and I can't let that happen."

Nyssa also looked at Tegan with pleading eyes. Tegan furrowed her brow and considered. "I suppose I could just punish you two myself," she finally offered.

Turlough rapidly nodded, while Nyssa breathed a sigh of relief.

Tegan turned away and started to dig through a cupboard. "Nyssa, wait in the corner. Turlough, drop your trousers and pants and bend over that desk."

"What?" yelled Turlough's voice behind her.

"You heard me," Tegan answered as she located an old wooden ruler inside the cupboard. "Ah, this should do nicely." She looked up to see that Turlough was staring at her, eyes wide. "Would you rather take my punishment, or the headmaster's?"

Turlough gulped and then stripped and assumed his assigned position, trembling. Nyssa was already cowering in the corner.

Tegan smiled and sauntered up to stand behind Turlough, fingering the ruler. "How many strokes do you think you deserve, Turlough? Hmm?"

"Um, five?" he guessed.

"Wrong answer. I think 10 sounds better." With that, Tegan raised the ruler and then brought it down with a whistling crack against Turlough's right buttock.

"Ah!" he cried.

"One," Tegan corrected. "Keep count."

Turlough jerkily nodded and braced himself for the second blow, which landed on the left buttock this time. "Two!" He felt his cock hardening again as he cried, "Three!" After the next blow, he eased his right hand back to encircle his cock and stroked it as he continued the count. "Four!" He was pulsing and hot, aching to spill. "Five!" He tensed, rubbed faster, paused. "Six!" A tightening feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach. "Seven!" He was on the verge of coming but couldn't let himself before Tegan finished; that would just increase his punishment "Eight!" He shook with the strain of holding back, eyes clenched shut. "Nine!" She seemed to wait forever before doling out the final stroke. "Ten!" With a strangled cry, Turlough let go and came all over his hand and the desk.

"Very good, Turlough," Tegan praised, stroking his quivering, reddened backside. "Sitting down won't be very comfortable for a little while, but other than that, you'll be fine. You can just rest while I take care of Nyssa's punishment."

Turlough listened to the receding footsteps and then opened his eyes to see Tegan stop several feet away from Nyssa and lie on her back on a small rug in front of the girl. "Come here, Nyssa," Tegan instructed. Hesitantly, Nyssa walked over. "Kneel," Tegan ordered. "Now, get on your hands and knees and crawl up, straddling me." Awkwardly, Nyssa did so until Tegan told her to stop.

"I've never done this before," Nyssa whispered.

"Then it's about time you learned," Tegan replied. "Lie between my legs." She spread them in a V position, leaving plenty of room for Nyssa, who again obeyed and lay, belly to the floor, head level with Tegan's crotch. Tegan then flipped up her skirt. Nyssa gasped, and Turlough's eyes widened. He could see that Tegan was naked underneath. All those times in chemistry class, had she been like that? He never would have guessed.

Tegan spoke again. "You might not have done this before, Nyssa, but I think it's obvious what I want. Make me come. Do a good job and the headmaster will never know about you and Turlough."

Nyssa's head dropped and her tongue flicked out hesitantly. "That's it," Tegan encouraged. "A little firmer, ahh, that's right."

Still slumped across the desk recovering from his own shattering orgasm, Turlough closed his eyes again and listened to the moans and sighs and murmurs as Nyssa pleasured Tegan. It certainly sounded like she was doing a good job of it for a first try.

"Well, what is going on here?" came a voice from the doorway.

Nyssa's head snapped up, and Turlough nearly fell off the desk. He nearly swore when he recognised the intruder as the headmaster, known to all as "The Doctor." Turlough couldn't have imagined a worse outcome than for the Doctor to walk in on them under these circumstances. He was sure to get sent down now.

The Doctor spoke again. "I did ask a question."

"It's punishment," Tegan calmly replied, pushing Nyssa's head back into position. "I found these two students engaging in inappropriate conduct, and I decided to take care of the situation on the spot."

"Tegan, you know you're supposed to bring conduct concerns to my attention," the Doctor chided. "I'm afraid this means you'll have to be punished, too."

Turlough noticed that this idea did not seem to disturb Tegan in the least.

"Meanwhile," the Doctor continued, "I suppose you and Nyssa should just carry on. I see that Turlough isn't busy at the moment. Perhaps he could help me with something."

Turlough had been wondering when his name would enter the conversation. With a sigh, he picked himself up and walked over to the Doctor, trying to keep his head high. "If you're going to send me down, do it now and get it over with. Please," he quickly added, trying to be polite.

"Send you down?" The Doctor cocked his head. "Now, why would I do that? I think we still have use for you around here." His gaze dropped to Turlough's lips. "For instance, you have a very pretty mouth."

"Where do you want me?" Turlough asked resignedly.

The Doctor beamed. "And a quick study, too! In front of that chair, I think." He nodded to the item in question.

Turlough took up a kneeling position in front of the indicated chair and waited as the Doctor stripped. Perhaps if he did a good enough job, disaster could still be averted. With that thought in mind, Turlough set himself to please. Slow, fast, slow again, alternating pressures, and always a gentle touch. The Doctor moaned in approval, hands resting on Turlough's head, being careful not to force anything. Against his will, Turlough felt himself becoming aroused again, at the worst possible time: when he could do nothing about it. He concentrated on the Doctor as best he could and had almost succeeded in distracting himself when Tegan screamed Nyssa's name. In the next moment the Doctor came, shooting down Turlough's throat with a shout.

Turlough quickly swallowed, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and settled on his haunches, head down. With a little luck, he would soon be dismissed and could jerk himself off in private. Surely the Doctor couldn't expect any more from him at this point.

From across the room, Tegan spoke. "Well, Doctor, it looks like you enjoyed Turlough."

He caught his breath and nodded. "I did. Apparently, you feel the same way about Nyssa. She looks rather neglected, though. And Turlough did so nicely with me that he deserves a reward."

Tegan shrugged. "If it's all right with you."

"Go on, Turlough," the Doctor urged. "Nyssa could use some attention. Consider this a gift."

The headmaster was ordering him to fuck his girlfriend in front of an audience. Now Turlough was positive he had entered an alternate universe, but with the way his cock felt about to implode, he wasn't about to turn down the invitation. He made a beeline for Nyssa, on the way passing Tegan, who was heading to the Doctor's side of the room.

Nyssa's face was flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips were glistening. She took the initiative, standing on her toes to entrap him in a kiss. Turlough leaned into her, tasting Tegan's juices on her mouth and feeling her press against him, almost moulding to his skin, but then he pulled away to catch his breath. "A little eager, aren't we, Nyssa?"

Her hand snaked down between their bodies to stroke his cock. "What do you expect, after all that? You and the Doctor put on quite a show, and he isn't done yet."

Turlough glanced around to see the Doctor and Tegan on the floor in a tangle of limbs and clothing. They set an inspiring example, not that he needed much help at this point. He looked back at Nyssa. "The Doctor did tell me to pay some special attention to you."

"Best not disobey him," Nyssa agreed. "We've broken too many rules already today."

Turlough thoroughly agreed. Within a minute he had Nyssa nude and pinned again the classroom wall with him buried within her. Behind him, he heard Tegan and the Doctor going at it again, the breathy sounds of their lovemaking mingling with his and Nyssa's for timeless minutes until they were all finished and lay slumped on the floor, exhausted.

Eventually, a voice punctured the stillness. "Next time, can we do this in a room with a bed?" came Tegan's weary tones. "This floor is hell on my back."

*****

"Doctor?"

The sound of Turlough's voice roused the Doctor away from his pleasant memories and back to the present. Yes, Tegan and Nyssa were gone, but Turlough and Kamelion were still with him. And who knew? Maybe they would run into the girls again someday and hold a reunion.

Lessons

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 12:16:51 GMT

Title: Lessons
Author: Kimber Leigh (kimberleigh_)
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spanking and liberal use of some naughty words.

The sound of a wooden ruler hitting her desk made Rose jump. She had been talking to the girl beside her and hadn't seen Sister Mary Claire coming.

"Miss Tyler, how many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?" Rose dropped her eyes to her desk. The Sister was pissed and Rose knew better them to provoke a nun.

"Sorry Sister, it won't happen again, I promise." Rose felt like she was 5 years old again. She didn't like it.

"You say that every time you get caught Miss Tyler. I think its time someone went to see the headmaster." The Sister walked back to her desk and wrote a quick note, "Now Miss Tyler." Rose jumped out of her seat quickly and left the room, the Sister's note clutched in her hand.

Making her way slowly through the hall of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Rose let her mind wander. She still had no idea why she was there or even how she got there. She woke up one morning, a week prior, in the dorms, and after a confusing couple of hours, she just went along with it. She very rarely saw the Doctor, but she knew that he was around. And if he was still there, then there had to be a reason.

All that being said, she would be glad when they could finally leave. She never much liked school and frankly, the nuns creeped her out.

The Headmaster's office on the main floor of the three-story building. She showed the note to the secretary, who motioned to a chair. After what seemed like forever, but wasn't more then five minutes, she waved Rose down the hall to an office. Rose knocked on the door twice.

"Come." Said a familiar northern accent. Rose opened the door and entered the office.

She was confronted with the Doctor, who stood behind a large oak desk. He had traded his usual leather jacket and jumper for a black suit. She would have smiled, but one look at the leather paddle he held casually in his hand made her stomach do a hard flip.

"Lock the door Miss Tyler."

"Yes headmaster." Rose did what she was told and went to sit down.

"Did I tell you to sit down Miss Tyler?" Rose jumped up, and flushed.

"No, sorry headmaster." She dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Let me see Sister Mary Claire's note." Rose held up her hand and he took the note from her. He scanned in quickly and looked at her. Rose had to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to fidget, "Talking in class again Miss Tyler?"

"It wasn't just me, Lucy started it." She whined and the Doctor glared at her. She quieted immediately.

"I think someone needs a lesson to silence. I think 5 licks should be sufficient."

"5, that's not fair…"

"10 sound any better?" he asked. There was a hard edge in his voice and it sent a shiver of fear and desire down Rose's spine. She opened her mouth to protest, "Are you going for 15, Miss Tyler?"

She shook her head.

"Good. Now prepare yourself Miss Tyler. You should know the routine by now. 5 days in my school and everyday you end up back here."

Rose ignored the snide comment, and did what she was told. She bent over the desk, her weight on her arms, and her ass in the air. The Doctor's hand caressed her face briefly and was gone suddenly.

"Now Miss Tyler, the point of this is to teach you silence. If you make any sound we start over again from the beginning, is that clear?" Rose knew better then to reply and merely nodded her head. "Good, then we shall begin."

As much as she braced herself for it, the first blow came as a shock. It always did. It wasn't as hard as she knew he was capable of, but it stung none the less. She gritted her teeth and let out a pained breath. The second blow fell and she almost yelped but was able to bite down on her tongue to cut it off. She could feel the rising heat in her spine and had to shake her head. This whole situation was not fair, was it her fault being spanked turned her on?

The third blow, which followed quickly after the second was much harder and she wasn't able to stop the words from flying out her mouth.

"Ow, that fucking hurt." Her head dropped to the desk and she knew the smile that the Doctor was giving her without even seeing it. She knew she had screwed up.

"What was I saying earlier Miss Tyler, any sound and we start over from the beginning? And for swearing at the headmaster, I know just the punishment." Rose felt the Doctor lift up the wool kilt she wore and pushed it back out of the way. A hand caressed her ass before pulling down her white cotton panties. This was new, but then again she had never gotten more then 2 licks before.

The next blow stung like none of the pervious. She had underestimated just how much protection the kilt had given her. Her desire increased a thousand times with the next blow, and she was barely able to hold back a moan. She bit down on her palm, unwilling to make any more noise. She doubted that she would be able to make it through the next 8 licks, let alone any more then that.

As her punishment continued, Rose lost all track of time and how many times the Doctor spanked her. The only things she could feel was the desire that was beginning to running rampant in her body, and just how wet she was between her legs. The Doctor didn't know how much this had turned her on before, but he would now. That thought made her blush even harder.

"And ten." She heard him say and the last blow fell, harder then the rest. She jumped, but stayed silent, "I think you are finally beginning to understand the importance of being silent Miss Tyler."

There was a long pause and Rose could feel his eyes on her redden buttocks. She desperately wanted to cover herself, but knew instinctively that would bring her more punishment.

" What is this?" The Doctor's voice was full of mirth, "Are you wet Miss Tyler? Did that turn you on? Oh what a naughty girl you are."

Rose felt the Doctors long fingers run over her ass and down her thighs. "Spread your legs for me Miss Tyler." Rose did what she was told.

"Just as I thought," The Doctor's fingers rubbed against her wet cunt and Rose stifled a groan, "You are just a slut, aren't you Miss Tyler? I bet you aren't a virgin either, are you Miss Tyler?" Two of the Doctor's long fingers pushed into her with a wet sound. He moved them inside of her slowly. Without thinking Rose pushed herself back against them. The Doctor laughed, but it was deep and devoid of his normal good humour.

"Such a wanton little slut aren't you?" The Doctor slid another finger inside her, "Do you want me to fuck you Miss Tyler? Is that what you want slut? Want to feel my cock deep inside you, fucking you so hard you forget your name?"

The Doctor pulled his fingers part way out and Rose responded by pushing herself back onto them. Suddenly it was all too much, his fingers deep inside her cunt, the way he said slut with a tone of disgust, the burn where the paddle had landed all those times. She came hard, her fingernails digging into the wood of the desk. The whole time, she didn't say a word.

The Doctor pulled his fingers out of her and wiped them on his pants. Rose heard the sound of a zipper being opened and she knew what was coming next.

"Turn around and face me Miss Tyler," Rose did what she was told; the look in the Doctor's eyes was one she had never seen before. "On your knees slut."

She had no time to take in the sight of his cock before it was being pushed against her lips and into her mouth. Relaxing, she was able to take him deep, which made the Doctor groan. He fisted her hair and fucked her mouth.

"Such a good little slut. I wonder if you take it in every hole? I may have to run some experiments." She looked up at him and was rewarded with a look. His eyes were dark and he gave her a smile that was pure evil, "Yes, I know just the experiments I could run on a little slut like you."

Rose could tell he was going to come soon. His movements were becoming erratic and his moans were getting louder. Then suddenly he pulled out of her mouth and with a couple of jerks on his cock, he was coming all over her. All over her face, her uniform and in her hair. Part of her was disgusted while the rest of her was getting turned on again. She watched as the Doctor zipped himself back into his pants. He tossed a hankie at her and walked back around his desk.

"Clean yourself up and get back to class Miss Tyler. And if I see you here again today, you will not like the punishment." He cast her one final look, and rose felt herself pinned to the spot with fear and a raging lust. And though she knew that he wasn't bluffing, she desperately wanted to test that theory.

"Yes Headmaster."

Brave Heart

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 12:14:33 GMT

Title: Brave Heart
Author: siamesegoth2
Pairing: Turlough/Tegan Turlough /Nyssa(memory) Turlough/Five(memory) implied Five/Nyssa implied Five/Tegan.
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, tie!porn, butt sex, stroke, oral, F/M , Comfort.

The Doctor was reclining lazily in his favourite chair, trying to read a book of Serpaxian poetry, and enjoy a cup of tea.
He had taken to coming to the library more often. The bickering between Turlough and Tegan made his head hurt, and he felt that they should just be allowed to hammer it out between them. No point in becoming involved in their childish antics to out do each other any longer.

The last straw was when Turlough had stated sourly, that humans were nothing more than primitive apes with the ability to talk, and use simple tools. Unfortunately, Tegan had just entered the console room before the Doctor could even produce so much as a stern look, and admonish Turlough for making such an insensitive remark.

Tegan exploded in her traditional Aussie form. Hands on hips and feet apart, she let rip, with a barrage of hefty insults, calling Turlough everything from being the Black Guardians favourite pet, right down to being a snivelling, cowardly little sneak. Turlough responded in kind with his usual sarcastic manner, and had stated that it was a bit rich coming from the loudest 'ape' that he had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

"Doctor, are you going to let him get away with that? Are you?" demanded the irate airhostess.

" Well, I…"

"Typical" shot back Turlough nastily " you couldn't fight a battle of wits on your own without involving the Doctor"

"If it's a fight you want then just try me," snarled Tegan, stepping forward to raising her hand.

Alarmed and outraged the Doctor puts himself between Tegan and Turlough, before she blackened his eye. " I think that's quite enough you two," said the Doctor firmly. Tegan opened her mouth to reply, and Turlough was doing the same.

"I said that's enough. Turlough, that was uncalled for" Tegan smiled with grim satisfaction, but it didn't last for long. The Doctor turned to her. "Tegan, I am shocked that you, of all people, would resort to violence. It stops now. Both of you."
Tegan blew up again " But he started it!" she began. The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed heavily. "Out. Go on, both of you. Take a walk in the corridors, sit in the cloister room, or your own. Either way I want you to both calm down, and stop acting like children. I will not play umpire between you, for any reason." The pair gave each other a sour look, and started to leave the console room.

"One last thing" said the Doctor " You are both to find some common ground, and work out your differences. I don't care how you do this, but just do it." Tegan and Turlough looked at the doctor, as if he had just grown a third eye, and dribbled down the front of his shirt. "I mean it. If you don't work something out, I will land the TARDIS, and leave you on an uninhabited planet, until you learn to appreciate each other's differences. " With that, they stalked off through the interior door, bickering as they went.

Watching them go the Doctor sighed, and once again, found he was asking himself why he chose to travel with others. Especially when they were as volatile, as his current companions.
It had been 3 hours since that last little escapade, and the Doctor was quite enjoying the peace and quite that the sanctuary of the TARDIS library provided. The Doctor picked up his cup, took a sip, and grimaced. "If there is one thing I hate more in the universe, it's cold tea!" With that, he uncoiled himself, and went in search of the TARDIS kitchen, to refresh his pot.

Meanwhile, Turlough and Tegan were still engaged in their bitter exchange. Tegan was storming through the corridors gesturing angrily, and loudly proclaiming that Turlough was an idiot of immense proportions.

Turlough grinned behind her back, sometimes humans were so easy to provoke. This of course made Tegan a prime target; everything seemed to push her over the edge. Turlough kept pushing the buttons, and Tegan became angrier and angrier. Funny, thought Turlough, she's rather splendid when she's angry. This stopped him for a moment, as if he couldn't believe he had just entertained such a thought. She was human, loud, and brash and wore the worst clothes he had ever seen on a woman, probably the worst in existence.

Yet he found himself staring at her as she stomped dramatically through the TARDIS.
A seething rainbow comet, hurtling through the white corridors. An idea began forming in his mind, it was risky, but he was sure it would be worth it, it usually was. Tegan suddenly stopped, and realised that her tormentor was no longer following her, she turned round, and saw him just standing there, fiddling with that stupid tie

"Just what do you think your looking at?" demanded Tegan hotly. Turlough gave her an odd smile, and continued to play with his tie. "Nothing in particular " he replied.

The pair had stopped just outside of Tegan's room. "Well if your going to continue to look like an idiot, and insult my planet, and myself, then I think I'm going to go and read for a while."

"The Doctor said we should talk about this," replied Turlough slyly. "Nuts to you, and to the Doctor." said Tegan cheekily. "I'll talk when I'm good and ready." With that she opened her door, and went inside.

"Wait, Tegan…I'm sorry." Tegan couldn't believe her ears. " I was wrong to say that all humans are primitives, and I was wrong to insult you. Can't we talk about this? Like mature adults. Please?" Tegan shook her head slowly. " I don't think so, I need time to calm down, and then we can discuss it" She replied carefully. With that she began closing the door. Turlough moved so quickly Tegan was taken aback. He pushed passed, and stepped smartly into the room, his back against the door.

"I think it needs to be discussed now," sneered Turlough. Alarmed by this Tegan tried backing away from him, but the bed got in the way, she was stuck. "Get out" she spat. Turlough grinned and advanced towards her, pulling his tie from around his neck. "I don't think so" he replied easily. Tegan made to run, and dodge round Turlough to escape, but he caught her easily by the arm, and spun her back round, throwing her onto the bed.
Straddling her, he held Tegan's hands above her head, gripping her wrists painfully; his face only inches from her own. " I'll scream," panted Tegan. Turlough laughed softly. "I hope so, otherwise this isn't going to be nearly as much fun"
Shifting his weight, Turlough gathered Tegan's wrists in one hand, and with the other, slowly brought his tie across her face, and binding her hands together. Using the last inches of the material, he tied her to the bars on the brass headboard. He was watching her face the whole time, drinking in the horror and panic; watching her pupils dilate, and her cheeks colour with shame. He always looked for that, the moment where they realised there was nothing they could do. Tegan was different only because somewhere in her eyes, there was a spark of defiance.

Nyssa had been the same, at least for a little while. She'd fought like a hellion, Turlough was surprised by her wiry strength, but her struggles just made it all the more exciting. She bit, and cried and tore, and still he continued. He had to be careful afterward, Nyssa had scratched his arms, that had meant no wandering the TARDIS in shirtsleeves, but it was something he could live with.

Nyssa had threatened to tell Tegan and the Doctor about Turlough, and his 'attacks' She never did, she accepted them after a while, using it as a way to combat her own angst. Urging him on with rough little cries as she rode him, and when it was over, rolling onto her side, to stare blankly into space, and hollowly demanded he leave her alone.

When she had left the TARDIS crew to stay on Terminus, she had spoken to him privately when Tegan and the Doctor had retreated to the TARDIS discreetly. She had kissed him deeply, and then slapped him as hard as she could and turned away, never looking back. Thankfully Tegan was too upset, and had fled to her room, and hadn't noticed the splash of red on his face. The Doctor had seen it though, he knew why it was there, and he had looked away.

Tegan was struggling again, and Turlough came out of his daydream. He leaned forward whispering in her ear, and gently licking her jaw and neck. " Shhh, it's alright," he said almost tenderly. " I wont hurt you, you know." Tegan strained to pull her head away from his lips and tongue, as he whispered, pleaded, as though trying to assure her. "Get off of me" she hissed, and bucked to try and throw him off. She was angry, and frightened by the vacant look in his eyes and the fact her fingers, and hands were growing numb, and white above her head.

Ignoring her Turlough continued nibbling and sucking. Licking the little bite marks to soothe them, tiny red stains spreading across her neck and throat. His hands roaming her body, as she fought beneath him, breathing hard, and spewing a litany of obscenities, he had never heard her use before.

She cried out as he bit too hard, and Turlough ignored her, letting her cries wash over him, through him. Turlough lapped at the tiny red bead, revelling in the slightly metallic flavour of her blood. Sweeping his tongue in long languorous strokes to the hollow of her throat, savouring the beading sweat that collected in the precious dips and curves of her collarbones. Turlough's hands worked deftly, and opened Tegan's gaudy blouse, surprised that she had not been wearing a bra. She protested, and wept, begged for him to stop, so strange to see her enfeebled like this. Such a strong woman on the outside, and within the hard shell, a lost young woman, battling her way through a man's world. Determined to show everyone that she too could be right up there with the high flyers.

Turlough bent his head towards Tegan's exposed nipple, his other hand cupping her left breast, fingers teasing, and pinching. Drawing her right nipple into his mouth, he sucked gently, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin, hearing her moan with frustration and disgust.
Slowly he painted small circles round her nipples, kneading her breasts, moulding them, and listening to her breathing become faster, coming in short little gasps.
"Turlough, please" She moaned. He smiled looking up at her, and moved up to lick her jaw, and smother her lips with fierce hot kisses. Tegan's struggles became feeble, tears leaked from under her lashes, whispering to Turlough to stop, just to stop, and go. To leave her alone, this is not what she wants.

He inclines his head, lips brushing her ear tenderly. "You'll enjoy it, " he croons, "If this isn't common ground, I don't know what is," He laughs softly; it flows over her, like warm honey and steel, making her shudder involuntarily. She closes her eyes. Turlough licks away her tears as she gives in.

The Doctor had given in too, just as Tegan has, as Nyssa had done, his reserve crumbling, the bemused expressions as Turlough made his advances, and the shocked look as he has climaxed at the hands of the young Trion. The doctor had found Turlough sneaking from Nyssa's room, heard her sobbing quietly, and noted Turlough's dishevelled appearance.

The Doctor's voice had hardened as he has sent Turlough to his own room, eyes cold, and brows furrowed in disgust. Turlough couldn't resist looking over his shoulder as the Doctor let himself into Nyssa's room, crooning softly with words of comfort. Turlough found out later how the Doctor soothed the hurt, and it made Turlough smile.

The first time with the Doctor had been exquisite, there in the TARDIS kitchen, where they had their verbal disagreement over Turlough's treatment of Nyssa. Turlough denied nothing, and detailed everything, stroking himself as he did so, and his back against the door. The doctor looked away, embarrassed, and had tried to move the young companion out of the way, so he could escape, and deal with the fire in his loins. In his own way.

Turlough had grabbed the Doctor's lapels, and kissed him hard, tongue seeking an entrance, hand fumbling at the Doctor's trousers, searching, wanting. He had dropped to his knees, and shamelessly taken the doctor into his mouth, sucking and licking, fingers probing. He drew back, and watched the trembling Doctor, and smiled as the Time Lord Had demanded Turlough present himself. They both cried out as the Doctor pieced his friend, rocking slowly as they both came.

Turlough remembered the look on the Doctor's face, as he hastily arranged himself, and fled from the room red faced. It'd not be the last time it happened.

Looking down at Tegan, seeing her part her lips, Turlough bent to kiss her, a slow dance of tongues, teeth clicking now and again, the silence punctuated by moans. He moved his hands down over her body, stroking and pinching. Parting her thighs, he moved his hand slowly upwards, and began to tease her clit, through the cotton fabric of her underwear. He slid off the bed, and undressed quickly, then pushed the awful leather skirt up to Tegan's hips; using her nails scissors on the bedside table he has cut away her underwear, exposing her fully. Half naked, bound and vulnerable. She looked up at him, eyes widening as she saw his cock, angry and erect. She licked her lips.

I'm not that stupid, thinks Turlough, one snap of those teeth, and it's all over. Instead, he moves to the end of the bed, climbing on, and parting Tegan's legs with his knee. She may be more willing right now, he thought, but she'll soon fight back when he gets started.
He lie's before her, kissing her thighs, listening to the soft intake of her breath, moving upward, to the thatch of neatly trimmed hair, licking the soft skin. He uses his hands to part her wider still, and quickly but firmly sweeps his tongue through the velvet folds of her sex. She cries out, encouraging Turlough to lick and suck harder. He scrapes his teeth over her clit, making her shudder violently, and grind her hips downward. Moving his hand upwards, he slicks a finger, and probes the opening, pushing into her. She bucks under him, and he slides in two more fingers, pushing them in and out of her quickly and ruthlessly.

" It hurts" she cries, Turlough ignores her, his tongue seeking an entrance, laving her asshole, darting to and fro. He moves slicked fingers down ward, and resumes licking her clit, tasting her. Marvelling at the organic flavour, mildly salty, and something else that he can't quite place.

He circles a tighter opening, slipping a finger in gently, she cries out wordlessly, he moves his finger in deeper, twisting it, drawing back, and adding another finger, heedless of her cries to stop. He fucks her like that till she weeps, hard and fast, licking her clit, drowning in the sound of her wordless shouts.
Withdrawing, Turlough moves up towards Tegan's face, she look up at him hoping he's finished. He smiles nastily, and thrusts himself into her hot wet opening, making her body arch under him. He moves quickly and brutally, taking more and more from her.
Gripping her legs, and placing them on his shoulders, he pushes against her asshole, slick with her own lubricant, he thrusts his cock deep into her.

The Doctor exits the kitchen with his tea, and hears a wordless scream, hard edged with pain.
"Tegan!" he breathes. He drops the pot, it shatters spraying scalding fluid and hot ceramic across the floor, splashing his trouser legs and shoes, and he runs towards her room.

When he arrives, he sees a half dressed Turlough exit her room, and close the door behind him. The doctor is reminded of the countless times that Turlough has left his room or Nyssa's in the same fashion. He faces the Trion, and glares at him. "You promised you would leave her alone" Anguished he looks at the door to Tegan's room, afraid of what he'll see, and desperate to help her.
Turlough smiles with satisfaction, pocketing his tie. He regards the Doctor for a moment or two "Yes, I did, didn't I" with that he saunters down towards his own room, with the doctor staring after him.

After a moment or two, he composes himself, and raps softly on the door. "Tegan?" he enquires gently" May I come in?" he hears a muffled sob. " Go away, please? I'll be fine"
The Doctor knows that's not true, and opens the door carefully, and enters.

Turlough has stopped watching, and smiling. The Doctor, the proverbial balm to heal all wounds, except perhaps his own.

The Doctor gingery sits on the edge of Tegan's bed, and smoothes the hair from her brow.
She shudders, and turns away from him, her whole body shaking. He strokes her back gently, wanting to take away the hurt, and the humiliation that she feels right now. Closing his eyes, his moves closer to her, and tries to communicate his need to help to her. " Brave heart Tegan" he murmurs quietly "Brave heart"

Valeriana

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 21:30:08 GMT

Title: Valeriana
Author: snowgrouse
Pairing: Master/Fifth Doctor.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Darkish. Cosmic angst, hazy consent. The ingredients of that drink make it a date-rape drug, more or less. Set during Castrovalva.

( Valeriana. )

Perversions (Heretofore Unpracticed On a Most Willing Body)

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 16:39:33 GMT

Title: Perversions (Heretofore Unpracticed On a Most Willing Body)
Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Rose, Tenth Doctor/TARDIS/Rose, Tenth Doctor/Rose/Other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Cross-Dressing, Strap-Ons, Threesomes, Slash.

It all begins with - no, there isn't a perfect beginning, created out of strange desire for a linear, logical life. He refuses to simplify it. There is no start, no spark, no inspiration, it just is: changes and desires and wanting.

Yes, it is the wanting. The wanting is always there at the beginning, the middle, and the end, and he can go to the beginning of time and the end of it – and he will still want more. It is something quite entirely natural, born of his own curiosity, his own arrogance, and his...well there are many adjectives to describe him and few of them are kind.

Sorry, that's a horrible beginning, isn't it? Well, he has no other beginnings to offer, and he's feeling rather fond of the word brusque today.

There is no linear structure that he follows, save the one that keeps the universe chugging along and keeps wounds in time from forming, as that makes his travels rather more work-related and he's doing this for pleasure.

Right, there might be a spark after all. Pleasure. He loves his body. Even though he has to wear spectacles, he's certainly not complaining that his eyesight's gone a bit cocked up in this regeneration. Also, why has he not licked everything tactile before? The taste of things is far more pleasurable than the sight of things.

He wants everything because he's selfish and really, there's no one to outright call him selfish, save him, there are no other equals, not anymore, and well, that's selfish of him, really, calling himself selfish, isn't it?

See, he can find logic in a house of mirrors in the dark. Hmm, sex in front of mirrors. He'd try that, but that might be a trifle too vain. Then again, having his spectacles knocked halfway down his nose as he continues moving, the lenses barely covering his field of vision and when he looks into the mirror, it's half a blur of moving bodies, naked flesh rolling back and forth. Ah, unless they're partially clothed, a thousand identical images of rumpled trousers and skirts and more trousers, shirts pushed down shoulders and blouses hiked up over naked breasts. But there will not be a cacophony of sound, only two or maybe three voices clamoring to make up for all the false reflections.

He considers this, pushing his specs further up his nose, and when Rose asks him what he's thinking, he just smiles, in that vague friendly way that's really more threatening that most people realize.

He needs to know everything and see how far this body can go.

*

Their first time is oddly enough, considering the participants, as normal as it goes. Mating, rutting, instincts, all that mess, the humans aren't the only one to express emotions in sexual actions. He's estimated that only about seventeen and a half percent of all intelligent life in the universe has no use for sex.

This just means the other eighty two and a half percent of life out there have to make up for those missing out. And from what he's seen of other species, most of them are very willing to give it a go.

Yes, the Doctor has thought many times upon the subject, but then, he thinks about everything, all the time. Sex is just another facet of existence. To ignore it, well, that's just plain stupid.

The normality of the situation though, that may be a problem. It's been building up to this, hasn't it? Breaking a barrier he's sure he had very good reasons to maintain, Do Not Shag Companions. They're all just so young. And human. And fragile.

And he's still what he is.

Perhaps he has broken that rule one or twice or thrice, or hmm, yes, perhaps it's not really so much of a rule as a constraint. Or a restraint.

The Doctor thinks that this time, he might enjoy restraints.

But they've shagged now, and may he say, quite properly, and it was a thoroughly wonderful experience. Ephemeral though it might have been, it's quite altogether marvelous, and Rose is staring at him.

He is about to say something, quite brilliant and funny (but is there ever a time when he isn't either of those things?), but stops himself, noticing the expression on her face.

She looks almost surprised. She presses her lips together and one-two-three-four taps her fingers against his chest. Does it again and almost matches the sound of his heartbeats. Her nails have grown a bit longer than usual and she scratches at his chest in a familiar way for a bit before hesitating, then moving her hand away.

He should say something, then. Something that's just exactly the right response and will guarantee sex in the future.

"Something the matter?" Oh brilliant. Well played.

"Dunno," she says, and her hair looks completely ridiculous all mussed up and tangled and normally he'd tell her this, but he wonders if this is one of those all too human moments of fear, the fear of change. "Thought it would be-"

"You didn't like," he says, a bit stupidly, even though he knows it isn't true and he instantly backtracks with a bit of bravado, "Well no, I know you did, certainly felt you do that lovely clenching-"

A smile almost appears before she sweeps it away, shaking her head. "That's arrogance there. And yes, I did, I mean, yeah. I just - thought it would be different or something."

"Now that, that right there is-" He's trying to be clever and failing and maybe being naked is the problem. Because now he's having those moments of doubt that he never has (or even if he has them, he never admits to having them, even to himself) and he's frankly getting annoyed because he doesn't do this: worrying about such little trivial things as though they matter on the grand universal scale. A pebble sinking in the ocean, now that's roughly the value of all these trivial worries.

He also isn't supposed to be naked in bed with her.

"Doctor?" There's a touch of pink to her cheeks, blood rushing up to the face, an instinctual behavior, a learned behavior too. Shame and embarrassment, the things learned for the idiotic notion of modesty. Oh, the things she could learn. The things he's still learning. "Look, I don't know what I mean, only I just thought about things sometimes, yeah, and well, you're you-"

"I am that, at the very least," he says a bit airily, detaching from her and sitting up, as though he's about to start a naked lecture, making it up as he goes along. The usual then, only with a dash of nudity.

"You're an alien!" Rose blurts it out as though it's a dirty word. The Doctor quirks an eyebrow at that and his serious face falters when Rose starts giggling. Hysterically. "We just shagged in my bed and it was normal and nice and proper and well-" she can't get the next word out, her laughter has overtaken her.

He laughs as well, but can control it. Because now the very best of things has happened. He's having all sorts of ideas. Ideas that will requite many experiments and he knows he'll be a very willing test subject. He raises both eyebrows, "What were exactly all your expectations? A bit of unexplainable sensations that some attribute to magic and not natural biological reactions? Something otherworldly? A crush of space and time all in one spontaneous instant, breaking you apart for all eternity, so powerful you can barely remember your own self?"

She stops laughing then.

"We could do that." He shrugs, as though it's the easiest thing in the world. "We could do anything."

"Anything?" She asks him that question in a way that breaks him, just a little. It's the question of how far. The willingness to fall. For so many, it is carved in their nature, but for humans especially, it is terrifyingly powerful. And he's always admired it. It's just gone a bit different this time, spiraling to another level of curiosity.

He takes her hand in his. Familiarity must begin this journey. He takes her hand, and then moves it, in a southern direction, towards his cock, and that expression on Rose's face, oh, there are poets and composers and artists who try to capture that, he is quite sure. Or he's just gone a bit maudlin because this is the last time it'll be like this. Normal. Boring.

Adjectives he's cheerfully disregarded for over nine hundred years.

"I would be delighted," and with his other hand, he runs fingers across the edge of her jaw, almost tracing the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb, "Rose, if you'd care to join me, in finding the exact limitations of my body."

She doesn't answer him – instead she crushes her mouth to his, and soon enough, they've found themselves on the floor, her kneeling in front of him and his tongue running down her back, perspiration tasting exactly wonderful and entirely like her. Once he slides in, pushing in all the way and oh yes. He loves this.

And he can't wait to find out what else he loves.

*

"Conventional is just another way of saying sorry."

Rose stares at him, like he's mad. But then, she's the one who's dressed ready to go out and he's the one in just his trousers and trainers.

"No really, it is. You insult the Sneciigra by doing anything in a conventional manner, which makes it profoundly difficult to have proper small talk with anyone. They spend most of their time just thinking of new ways to do anything which has, not surprisingly, led to a very stagnant civilization for nearly four millions year. Which, incidentally, might just drive them mad as a stable government, really, how conventional is that?"

Rose just raises an eyebrow at that. "You want to assist in an overthrow, do you? A bit underdressed for the occasion, no?"

"Actually, I just wanted to surprise you and shag you rotten, a proper one too, with a drawn out climax and everything, but I've decided not to, mostly because I think everything in here's a bit too rough for a human and I don't think I'm going to be particularly concerned with being gentle. Also, I don't think it's right to shag on the TARDIS console, it's a bit demeaning."

Rose breathes out, "I don't think it's demeaning at all. I'd rather-"

"Oh," the Doctor says, realizing she'd missed the point, "I meant for the TARDIS. Not exactly fair, is it?"

There's a slight shake of her head in affirmation, but the twitch of her lips is more expressive. She's peeling off her jacket, draping it on the seat. Folding like only a former Henrik shopgirl can apparently, with swift, decisive motions. "Always knew about you and the TARDIS. Really, can you do anything about it, then?"

He's not entirely sure where's she going with this. So he blusters a bit and from Rose's reaction, she thinks this utterly endearing.

"That'll be a no, eh? Is there anything though? Something mutual you can manage?"

He blinks at her. "Are you asking me if I can have, uh, relations with the TARDIS?"

Rose laughs. "Relations. Honestly. You broke the showerhead off *my* shower, when we were trying to figure out the best setting, for," and here, she blushes again, instinct, "well, you were there, and now I'm asking, since I'm not blind and you do stroke bits of the TARDIS a bit too much, so I'm asking. Do you?"

And he's actually considering it. It's incredibly wrong. The TARDIS is, well it just is. It's an impossible question. But then, he invited her to follow him, he'd asked her to find the limits.

Just didn't think they would ever come up this quickly.

"No."

There's a quick nod. "I'm not in the mood to overthrow a government today. You said spontaneous. Right, let's go somewhere by accident on purpose, then." She's walking over the console, ever ready to assist.

It's slightly disappointing that this strange line of questioning has ended, but then, he isn't sure he wants to know what else she'll be asking him. So he starts entering in random coordinates and guesses and fiddles around with dates he's never been to and then dividing them by dates he has been, all leading to something he doesn't –

It's that moment she chooses to add in her own dash of spontaneity. And what a dash it is, Rose masterfully managing to get his trousers and pants pulled down with the very cunning deception of standing behind him and putting her hands around his waist. He'd assumed it to be just a small gesture before she asked him how could help and really, he loves being touched and she knows it. When he turns to face her, oh that was a bad, bad mistake, because she sinks down, incredibly fluid she is and why did he not notice that she'd folded her jacket just so on the couch before, that she'd moved it while he had been doing calculations in his vast and brilliant mind, set it just so on the floor and she's kneeling and she's about to –

"Doctor," Rose says, breathes, manages, and the Doctor is amazed he's even able to listen at this point, "It would probably help if the ride isn't as bumpy as it normally is." Then, oh then, she's opening her mouth and just a flick of her tongue to tease him, oh, that tongue and she's taking him and –

He doesn't see her hand flicking at the switch under the console but he hears it and the TARDIS swings into full gear, that glorious sound, the sound of home and even though this shouldn't be happening, oh this is just wrong, he will not stop. He's got his hands all over the console, trying to keep them from not hitting into anything, no bumping into any nasty stars or nebulas or pulsars and definitely, no landing, not yet. Oh, yes, and Rose, he isn't about to let her stop and the TARDIS cannot stop and he will not stop. Yes, not yet not yet not yet not –

Oh, he really liked that. He gasps and almost forgets himself, but that's impossible, he can't forget and the TARDIS is beneath his fingers, and ouch, that knob's digging into his palm, so he knocks it back and throws his hips forward a bit too hard and oh, that right there is perfect and his fingers are clutching into his TARDIS (his) and if he's shouting, it barely makes any impact as his beautiful ship moves and –

There's a blank spot, mere seconds it must be. The TARDIS has landed and Rose stands up, a bit shakily, leaning on him. She runs a hand along the TARDIS console, and he kisses her and he wonders if it's gratitude or selfishness or maybe it's both.

"Good then," she laughs against his mouth, and he's pulling at her jeans, pushing down knickers.

"I," he begins, but he pretends to be distracted at his task of shoving down those jeans, just enough, just to the knees and really, he's going to have to think about pulling up his own trousers. But he doesn't, so he's kneeling bare-arsed and ignoring how ridiculous he must look, and really, he's going to have to say something or she'll mock him for being stunned into speechlessness.

And he knows the best thing to say. The thing guaranteed to make her moan before he's even brought his tongue to her, tasting everything and anything. "It's your turn now, I'd hold on, but not to that navy lever or that black knob."

The TARDIS starts moving all over again, but not fast enough to drown out that first wonderful escaped moan as his tongue presses deep, anxious to discover everything.

*

The art of a good blowjob is not at all in the eye of the beholder. Oh, look, his brain's been melted.

Yeah, there's the mechanics, there's a certain technique and there's also the bloody knowing, knowing not only the body's responses but how to anticipate the next set of responses.

Rose is utterly adept, a near virtuoso. They've also practiced enough times to qualify for a public performance, he just wishes she had given him a signal other than dropping her fork, and really, why would he assume that she'd go under the table for another reason?

And yes, being that he is seated at the High Chancellor's Dais whilst she is displaying her craft, this makes it a public performance piece.

The Doctor considers shredding some of his grnvak and throwing it in the air like confetti. This is actually reasonably sane, it's an Yvengor way of saying, "this food is rather tasty." Now, if he tosses his plate up in the air, that means, "I agree, let us celebrate this event!"

And why is he thinking about Yvengor custom when Rose's hand manages to further push his legs apart? Fingers gliding slowly and oh, he didn't teach her that. She knew it. Bloody fantastic. One finger pressing inwards, slick with saliva, he hopes, he didn't see her stick her fingers into the murky soup dish that's still at her place setting.

When he gasps, he forces himself to say, "Sorry, it's just that I'm just amazed by those window treatments. They just really open up the space, don't you ah! Ah, don't you think?

The High Chancellor is silent and the Doctor hope that he isn't doing that twitchy thing with his face, the one that Rose has brought up on several occasions. He's biting his lip, but he doesn't remember that having a particular meaning to Yvengorese.

And it is truly hard staying still when Rose swallows him whole and finds that spot and he's clenching the cutlery in his hands hard enough that he's moments away from having permanent cutlery scars.

Damn, he probably is making that face.

Finally, the Imperial Advisor, after the lengthy silence, informs the Doctor that the window treatments are for mourning those lost at the great Hnevoi Charge. The High Chancellor's own brother died in that battle.

"Yes, yes right," he gasps, forcing himself to drop the cutlery and adopting a pose of supposed remorse, bending his face downwards. The less they see of his face, the better. He's feeling a bit warm in the cheeks, but he's sure he isn't blushing. Just refuses to believe that.

He can feel Rose's mouth and tongue, oh bless her tongue, and he's fit to frankly do nothing but duck his head, gone slack jawed and mute. But he presses on, his voice shaky, a thought crossing his mind that perhaps this is a rare occasion where he should bite his tongue, but he ignores that, "Sorry. Didn't know those window treatments were for the MOURNING OF OH YES THOSE POOR LOST SOULS, YES!!"

He's banging on the table and then, quite stupidly throws his bloody plate high in the air. When Rose comes up with a weak, "found it!" as she clutches a fork, the Doctor's fastening his trousers faster than anyone post-orgasm has ever done before him (and in all likelihood no one will ever beat his record) and he's jumping up from the dais. Nearly everyone else is standing up as well, looking like they'd like to make window treatments out of the Doctor and Rose.

Rose catches on quickly and says warily, "Doctor?"

"Run fast," the Doctor responds helpfully and they're on their way.

He'll later have to explain to Rose why they couldn't stay for the rest of the festivities, since celebrating the death of heroes isn't exactly polite guest behavior, and that perhaps next time they should mutually plan these public shags beforehand.

However, first he says, as they're safely hiding behind a rarely large rubbish bin in a dark little alleyway, "That was fantastic. We'll have to do that again. Only without the running for our lives bit."

Rose glares at him, tugging at the broken strap on her dress. Then the stern expression turns playful as she says, "Really? Thought that was your favorite part."

And he says, eyeing her in the most salacious way, "Is that a challenge?"

She doesn't answer but then, she doesn't have to, bless depravity.

*

For once all her makeup is useful.

She slathers the eyeliner on - and the mascara too, he blinks too much and she has to do it three times before she gets it right. She keeps on sticking out her tongue, like that's helping keeping the gunk from creeping towards the corners of his eyes. She sets her shoulders, as though this is brave work, a finger brushing over an eyelid to properly smudge the eyeliner. By then, his cock is painfully hard and he wants to say something, to say anything, but she notices first.

She sets the fedora down amongst the disarray of makeups and then she bends down, ever so gracefully, taking it in her lipsticked mouth and well, she bloody well knows exactly what's she's doing. It doesn't take long, no it doesn't take long at all, but it's perfect, really. When she comes up, her lipstick's all smudged. Some of it's even on his shaft and she doesn't seem to be embarrassed by that. Humans and their need to leave a mark.

He wipes a bit at the corner of her mouth and she cleans some mess off his crotch with a spare tissue, careful enough to leave remnants of her earlier activities. Enough to make it count.

Then she slides the knickers up his legs and goodness, how do women get around in these? At the same time, despite not being precisely comfortable, they're quite delightful to wear.

He could get used to this. Especially if he could just lounge around. Maybe shimmy a bit when he feels like it.

But there's still work to be done. Rose laces up the corset, pulling a bit too tightly at the chest, emphasizing the flatness. He'd consider adding something up top, but that's no what they're going for.

She's wearing a suit, not brown with blue pinstripes, she didn't fit in that one and he's not about to put on one of her hoodies and those strange track bottoms with the writing across the bum. That is not what this is about. Her suit is a sort of muted silver with sharp black pinstripes, fitted nicely to her form. Very nicely, he should add. She's wearing a flimsy sort of white blouse. Nearly transparent it is. Her little black bra is peeking through as if saying a very friendly sort of hello.

She'd dressed herself. He'd wanted to help but doubted he'd be of much use in putting on the clothes. And considering how bulky the front of her trousers looks, it appears that she's decided to put on everything. He can't wear to start tearing that suit apart.

They both snap the stockings into place. Her fingernails scratch at the exposed skin on his upper thighs. Not virgin flesh, but still aching to be touched deeper. For marks to be left. Fine, he can't mock humans for that desire.

He'd painted his nails black and she'd taken the polish off hers. They almost look dull but still feminine; they've been sharpened just a bit more than she normally trims her nails. If she presses a bit deeper, ah, there it is. Faint white marks blossoming on his thighs, fading into whispers of red.

She doesn't paint his lips and she needs to look in a mirror to correct her own lips. The lipstick is the color of bruised fruit, red and black and purple, every shade captured differently with a tilt of her head. Her own mascara is not as thick as it usually is, nor as black, and she's tempered down the eyeliner. Almost eradicated it really and it's fascinating to notice how much it does and doesn't change how she looks. Her hair's been done up, though some wisps fall down to frame her face.

When he places the hat back on her head, tilting it just so, if you were very drunk and almost completely blind, you might mistake her for a very pretty bloke.

With cherry bruised lips.

They'd intended to go out this evening, for as long as they could manage, but besides the Doctor's failed attempts to totter about in his three inch heeled boots (which amuses Rose, as she considers three inches nothing at all and is very glad to inform the Doctor just how ridiculous he looks), he realizes soon enough that if anyone dared approach Rose with an offer, he'd have to show just what a man he was, even in this dress.

Well, not a dress. He'd thought about putting one on, but really, that's overkill.

"I'm pretty enough without the dress?" He hasn't tried fluttering his eyelashes as he fears they might get stuck together. How in the hell did Rose manage to slap all this about her eyes and still have full visibility?

Rose stares at him. "You are wearing barely anything."

"Well most of my–" right, so most of his chest is pretty much completely exposed when he stands up, the corset sliding down quite happily. That's fine. Because these knickers cover most of the danger (and he's becoming more accustomed to them the longer he wears them) and the stockings are almost modest, really, a translucent near black with a subtle almost fishnet pattern (but not fishnet as that's a bit tacky). "Ah, you're right. I probably need a boa."

"A. Boa." She says this the way he might repeat back the words tea at your mum's.

"Yeah, a nice old boa, something preferably long so I can wrap it around and later, well we can find uses for it later." He winks and then winces. "I think my eye's gotten stuck."

"You should let it dry a bit, yeah." There is a gentle dabbing of something at his eye and she says, "Now open sesame, or whatever magic password you need."

He opens his eye. Hello there, blurry Rose, he doesn't say.

Rose laughs. "It looks like a runny bruise."

He bites back a comment, noticing that when she throws her head back just so, he can catch the still angry bruise, a purpled, violent affair, at the base of her throat, just before the meeting of neck and shoulder. He'd put that there, what, two days ago? And she hadn't bothered to cover it up.

Clever girl. Or not so clever, that'll just entice the locals. Unless she intends to inspire jealousy.

"Maybe I should wear something else," he says in a soft voice, his mind already ahead, whirling with all sorts of ideas.

"Yeah, do you think? I'm wearing a suit and, uh, all the rest of it, as promised," she shifts her hips just then, and oh, she shouldn't have done that, "and you haven't even bothered with a skirt."

He smiles at her; the lopsided affair that he knows she loves and knows it distracts her in all the right ways. "Do you really want me in a skirt?"

She looks at him, and then circles him and he lets her. It's a bit territorial and she doesn't touch him because he's far too greedy for touch. If he thinks rationally (which is a stupid thing to do; rational thoughts never lead to fun places or new discoveries), he might look a bit ridiculous in the high heels and the corset and the knickers. Not to mention the stockings.

Yet when Rose struts (that's what she's doing, oh yes it is) around him, so much shorter thanks to the heels he's wearing, he quite ignores that small moron part of his brain that is trying to use reason. He's not about to miss out on any of this.

She'd switched out the sensible trainers he'd left for her and chosen a pair of boots instead. The heels are spiked and he hadn't even broached the topic of experimentation with shoes before. He hadn't even thought about it and he thinks about everything and oh yes, he's certainly Having Thoughts about it now. Fucking her with boots on, having the spiked heels digging into his back, yes, he must know exactly how that feels.

But the way she's looking at him now. Loads of ideas, far more depraved, are just circling round his head. He really doubts that they'll make it outside the TARDIS. That's a first, there.

"Now that I'm tarted up, what will you do with me?"

She angles the fedora once more on her head. It's meant to look dangerous, but fails, falling somewhere in the vicinity of 'jaunty.' Then she says, "I think I'm going to shag you," and that now, that's perfect, dangerous all the way.

He moves to kiss her, but she ambles out of his reach, her lipsticked smile very wide. Feral, almost. And thanks to these bloody heels, he can't exactly make a motion to grab her without being guaranteed that he'll look like a baby giraffe taking his first steps and inevitably falling. "No. I'm the bloke here –"

"All evidence to the contrary," he interjects, because knickers meant for women don't hide that he's hard once again.

"I'm wearing the trousers," Rose says with a sweet smile and she makes it go lopsided a bit, like she's trying to mimic his grin. "Kick off your shoes."

That he does quite willingly. "I do believe, that when I'm wearing the trousers, my lady," and at this Rose stifles a giggle, trying to maintain her composure, "is allowed freedom to snog. In fact, I rather insist that whenever she feels she must, she should grab me and kiss me for however long a duration she feels necessary."

"Yeah, but you're not a lady, all evidence and all that." She comes closer then, and he kisses her, all messy and when they part, her lipstick's run only a little bit. She's peppering kisses up his jaw like she's got something important to say, gently bites the lobe of his ear, holding it between her teeth for a good long while and he shudders against her. She lets go and whispers, "You're a tart, like you said. Bend over."

He breathes out a response, probably something that's meant to indicate shock, but after all, he'd asked that she wear it and it can feel it pressed up against his thigh, he'd just thought later rather than sooner. He'd assumed some restraining using a boa would have been involved prior to the finale, as he'd envisioned it.

Yet, spontaneity. One must never forget the importance of surprise.

Still, she'd worn those spiked boots for some reason. He bends over just a bit and she's pressing up against his arse and he bites back whatever inane ramblings were about to spill out. He looks over his shoulder, watching her unbutton her jacket, she's keeping the hat on, and she pushes down the front of her trousers. "I was supposed to do that bit," he says, "I planned to –"

"Do it then," and there's a wonderful mischievous glint in her brown eyes.

He blinks, but before he can straighten up, she's pulled his knickers down and slapped his bottom, rather hard. She scratches her nails over the sore spot.

"Didn't say you could move." She presses up against him once more, but now all the anticipatory pleasure is laced with a thin edge of pain. One hand moves to the front of him, fondly rubbing his cock before moving lower, cupping his balls and he daren't move at all. Even though he wants to. Restraints don't have to include handcuffs and other things, although they should – sometimes it's just self-restraint. And he's always been rather poor at that.

Not this time. He will excel at it.

The moments pass by, he feels them, always, forever, he can't stop it anymore than he can stop wanting more, and just when he's about to break this self-imposed restraint, as she continues rubbing herself against him and her hand continues to explore, while her other hand is busy playing with the skin just underneath the top of his corset, she says the magic words. "You can move."

He knows many tricks, enough to puzzle an illusionist for decades and he's detached from her, and turned around and he's on his knees before she can do anything, say anything else. He's yanking impatiently at the zip and her trousers are pushed just down enough, and he says, looking up at her ( and he enjoys the view: mussed lipstick and jaunty hat and her biting her lip), "That is beautiful."

The response is beautiful as well. A shuddered intake of breath is fascinating to him, because really, it's not like he's deep throating something that's a part of her – it's an attachment, an accoutrement if you will – a fantastic strap-on that she's wearing. When he moves towards the head and strokes the base, he's not really giving her a blowjob, he can't frankly, but she's certainly showing her appreciation vocally. And when he abandons the strap-on, she makes a dainty little sigh that he quickly takes advantage of.

He's tearing her shirt off, just as he's wanted ever since he saw her walk in with this outfit on, kissing and licking upwards till he's standing up again, pulling her shirt off and she's unclasping her bra. He twists a nipple, knowing it hurts, and loving it when she gasps into his mouth. She did spank him, he'll take this revenge for now and hopefully she'll punish him later.

Really, these games are rather wonderful, when it comes down to it. His corset is staying on; he pushes her hands away when she attempts to start unlacing it. As if in response to that, when he moves to take off her hat, she grabs his hands, kissing both palms before saying, "You keep the corset, I get the hat."

An arched eyebrow is what she gets for that demand and she smiles then, not a mocking smile or a dangerous one, it's honest and pure. "You look ridiculous trying to do that when you look like you just lost a fight. Honestly Doctor, it isn't hard to wear mascara properly."

So he tackles her, but not really. It's easy enough to pick her up and really, he had been aiming to push her up against the wall, his cock and her not-cock rubbing up against each other, but he miscalculates by just a fraction and they're both tangled against one another on the ground. All the right parts pressed together, so really, it's not that bad at all.

But Rose is strong and bless her instincts, has pushed him on his back and she's pulling her trousers off, and just before she attempts to remove those wonderful shoes, he manages, "Keep the boots on," and she listens. Manages to tug off the trousers without losing those lovely boots.

Just wearing a hat and spiked boots and that strap-on. If he tells her how beautiful she looks, she might just punch him in the arm.

Later then, he'll tell her later.

They're both pulling his stockings off, they'd put them on so carefully and now it's hurried, scratching up and down his legs. She's the one that takes his panties off, pressing a messy kiss against his hipbone and he's grateful that she's gentle and yanks them off in one neat motion. A maneuver that leads to both of his legs over her shoulders.

"Well played, Rose Tyler," he murmurs and she actually bites his left calf, not even hard enough to leave a mark. And well, he's a bit disappointed at that.

"Wouldn't it work better if –" she hesitates, as though at a loss for words.

Astounded, the Doctor chides her, "I don't think I am in a position that calls for apprehension. Aren't you supposed to be shagging me?"

Honestly. Humans can pick the oddest things to worry about. Still, she isn't moving and being that he's very much in the mood to move, among other things, he moves his legs off her shoulders and is about to explain that this is perfectly fine and he wants but she finally speaks.

"I just mean, it would be easier, you know, if you were on your knees, yeah? And um, whether we needed lubrication?"

He blinks, carefully this time and his eyelashes don't stick together. "Yes," he answers stupidly. "To both. Did you check the jacket? I put it in the left, no, the right pocket."

She has very wide eyes and says, "No, I didn't."

He ruffles at his hair, and says, "I think you should take a peek then."

She's turning the jacket over in hands, finding the small bottle, a flat kind, and opens it. He watches her rub it between her fingers, a woman with a mission.

But his cock aches and he has to stop before he starts stroking himself and coming just by watching her fingers moving. He turns over, getting up on his knees and says, looking over his shoulder with a wide grin, "My turn now, isn't it?"

She's done this bit before at least and there's confidence, wonderful confidence, causing him to make some very unDoctorish noises. He might have begged, just a little bit before there are three fingers and she knows not to touch his cock or this will be a very brief performance. He rocks back, his eyes jammed shut and he doesn't care if his eyelashes get stuck again.

It's a bubbling feeling of pure giddiness as she removes her fingers, and she'd been so achingly careful, probably because of her fingernails, worried about pain, and really, the pain's almost half the reason why he wants. Then she's entering him, slow at first and then, she must realize that it's working, it's actually working because she shoves up all the way and he, well, he just has to scream.

She doesn't know quite how it's done from that perspective, her thrusts are uneven and she's not hitting the right angle. He has to bite his hand to keep from crying out and she's too bloody slow and steady.

"Doctor," she gasps, "I'm not sure, can you tell me how –"

He has to tell her so he stops biting his hand, reaching back and managing to grab her hip, keeping her from moving. "Like you'd like it. Maybe a bit faster. And deeper."

Sensing her nod of agreement, he releases her hip, steadying himself on his arms, spreading his legs wider. As she begins again, this time her thrusts are steady and she's so close to getting it right, he opens his eyes. He can feel her breasts against his back, her nipples are hard. The corset forces him to stay a bit more rigid than he likes, it's difficult to arch his back when she finally moves just right, a long deep stroke. If he hisses then, he doesn't feel any shame about it.

"Oh," Rose moans, "I felt that too, just when I pushed, oh, that's…"

She trails off and the Doctor's not surprised. There's a point when words are obliterated and he's teetering on that edge. It's hard and rough and ungainly, and it's just damn perfect. She takes his cock in her hand, still slick and wonderful and he clenches his teeth, hips pumping like he's fucking her hand.

She nips at the exposed skin on his back and it's like a jolt, all at once, teeth against skin, the sensation of rough-turned-smooth pleasure as she fucks him, steady pumping of his cock, and he comes quite easily.

Disengaging is a bit rougher than he expects, but it doesn't matter much, he's frankly the very definition of well-fucked. Rose is lying next to him and he looks at her, and says with honest wonder, "You kept your hat on."

"You kept the corset on," she says by way of response. She's rather uselessly attempting to undo the belt of her strap-on. Though he's quite content to lie down on the floor for a good long while, he assists with a few very nimble movements, earning a grateful kiss. "Thanks."

He almost says thank you as well, but doesn't, because he's saving his energy. She's still got those boots on. She smiles at him and he decides to look grim, almost disapproving.

Before she can question him, ask if there's a problem, if she's done something wrong, he's got his fingers exactly where she didn't expect them, moving inwards, pressing his thumb ever so close to the clit, but not quite there.

Her eyes flutter closed and he knows he can keep this up for such a very long time. But she's far too wet and so eager, he watches her hips move and she is frankly shameless and it's lovely. Lovelier still, when she comes, arching up, and here is when he says, "You're so beautiful," because she can take it any way she pleases and won't understand that's it's far more complex than just appearances.

It's quiet for a long while before either of them speaks.

"Do you wonder," Rose says, and she's wavering a bit, as though she's still in the warm rush, which the Doctor does have to admit, is a very lovely place to be, "do you wonder what it'll be like with a –"

"What?"

"With a man?"

"Well," he says, thinking about it, "It's –"

"Oh," she says, a bit deflated. "So you have –"

"Not in this body," he says. "Obviously."

"Well. Do you want –"

"I want everything," he says and he is utterly sincere, and if it's said a bit too harshly, a bit too strongly, then she has to understand. He wants to experience everything. Realizing that perhaps he should further explain himself, he goes on, "Yes, I would want to. And you have to understand that it doesn't mean –"

She presses a finger against his lips. "Can I watch?"

He grins at her, playfully nipping at her index finger. "Now, I should pretend to be shocked, but since I'm well, I've just been thoroughly shagged rotten, I'll leave mock surprise for another time."

"Promise?"

"Promise what?" And there's a moment when he fears, fears she will ask him for something he cannot give her and he will have to lie.

"All of it," Rose says, biting her lip before continuing, "everything. Anything."

He kisses the tip of her nose and snatches away her hat. "Yes," he says and he knows he is not lying, knows that he believes it even though it'll all go wrong in the end as all things do.

"Yes."

*

He'd laugh, but she's gagged him with the tie exactly how he specified (she's adept at following these instructions, he's learned, it's the rest of the bloody time, when her life is actually in peril that she isn't as attentive). It's all he can do to remember to fuck - breathe - as he bends over and takes it, staccato breathing betraying that he is just there, on the very edge of it all and it'll be a bloody marvelous plummet, it will.

Fortunately for him, he is brilliant and has a brain bigger than the size of a planet (or wait, was that a fictional robot?) and yes, he didn't quite catch the name of the eager bloke behind him, but well, it's the impression of him that's really making the - fuck - impact anyway. They'll exchange pleasantries later, he's just a bit tied up at the moment.

The handcuffs are digging into his skin just right, even though he hadn't wanted it before. Having his wrists shackled behind him unable to touch her? That's not entirely fair, now it is?

Then she'd done that thing with her mouth, tongue sneaking past her teeth and she'd whispered, "Just don't want you to sneak a taste before," and yes, that, that undid a little (or rather, all) of his hesitation.

Yes, then there's the fact that most of this was his idea. Or at least he thinks it was.

It's rather hard to think while he's watching Rose, sitting at the front of the bed, pleasuring herself as he's being fucked. She's the voyeur here and next time, he'll have to give it a go considering how much she looks to be enjoying herself.

But then, it's not like he isn't having quite the time, bent over and being fucked into the mattress by the kind Unnamed Gentleman With Whom He Must Exchange Pleasantries before they are off somewhere else getting into trouble (and hopefully experimenting with another improbably wonderful sexual experience) – and really, he must give him a shorter name, like Not Jack or something, and in fact, Not Jack it shall be, for the time being.

(When they had spotted Not Jack at the club – which she had insisted they'd enter even though they played nonstop dance music from the Twenty-Seventh Century, and really, that's not a century known for fine music – Rose had gasped and he had to stop her from rushing up to him, ready to jump into his arms. "That's not Jack," he had said, equally disappointed. And perhaps out of revenge for that, Rose had said, "Him. Can we, with him?" and the Doctor hadn't answered her, no, instead they went over and were charming and clever and this man, Not Jack, he at least held the same appreciation for both males and females.)

Really, it's probably incredibly rude to attach that name to this man but just then – well, Not Jack has just angled just right and he's not screaming, he's not, because he's been muffled quite utterly and the only sounds he makes are small and harsh and it burns straight through, past everything worth knowing.

Sex. He thinks if he every gets around to visit the inventor of it, he'll have to give them a hug. And definitely try to shag him/her/it.

Hot human hands are all over him and there are gentle questions being asked. Now is not a time for that nonsense. And Rose has learned that already, so she says something to Not Jack, and Not Jack stops petting him, like he's dazed and confused.

He's never dazed and rarely confused. He is sex worn and he thinks he might have ruined this tie by clamping down on it. He can taste the tang of his blood in his mouth, thankfully not tasting of iron (bleh, human blood). He looks up at Rose; she's now kneeling at the head of the mattress, working her fingers deep inside of her, actually moving in time with Not Jack's thrusts. The Doctor would be quite glad to assist her, but with his mouth and hands unable to do anything, it's rather frustrating, and he just tries to get her to take pity and at the very least, remove the tie so he can taste her.

She actually does read this from his expression, but instead she asks Not Jack to stop and if he could just be kind and let her move down onto the bed?

She's not wearing boots or heels which would at least make up for not being able to kiss her. But she works a hand between their bodies, arches her hips against his and his cock's now inside of her, pushed deep as Not Jack continues thrusting behind him. Rose and Jack, no wait, Not Jack, have to hold him, he's crushed between them and Rose is whispering something in his ear and he feels Rose's orgasm, the heady, spiraling rush of release and he comes, and it's all bloody marvelous.

Not Jack has come as well and he's lying off to the side, swallowing big gulps of air.

Rose unties the gag, freeing his mouth, kissing the corners, running a finger against his lip, and oh, he can taste exactly where that finger's been and he sucks on it, just a bit. Releases her finger with a dry kiss.

"Mmm," she declares, "that was lovely. Had a nice time, Bertram?"

Bertram? He mouths that to her, making sure Not Jack, sorry, Bertram, doesn't see it. Rose just inclines her head in a don't say anything stupid gesture. "Right, Bertram, my good man, if you wouldn't mind taking these handcuffs off? As interesting as this bondage has been, I'd rather like use of my hands back, thanks."

"No problem," he answers and it's not long before he leaves, giving Rose his contact information in case they decide to stay a bit longer. Right, they'd said they were tourists, which is almost correct, if tourists are involved in making sure a planet or the universe isn't destroyed while out shopping for knickknacks that'll look good on the mantel.

"Next time, no handcuffs," he declares. "Unless you're wearing them."

Rose smiles. "I've done handcuffs before."

This catches the Doctor's interest. "When?"

Rose looks at him, frowning slightly. "Do you really want the details? Even if they involve Mick–"

"Oh," he says. Winks at her. "Well, now that you mention it…"

Rose laughs. "Don't be stupid."

"What should I be then?" He's flexing his wrists, enjoying the freedom and wondering how long his wrists are going to be marked. It looks like he's conducting a symphony in bed.

"You're the Doctor," she says simply and she believes it so much, that he just has to kiss her.

"Now, Rose Tyler, do you have any other clever ideas?"

She pretends to think about that, affixing her finger on her lip, as though lost deep in thought. It looks incredibly ridiculous, just as her hair does when it's all mussed up only this time, he tells her it and when he does, she's overcome with laughter. "Right, because when your hair's been pulled all over and when you make that face," she mimics it, something like a grimace only a gargoyle could love, "that doesn't look even a bit idiotic."

"Never said I didn't look ridiculous." He moves then, ducking his head and biting her nipple. "And you, naughty girl, are evading my question."

"Think it's your turn for being clever, Doctor."

"Is it?" And the Doctor beams at her. "Well, never fear, Rose, I've got some extraordinary ideas. And I believe I promised everything."

She shudders her yes and the Doctor smiles, knowing as far as the wanting goes, he hasn't quite found where it ends. And there are still so many perversions he longs to experience.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 16:36:18 GMT

Title: Be Careful What You Wish For
Author: castrovala9
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: M
Warnings: Beta'd by suntrappt.

The Doctor took her inside the TARDIS wardrobe room every time.

She hadn't known it would be that way, of course, not the afternoon in the console room when she had gathered her courage and blurted out the question of why they weren't sleeping together, given the fact that she loved him, he obviously loved her, and wasn't that what people who were in love did. She waited tensely, nearly holding her breath, until eventually he nodded and smiled and told her to follow him. It never occurred to her to refuse, or to ask exactly where they were going.

He always picked her outfit. The first time it was a kilt, and at the sight of it she almost backed out of the room before things had fairly begun. Then she reconsidered, figuring a bit of roleplaying couldn't hurt and after all, she was finally getting what she wanted so she couldn't rightly complain. So she wore the kilt and knelt before him and he commanded her to be harder, rougher, as she sucked him off. When she wasn't, he rammed himself down her throat and made her choke before he relented. She practised on a banana for hours that night.

The purple uniform she wore the next day was faded and tight across the front, and the Doctor closed his eyes after he asked her to adopt an Australian accent and taunt him throughout. Her accent slipped and her voice faltered; she almost stopped, a dozen and more times. The Doctor, though, clearly wanted it, and he slammed into her harder with every insult, especially the ones about Heathrow. After he came, he lay atop her for long minutes before rolling away and quickly finishing her off with his fingers. He stared at her with cold, hard eyes and left the room, abandoning her to pick herself up when she was able.

Rose decided she never wanted to wear the purple uniform again, but the next time he selected it, she did not complain.

She liked the animal pelts much better. Wrapped in them, she felt feral and dominant, and it turned out that was exactly how the Doctor wanted her to behave. She exhausted herself on top of him; the gouges she had carved into his back stained her fingers.

After that, she wore a vast variety of items: long, thin, bright, flowing, new, old, and alien, foreign to both body and mind. Most pieces were comfortable, a few were awkward, and she accepted them all with little thought until the morning he reached into the wardrobe, shoved aside her dinner lady outfit, and pulled out an impossibly long multicoloured scarf. She nearly balked at that point, except that if she objected, she knew they would never enter this room together again, would revert to a "just" relationship: "just" friends, "just" travelling companions. So she stayed, and learned that two of the scarves provided enough material to tie her down and leave sufficient for a blindfold and a gag. They were also long enough to tie, blindfold, and gag the Doctor, she found out later.

Of course, she didn't always call him "Doctor" when they were inside the wardrobe room. Sometimes he made her use different names: "Professor," "Master," and strangest of all, "Grandfather," which she uttered whilst wearing a schoolgirl uniform and being eaten out atop a desk.

And sometimes he called her different names, though he always seemed to regret it later. The time he was roughest, when he fucked her with the carrot and then atop the exercise bicycle, it was "Mel." The time he was most gentle, when she wore the velvet garb and he took her slowly, he murmured a name that sounded something like "Missy," though that wasn't quite right.

Then he called her nothing when he entered her from behind as she wore a skimpy blouse and short shorts.

The following afternoon, he suggested that she go home to stay with her mum for a while. He didn't say for how long, or when he might return.

When she unpacked inside the flat, her Union Jack t-shirt was missing.

Plausible Deniability

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 16:34:28 GMT

Title: Plausible Deniability
Author: kijikun
Pairing: Rachel Smith/Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Unsafe sex, debatable incest, public sex. Beta'd by miriel and sakuracorr.

The Doctor held his beer with both hands, not drinking it. The pub was crowded, and he was supposed to be somewhere else. There was a football game on the TV, but he wasn't watching. Mostly.

The man next to him at the bar had been great company. He didn't even look in the Doctor's direction. Not a single question or entreaty that started with "but Doctor..."

When the man left, a young brunette woman hopped up onto the barstool.

"Mind if I sit here?" She asked with a london lilt to her speech.

He shook his head, and she smiled widely. The Doctor went back to not drinking his beer, not watching the game, and added not studying the girl.

She leaned across the bar, her brown braid falling over her shoulder. "Mark, can a girl get a beer or what?"

Mark, the bartender, laughed. "Thought you'd still be putting finishing touches on things for tomorrow, 'Chel?."

"And miss the game?" She snorted, taking a long drink of the beer he set in front of her. "Besides Dan went back to London yesterday, and the rest of my crew went back to the hostel. No sense of fun, the lot of them."

The Doctor noticed mud caked to her work boots and the cuffs of her faded jeans.

"Rooting for Scotland?" She asked him, nudging him with her elbow. She had an easy going smile. "You're scowling at the TV something awful."

He shook his head. "I'm not very fond of football. Give me a good cricket match any time."

She laughed. "At least you're honest. Most blokes would lie through their teeth."

The Doctor thought, hoped, she'd leave him be after that, but she didn't. Instead, she provided a running commentary on the game. He found he didn't mind much, as she cast aspirations on the referee's ancestries in Middle English.

"What sort of work are you doing?" The Doctor asked during a lull in her rant on why the Scottish team should be required to play in kilts.

"War and siege machines." She told him, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

"War and siege machines?" The Doctor repeated.

She finished off the last of her third beer and nodded. "Catapults, trebuchets … that sort of thing. Everything you need to lay siege of a castle or fortress." She waved at the bartender for another beer. "There's a competition on who can build the most authentic the fastest and have it hold up to extreme weights and such."

"You build them then?" He asked even though he knew the answer. He liked her voice.

"We design them too. The blueprints must be original drafts from one of the build team. We have to base our entries upon designs from the Crusading period, but we can make any modifications that we want as long as the framework stays intact. Lots of wiggle room, though you have to prove your sources." She explained, beaming. "My designs and calculations will see us to a win this year. Those Cambridge snots will get taken down a peg or two when they see us launch a car over their bleeding heads."

"How are you dealing with the stress factors?" He asked, curious despite himself.

"Well -" The Doctor watched her pull a pen out of her pocket and grabbed a napkin as she launched into her explanation.

The Doctor nodded as he listened; her numbers and calculations were sound. "And how do you know I'm not a spy from another team?" He smiled at her. He wondered if the girls would be interested in watching the competition but decided it wasn't worth thinking about.

She smiled slyly. "A charming spy."

He realized with a jolt that she was flirting with him. He didn't mind. Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn't place it.

After an hour of flirtation over discussion of sources and physics equations, the Doctor pulled out money to pay for both their beers. "Let me walk you to your hostel." He heard himself offer. He didn't say, 'Come travel with me,' though he wanted to. He had companions already, a TARDIS full in fact.

"All right," She agreed after a moment.

A block from the pub, in a small tree lined park, she kissed him.

The Doctor let her.

She was young, nineteen or twenty at the best.

When she stepped back, he pulled her forward again. He kissed her and licked her lips. She tasted like beer and ink; he wondered if she chewed on her pens.

She was young, and still thought calculations and number could give her all the answers.

The Doctor pushed her back against the rough bark of the tree behind her. The shadows hid them from view of the path. She worked a hand under his jumper and stroked the bare skin of his waist. His hand was up her shirt, fingers spread on her skin.

She thought she could change things just by being right. That her careful research and plans would change stagnant, long held beliefs.

She slipped her tongue in his mouth, taking what she wanted. His fingers teased her through the soft cotton of her bra. Her lips left his so she could draw in a shaky, gasping breath and she let him pull her shirt up.

She brimmed with excitement and promise, and he wanted that. It had been too long since he was Theta Sigma, since he'd wanted to be. So long since he'd believed all the things that he could hear in her voice.

Her fingers were on his pants dragging down the zipper, pulling at the button. The Doctor had his mouth on her breast, sucking through the multi-colored fabric. Her free hand clutched his head. He didn't have to ask if she was sure. He'd of been when he was like her.

Rash, proud, so sure of herself.

He still was, just not like that.

Her hand was in his pants, and his fingers were unfastening hers. He fumbled and didn't have to worry about the universe coming to a messy end. He pulled her hand from his pants and sucked on her fingers.

He dropped to his knees, pulling down her pants and knickers along the way. She kicked off her shoe, pulled her right leg free of her clothing, and grinned down at him. He pulled her leg over his shoulder, and felt her muscles tremble to hold her weight. She leaned back against the bark.

Nothing in her panting breaths sounded like no or a name. That suited him fine.

Her fingers pulled at his hair. He strained his tongue against her, knees aching.

Her gasps sounded muffled, and he looked up. She held a hand over her mouth, biting the skin.

He reached up and pulled her hand down, holding her wrist against the tree as he pressed his tongue inside of her. When she came, her fingernails dug into his hand. Her legs shook as if they'd give way.

She let her leg fall from his shoulder and stroked his hair; he helped her straighten her clothes. When he kissed her, their teeth knocked. He walked her to the hostel and she kissed him, biting his lip as she did.

She didn't say goodbye.

He didn't ask her name.

The Doctor walked back to the TARDIS; he hoped he could change his pants before any of the three youths aboard noticed.