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Lost in the swell and ebb of the gaseous nebula clouds that were currently brushing the upper atmosphere of Utlpat IIX, the Doctor stretched a bit. His foot brushed something warm, and he jerked it back, embarrassed to have just kicked his companion. She hummed and didn't look away from the sky. He opened his mouth to apologize, but just then her hands groped groggily for his foot. They'd both pulled their socks and shoes off when they sat down for their picnic. Her human-warm hands curled around his ankle first and began kneading the muscle there.
The Doctor made a wholly humiliating noise as his spine just turned to jelly but managed to lift his head to peek at her. Her hair looked like a foreign blossom against on the pale blue blanket in the half-light of dawn. Her small, sure fingers began rolling around the ball of his ankle, working the tension there down toward his heel. She wasn't paying any attention to him, watching the sparkling tide as the gas sizzled in the coming light of Utlpat IIX's rising run. It felt good in a way nothing had for a long, long time. It was accidental, incidental, and perhaps unintentionally sensual. It was distracting.
It was just a tiny bit seductive.
She squirmed some and pulled his foot up onto her belly, kneading the heel of his foot with the edge of her palm. Her billowy blouse felt silky and warm against his ankle as her stomach rose and fell evenly with her breath. That tiny motion made his pants leg tickle his calf. Somehow, the pestering sensation was telegraphed in the way he shifted his leg, and she reached over to scoot his pants leg up just enough that it wouldn't catch and tickle. Could she read him so well?
Instinctive psychic barriers loosened as he allowed the skin-to-skin contact to continue, and he should block her out. She wasn't remotely psychic, and it was impolite to feel someone with no awareness, but even as the thought occurred, she began rubbing his instep with the ball of her thumb. The Doctor's sense deserted him in a whimper of bliss.
As he relaxed further, more of his barriers loosened, grew less opaque. Her mind was on the sky and the beauty of it. And why were some of the sparks different colors? He started to answer, but only just remembered that she hadn't asked out loud. She was so completely relaxed, at peace. It was wrong, unethical, a violation of her trust - but he just closed his eyes and drifted in the ocean of her - borrowing her solace.
He was vaguely aware of her capturing his other foot. The first was left just below her navel as she began working on the second.
Slowly he lost track of the world spinning, falling, flying beneath them; of the stars roiling, rolling, and dancing around them; of time pulling, dragging, and drawing them on. There was only the soft breeze, warm hands, a soft silky shirt, and completeness.