Chapter Text
It wasn’t the kind of sex he was used to having.
The Doctor had flings, mostly. Impressive people, life-threatening situations, and lust. They were fun, hot, sometimes recurring, but they weren’t romantic.
Even with Rose, they’d mostly messed around in their earlier stages. When the feelings got too real it stopped. When Jack left, when he regenerated, that kiss… Well, after that, they really were in love. And it felt different, vulnerable. It felt like it had stakes, suddenly. So they didn’t.
Well, once. But it was an accident. And they never talked about it after.
In fact, he didn’t remember the last time he’d had really romantic sex, at least on his part. Hot, sure. Erotic, definitely. But romance… it just wasn’t in his nature, to be honest. He was the king of grand gestures, yes, he could take someone on the best date of their life. But there wasn’t anything erotic about it to him. It was too vulnerable. Too real.
Eroticism was much more brutal for the Doctor. The times he was spontaneously turned on he was a little ashamed of (a feeling he was much, much better at than romance). It was when he saved someone from certain death. When he watched someone suffer who he thought deserved it. When he escaped by the skin of his teeth. When someone he was attracted to was vulnerable, when they needed him.
And when he was angry. Always when he was angry. The blood rush was addictive. The power, the control, the dominance of anger got to him. Those moments when he knew he could have whatever he wanted and the only thing stopping him was himself.
But River… his River. She had been through so much. She deserved someone who could love her gently. Who could make her feel safe and cared for and understood. And he wanted to. He wanted to be that for her. Wanted to be her sanctuary. In so many ways, she was his.
So maybe he could learn. Or something.
Or maybe it would be different, with her. She was different.
These were the things rushing through his mind as he piloted the TARDIS to pick up River from prison. In fact, they had been rushing through his mind for days as he decided where and when he was going to bring her for their first real date. He was trying to do this one somewhat chronologically. They had just gotten married. Amy and Rory were home. River was in prison. And he wanted to start this new era off right.
He’d been putting it off, if he was honest. He wanted it to be the right place, the right time, he wanted to do it the right way.
So, on her first birthday in prison, just a few months after she was sentenced, he materialized in front of her cell, popped the lock open from inside the TARDIS, and peeked his head out of the door.
“Happy birthday. Coming?” he asked.
River had been reading. She hadn’t been enjoying prison, exactly. It was Stormcage, after all, it wasn’t meant to be hospitable. However, if she was going to be here for the rest of her life, she had to get used to it.
She had fairly quickly been able to land herself a better cell than she should have, given her security level. She was well on her way to establishing a contraband pipeline that would give her a bit more freedom, and she had started corresponding with some former colleagues who were still interested in her help with their current research programs. Killing a man didn’t negate your doctorate nor your peer-reviewed research, and there were certain specialties where you just couldn’t be picky about your research partners. You took coauthors where they were available, whether they’d been sentenced to life or not.
Besides, nobody really knew why she was in prison. Even among those who knew about the Doctor, nobody wanted to publicize the fact that the universe’s protector was dead. Most of her students and colleagues took the perspective that if River Song killed someone, she probably had a damn good reason. At least, that was the sense she got from the letters.
River had devoted most of her spare thoughts to her husband. However complicated her feelings about “murdering” him were, the Doctor knew her well, and he knew that her complete joy in marrying him would overwhelm most of the guilt and heartbreak of the consequences. He’d been right. Prison, in exchange for being the Doctor’s wife? Sure. Any day.
More than a fair exchange, in her opinion.
She wasn’t expecting him to just show up. To park his TARDIS alongside her cell in one of the highest-security prisons in the galaxy and break open her cell hands-free, like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a million times. She supposed that maybe he had.
“Do you have to ask?” she replied, but he had already ducked back inside. She grabbed her diary, a few choice objects she’d prefer to have on her person, and stepped into the TARDIS. “Hello, love,” she whispered, taking a long moment to admire the console room with its whirring, gentle sounds and glowing lights. Hello, my child, she almost heard back.
This was the way that the TARDIS spoke to River. In almost-words, and almost-phrases, and more-than-whole ideas. Gently, inaudibly. In fact, the TARDIS spoke to River in the same soft voice that she sometimes heard in her own mind, tied to thoughts she didn’t deserve to have. The voice that sang her lullabies when she struggled to sleep. The voice that forgave her when she killed. The voice that heard her self-deprecation and simply laughed it off. The voice that insisted she was worthy; even good.
The TARDIS said something else to River, but she didn’t understand it. Not yet. She couldn’t even quite parse the words, much less the meaning.
“And hello, sweetie,” River said in a louder voice, to her husband. “Where are we this time?”
“Well, I’ve done my best to sync us up, actually. Last I saw you, we were by the lakeside. I assume the same is true for you.”
“Yes, it is. Good aim.” She smirked. “For once.”
“Hey! I fly this thing perfectly, I’ll have you know.” The TARDIS whirred a bit louder at that, like she was laughing at him.
“You TARDIS is not a thing, dear, she’ll have you know,” River said with a teasing smile. They hadn’t had many opportunities like this. Quiet moments together in the TARDIS.
“Oh, great, now you two are in kahoots!” The Doctor threw his hands up towards the console. “All I’ve done for you, and this is what you do? You steal my wife?” River laughed out loud. She didn’t think she’d done that since killing him. She was at peace, sure. Happy, even. But the bursting joy at just being in the same room as him was like nothing she’d felt before.
His wife. She was his wife. If River was elated at that, it was nothing compared to what the Doctor felt, finally saying it aloud in a moment that didn’t feel like the end of the universe. It was finally real.
He’d known since the moment she’d whispered his name in the Library that he would marry River Song. But he’d always felt that if he said it, even thought it, he’d jinx it before it ever happened.
Now, though. Now it had happened. Now he could say it. She was his wife.
“So, where are we going?”
“Well, take your pick. All of time and space, and you’re owed a very nice honeymoon for saving the universe.” River felt herself blush. She thought she probably didn’t deserve a compliment for saving the universe when she was the one who almost ended it, but frankly? She was going to take every positive affirmation she could get at the moment, given the state of her stomach and back. Prison really wasn’t for the weak.
“I bet you do this with all the girls,” she teased. She hadn’t meant anything by it; though, maybe subconsciously, she needed confirmation that this was real. That it was more than just strategy. That he had actually wanted to marry her, no matter what he had said in Area 52.
“Yes,” he replied, his tone suddenly more serious as he stepped back from the console and took a few steps towards her until they were just a few inches apart. “But not like this.”
She didn’t have much time to think before his lips were on hers. They were soft, gentle. He kissed her slowly and carefully, his hands moving to rest on her lower back. She felt herself melt into it. She hadn’t realized how unfamiliar safety had become in these past few months. She was an escaped prisoner flying though the time vortex in a faulty TARDIS with a known madman; but she felt safer in this moment than, perhaps, in her entire life.
When he finally pulled away from her lips, she was crying. The Doctor’s stomach dropped. Had he misread this entirely? Had he timed it wrong?
He leaned away, still embracing her but offering space.
“You’re crying.” Barely, yes, but the tears were there. One had already started making its way down her left cheek. The other was still welling. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful her eyes were; and, immediately, felt ashamed to be paying attention to something like that when she was clearly in distress.
“Well, who can blame a woman for crying on her honeymoon? It’s an emotional time, after all.” The Doctor looked confused. There were those puppy dog eyes. Sometimes making the Doctor sad felt like taking candy from a baby.
“I don’t get the sense that sadness is the predominant emotion expected after one gets married,” he replied.
“What about when one is widowed and imprisoned immediately afterward?” She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, hoping he wouldn’t mistake a bit of banter for blame. She knew how he could be.
Still, there was a little moment of hesitation in his brow at that, so she leaned in and kissed him again.
“It’s just nice to see you, that’s all. You could take me to a 20th century landfill and I’d be happy just to be near you, my love. You’ve done nothing wrong.” She put on a smile. It wasn’t hard.
“Hmm,” was all he said in reply. He thought he probably didn’t deserve the absolution—he had done plenty wrong—but frankly? He was going to take every positive affirmation he could get at the moment, given the state of his heart. Dying really wasn’t for the weak.
“If you won’t make up your mind, then I suppose I’ll have to choose,” he said, moving to the monitor and plugging in some new coordinates. “Can’t imagine prison is particularly comfortable. I am sorry I’ll have to return you after this. But I’ll try to return you better than I found you, how’s that? And not for a good while.”
And then they arrived. Somewhere.
“Stay here for a second.” The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS. She could hear him talking to someone vaguely, and eventually he must have gotten what he wanted, because he stepped back inside and said, “Alright. We’re here. Throw something on, but don’t worry too much. Wardrobe is—”
“Yes, dear, I know where the wardrobe is, thank you.” The Doctor would readily admit, this confused him. When had she spent time in the TARDIS? But he assumed he’d find out eventually. Spoilers, right?
She didn’t end up bothering with the wardrobe; as soon as she approached it, she spotted a brand new door immediately to its right, and a small hum in her mind directed her to open it.
It was, undeniably, her bedroom. She had never seen it before, but nobody else in the world would suit this bedroom as well as River did. She wanted to spend hours exploring what the TARDIS had put together for her, but decided that now was not the time. Certainly she would have the opportunity eventually. For now, she simply threw on a nicer dress and cleaned some of the prison feeling off her body.
When she stepped out of the door, she was struck by a cloud of warm, sweet-scented mist. The light was low and she could hear the rush of water coming from somewhere nearby.
“Welcome to Brachen 3, River Song.” She heard the Doctor’s voice from her right before he stepped into view. “The premier honeymoon destination of the 48th century.”
This was romance, he thought. The formula was clear. Beauty, wonder, peace, time together.
And it was romantic. They spent the day working the discomfort of a cell bed out of River’s bones, massaging the tension out of her muscles, replacing prison meals with delicious dishes and confections. She felt like a new woman after it all, and the Doctor had spent much of his time just… looking at her. Taking her in.
He hadn’t seen River at peace, he realized. Always her brain was working in overdrive. Always she was one step ahead of everyone around them. Calm, collected, without fail; but tranquil?
It looked good on her.
After a long while, the Doctor decided that River seemed at least marginally more whole. He had taken his share of the services offered, too, and the two were smiling when they returned to the TARDIS.
“I found my bedroom,” she said. “Have you seen it?” He hadn’t.
“Do you want some time alone? To explore it?” He diverted his eyes a bit. Frankly, he didn’t want to spend longer than a moment apart from her, not yet, but there was something sacred about River’s bedroom. It was here, archived, long before she was even conceived. He was sure it was something special.
“I’d love you to accompany me,” she replied with a wink. River was feeling very good. It had been months since she’d been touched, really touched, and a long massage had filled a cup she hadn’t realized was empty. And, frankly, it had gotten her imagination running. She wondered if her husband would take the invitation for what it was.
“Lead the way.” Seeing new places in his TARDIS was always exciting, but this feeling was a new kind of excitement. He had been invited to River’s bedroom. They were married. They were on their honeymoon. There were certain things that tended to lead to.
And he was overwhelmingly nervous. Completely unsure of himself, which was a difficult feeling to grapple with.
It must have shown on his face, because River strode towards him, took both hands in hers, and kissed him deeply until she could feel him relax into it.
“Come on,” she whispered.
He followed her to her bedroom door and stepped inside one pace behind her. For a moment, he just stood, stunned. Clearly, his TARDIS had a favorite. This was like nothing she had seen her make before. Not ever.
It was the size of a house, easily. There was a kitchen, and a full bathroom with a million nozzles in the shower, and a small swimming pool with a hot tub. There was a walk-in closet that seemed chock full of every type of clothing imaginable, all tailor-made for River.
God, and the bed. It was the biggest bed he’d ever seen, circular, with embroidered curtains encircling it. It was plush and soft and a deep TARDIS blue. He looked up and noticed that the entire ceiling above the bed was mirrored.
Near the door was a garden. A garden! With a pond, and a small waterfall, and a little river running through to the bathroom. There were koi in there, for goodness’ sake.
“Now this is just ridiculous,” he laughed, looking up at the ceiling as he usually did when he spoke to his wonderful machine. “What in the world have you done?”
The walls glowed with a strange golden light for a moment before they faded.
“A consolation for my time in prison, she says.” It was odd having a TARDIS translator on board. Not bad. Just odd.
“Nah, excuses. I think she just likes you.” River had walked over to the bookcase and started to peruse the spines. The Doctor followed her over and draped himself ridiculously across a fainting chair.
“Can I ask?” River turned toward him after a long, comfortable silence where he stared at her and she stared at books, sometimes plucking a volume off the shelf and handing it out to her husband to look at. “You said, in Berlin, I’m a child of the TARDIS. Was that a known phenomenon, among Time Lords?”
He made a small, contemplative noise.
“A Time Lord conceived in a TARDIS would just be a Time Lord. We’re adapted to the conditions of the vortex. What you are, River, is because of your humanity.”
“Including communicating with her?”
“Yes! Definitely. That’s an empathic connection. Maybe one unique to your species, maybe one unique to you. But no, it wasn’t a known phenomenon on Gallifrey.” There was a pause.
River was thinking about the implications of a psychic link between her and another living soul. She’d thought about it much and often, and she knew the answer to the question she’d just asked was a specific divergence in the possibility tree she had created. She now knew that what she was and what she could do was new in the universe, which meant her capabilities and limitations could only be ascertained through the circumstances of her life as she would live it. Nobody else could find out for her.
The Doctor was thinking about what to say next. What he didn’t want was to bring up bad memories, difficult emotions for River; but mostly, he didn’t want to imply that everything that made her special was because of the Silence. That the things he loved about her were because she was kidnapped, manipulated, kept in captivity, changed into something else. Something new.
“I don’t think your connection to the TARDIS is something the Silence made happen. You may have been born with that anyways. They took you because you had the beginnings of something they wanted. They didn’t make you what you are, not entirely. She had more of a hand in that than the Silence ever did.” He gestured vaguely around them.
He was good, she’d give him that. Of course it was something she wondered. Did Kovarian really make her what she was? Of course she would never have said it, never have wanted to jeopardize a moment with the Doctor by indulging in self-pity, in the what-ifs and were-nots of time and consequence.
“Thank you,” was all River said. She was quiet.
“Hey.” Firm, commanding. She turned to look at him. He was looking through her eyes like they were windows, looking at the inside of her. “You exist in spite of them, not because of them. They were nothing. Like a squirrel that kicks a seed across the path to different soil.” His hands were on her upper arms now, holding her in his line of sight. “The universe made Melody Pond. You, River Song, are inevitable.” He was still looking at her when he said that, but looked down shyly before adding, “You’re a necessary part of a fixed point in time. Where there is me, there is you.”
It had been a long day full of intentional sentiment, but this was a kind of romantic confession that only ever came to the Doctor by way of an accident. What the Doctor had just said, whether he realized it or not and whether he would have preferred these words, was that their marriage had been fated. That they were destined.
It was an idea that River had always rejected simply because it would mean too much. Because if she believed it and at any point was refuted by her husband, it would break her. This was the nature of her relationship with him. Every time she saw him, his understanding of her would be different. Unpredictable. And so her expectations had to be fluid. She knew not to rely on his feelings toward her.
So this statement, this suggestion, that they had always and would always have been married, was the kind of wedding present she would never have imagined possible.
“You certainly know how to make a girl swoon,” she said after a long pause to find the right combination of a trite and genuine remark.
He just blushed. No snarky reply, no flirtation. He could feel his heartbeats picking up in pace. He could feel himself anticipating where this might go. What they might do before leaving this room next. And since he was feeling the anticipation, he was also starting to think about it.
He had seen her partially naked a few times that day, had even stared, and he was starting to see that image in his mind’s eye looking at her now. What would she look like, sitting in that position on the chair without clothes on? How might her outline change? How would the light hit her?
How might he touch her? What would she feel like? He imagined handfuls of River Song. Holding her naked body with his bare hands. Pressing against her.
He must have been easy to read, must have been staring for a little too long to go unnoticed, because before he could say anything River was on him, so forcefully that it pushed him backwards against the chaise.
She was unbelievably powerful. Unbelievably strong. And her lips were unbelievably soft, so warm, the smell of her so intoxicating, the insistence with which she pushed her body against him so overwhelming. She smelled so good, how did she smell so good? It wasn’t perfume, because she smelled like this all the time, even now after a full day at a spa. It was familiar. It was…
Time.
River had been patient while he looked at her, so clearly undressing her in his mind. She took the opportunity to do the same. She thought about what she already knew so well: his hands and fingers, his forearms, his silhouette. But she particularly thought about everything she hadn’t seen. His chest, his shoulders, his biceps, his stomach, his legs. His cock. For a long while, she sat and let him wonder about her body. But soon, the hunger written boldly on his face got to her, too.
They were kissing, and touching, even groping at each other. Already, they were both making small, pleading sounds, muffled, into one another’s mouths. All of the build up of the day hit them at once. Decades of wondering collided together onto one chaise lounge, wrapped around their bodies, and tied them together. It was like they were magnetized.
River straddled the Doctor, her arms around his neck. He had his hands around her, with one slipped up her shirt to run across her back and the other holding her hips firmly against him.
This wouldn’t do, he decided. The chair was too narrow, too restrictive. If this was happening—oh, he hoped this was happening—he wanted to be able to move her. Pick her up. Spread her legs. He tried not to get ahead of himself, tried not to let his imagination wander too much, tried to stay grounded in the feeling of her body on top of his. But he knew it would be harder the longer they did this, to stay focused. He would get distracted and give up on logistics.
Better to move now.
She anticipated what he was about to do a full five seconds before he did it. His back moved, his hands twitched like his body was mapping out how to grab and lift her best. She secured her hands around his neck, braced her weight on his shoulders so she didn’t choke him when he grabbed her waist and stood, still kissing her. A few long strides and she was on the bed, laid out underneath him. They both stopped for a moment to catch their breath.
River’s breathing was shaky. Her heart rate was impossible. She shivered with delight and pure arousal. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, lips parted and glistening, face flushed across her nose and cheeks. The Doctor looked at her closely, breathed her in. He almost moaned when he caught the warm, glowing scent of her in one of River’s exhaled breaths. His cuffs were undone and rolled up to expose his forearms, which were holding his weight on either side of her. She had started unbuttoning his shirt and it hung down around the both of them.
Her curls were like a halo on the pillow underneath her head. His hands sunk into her hair gently, brushing against her scalp. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to take her curls in his fist instead. To hold her there, securely, so she couldn’t get away, so he could never lose her. Guaranteed to know where she was in one minute or eleven. No disappearing acts for River Song.
But he didn’t. He ran his hands through her locks with great care, maneuvering around tangles slowly and studiously, tracing a thumb across the back of her ear. He let his body weight rest on her so that he could use his other hand to touch the rest of her body, to slip his hand under her hem and feel the soft skin of her stomach, to touch her lightly and note the goosebumps that followed.
River, meanwhile, had her eyes closed. She was focusing on the sensations, hoping she could map them well enough to extrapolate later. The firm, growing form of his shaft pressed against her. To memorize the pads of his fingers, their pressure and weight, the slight tremble to them; to take that and bring it to her own bed, to her own fingers, to her own pressure and weight as she imagined what more they could do and wouldn’t. She could feel his hand running across her hips, thumbing her hipbones. She imagined how it would feel for him to grab them. To press down until they bruised. This thought brought out a moan from her lips, entirely unbidden, and he caught them between his own in reply.
Her respect for his restraint, his own rules, the cosmic necessity of the Doctor’s reticence to harm kept River from asking. She wasn’t shy about what she liked in bed. She wasn’t afraid of what he might unleash—god, what a thought—but she didn’t want to discomfort him. She didn’t want to ask him for something he couldn’t offer. Like a junkyard dog, she would take whatever scraps of himself he threw out for her. Whatever the Doctor might give her: cruel, kind, mistrusting, adoring, jealous, lustful, childish. Her tastes mattered so much less than her hunger.
When she opened her eyes she saw his face, gaze tracing the contours of her skin, her hair, like he was trying to memorize her too. The expression on his face was almost impossible to parse—at least for anyone else. Even still, in this state (wet, relaxed, pinned under her Doctor, squirming) it wasn’t easy for her to interpret either. After a long moment, River was able to place it as a reluctant temptation. The exact look he had when he wanted to solve a problem the easy way, the emotional way, and had to choose not to. To bite the inside of his cheek until he found a plan that saved everyone.
She wondered what he wanted now. What he was denying himself for the greater good.
She imagined it might be her.
If she wasn’t more aroused than she’d ever been in her life, it was at least close. She could feel her heartbeat between her legs and when she shifted her thighs she could feel the wetness building between her labia. Frankly, it had been building all day, through massages and spa treatments, and she could probably have thought herself to orgasm at this point.
He wouldn’t hurt her. Not after everything she had endured because of him. But everything in him saw River and wanted to take her for himself. It was a kind of yearning that he had once heard called ‘the dragon’s ravening,’ possession for possession’s sake, the wanting that becomes hoarding that becomes wrath. She was so special, so precious, so enthralling to him. He had never seen, never touched, never known anything like her before. He wanted to experience her as wholly as he was capable. Maybe it was the traveller in him. Maybe it was the collector. Or the glutton.
He wanted to keep her.
Underneath him, River pulled him closer. His lips landed on her neck, almost of their own accord, running his lips and tongue and teeth gently across her skin, making detours to her ears and down to her collar.
He had lied, of course. When he said he didn’t want to marry her. He lied.
In fact, he had wanted to marry her so desperately that it scared him. Any kind of wanting like that, he had learned to distrust.
So where was the line here? Not kissing her, not lying on top of her, not moaning into her ear. He wanted to and he would touch her. He wanted to and he would feel her twitch around his fingers. Even thinking it made him want to cut to the chase, to slip his hand between her legs and feel the warmth and wetness there, to see how far he could reach his fingers into her. He wanted to and he would make her scream—in pleasure. That much had been spoiled for him, at least.
But he wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t make her feel like an object. He wouldn’t take away her agency, not like they had. These gnawing, rakish wants of his: to tie her down, to push her to her limits, to take ownership of her, to make her beg; these, he would not indulge. He made himself promise.
There was still plenty he could do. Something about the restraint made him want what he could have of her even more. He found himself growing harder, grinding himself against her until they were both panting into each other's open mouths between hungry, shallow kisses. Before long they had both removed their clothes, and their hands were on each other’s chests, grasping as if to reach the hearts underneath.
The Doctor’s hand ran down the sides of River’s neck as he leaned down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, having run out of patience to hear her grow louder. And louder she was, by some amount, imagining those fingers taking a pitstop at her collar to press down, to steal a few moments of her breath away. She whined when he pulled his mouth off for a moment to move to her other breast, his hand replacing his lips to play with her now hard, wet nipple.
As enthralling as this was, the Doctor couldn’t help but think of what it could be. All the things he’d done with others, he’d prefer to do with River.
He imagined what they might be doing right now if she didn’t mean so much to him. River was so his type. Completely out of his league. Untouchable, powerful, extraordinary, flirtatious. If he didn’t feel responsible for her wellbeing, they might be wrestling for dominance right now. Slammed against walls, combat prowess being tested, mind working in overdrive to find the most unpredictable way to gain the upper hand. Admiring her skill as an assassin, wondering at the fact that the very talents that were supposed to have gotten him killed were getting him laid instead.
He traced the shape of her palm and thumb where they rested on the mattress. She’d hit him before. A few times. The certainty he’d seen in her eyes in those moments, certainty that he would let her and certainty that he wouldn’t respond in kind—he considered how much practice she’d had. And in what context.
He wondered if she had ever asked him to hit her back.
He wondered which of them would win that fight.
Whether it would end like this. Her underneath him, out of breath. Him, spread out above her, caging her in with his arms. If he shifted his legs, they could pin hers down. He wouldn’t. But he could.
River didn’t have her eyes closed, but they weren’t wide open either. She was mostly reacting, cataloguing, archiving. She would have plenty to write about in her diary later. Plenty to fantasize about when he finally dropped her back in her cell.
When she did absorb any kind of visual input, it was with greed. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned, and she finally had unrestricted access to gaze at the shape of him. His collar, his chest, his abs, the hair trailing down his torso and below his waist. He was surprisingly muscular. It wasn’t easy to guess at what his body looked like under his usual three-ish layers, not in this much exquisite detail, and to River it was like an epiphany.
She’d imagined him naked of course, but always the way that you’d imagine everyone in an audience naked: conceptual, contextual, crude. Part of her was surprised he had hair on his chest and stomach. That he had nipples, that they were somewhat asymmetrical. He had a real body, made of warm flesh and muscle and sweat, not some Ken-doll featureless plastic. Not some flawless god.
It made her desperate to remove the rest of his clothes.
The Doctor felt the same way. It had taken too long now, they were both panting and grinding against one another, both clearly lost in sensation and thought. Neither of them would last much longer like this, and there was no way he was going to lose the opportunity to actually, really undress her.
It was sloppy. Again, a surprise to both of them. This was so… normal. He could snap his fingers and open the TARDIS doors, but that didn’t exactly extend to other fine motor tasks like buttons and zips. He had to sit up, she had to wriggle her clothes off, but eventually they were back in their original position and fully derobed.
They had both touched their naked body against someone else’s before. Many times, hundreds between the two of them surely. But it had never felt like this. Like a revelation.
His imagination had carried him a long way. The feeling of their nude bodies pressed against one another was almost too much. The sound she made when his weight pressed down on her was unrestrained and strangled and it drove him closer.
River pushed her hips up against him, unable to get closer to him in any other way. Her arms were wrapped around his back now, holding him against her body, breasts squished against his chest. After a few movements upwards against him, she separated her thighs just so, angled herself barely, and guided him between her slick thighs.
The Doctor groaned, almost whined against her ear as he felt his shaft slide against her, feeling the squish of her thighs on all sides of his shaft except the top, which was gliding against her wet vulva. He would be happy to just do this, to feel her rub herself along his cock, stroking it between her thighs, open-mouthed whimpering and half-whispered oaths escaping her mouth unbidden, coating him in fluid as she did. Proof that she wanted this. Proof that she really wanted him.
He leaned in to kiss her as her pace increased and she moaned in stuttered bursts against his lips, movements and breath imitating the fervent movement of her vulva against him.
River could feel the Doctor shuddering, gasps shaking through him as his body held her down securely against the bed to give her the leverage and control she needed. When their lips parted, he leaned forward back into her immediately. She could feel him becoming more rigid and lubricated as she brought herself closer to orgasm on his cock.
Unthinking, so past caring, River angled her hips on her next movement upward, pressed her heels against his lower back, and slid him fully inside of her, dripping and desperate.
The sound the Doctor made was like a sob. The digging of her heels against him was going to leave a bruise, and her nails gripped his shoulder blades, and the pain drove a new adrenaline through him. He used all his force to resist the strength of her legs to move his hips, barely out and then immediately inside of her again.
She moaned at the feeling of him moving inside her. One or both of them throbbed against the other.
River continued cataloguing, extrapolating on the sensation. She imagined his thrust inside her was motivated not by arousal and intimacy but by the power and jealousy of which she knew him to be capable. Imagined him slamming into her roughly, obsessively.
The Doctor imagined River shaking underneath him. Wondered how hard, how deep, for how long he would have to fuck her to make her plead—for him to keep going, to stop, to say her name, just begging.
Instead, he focused intently on slowing down, on making gentle and even movements in and out of her as much as he was capable. Her sounds, the grip she had around him was more than enough to make him lose some control, to speed up even when he knew he shouldn’t. Her moans became whimpers, which only encouraged his imagination, and he was soon too pent up to resist.
One tight throb of River’s vaginal walls around him, wet and hot around his sensitive tip as he filled her out, pushed him over the edge. Nothing she could do could have stopped him then, his arm quickly having wrapped around her waist to hold her in place against him. His thrusts became hard, fast on the way in, pausing at his deepest before pulling out and in again. He came in pulses inside of her, filling her with it.
River didn’t know that she had ever come simultaneously with a partner, but the day’s events had built her up to a point that she could have climaxed on command. She felt her orgasm shake through her as she felt hot fluid filling her, then pushed out on the next jerk to join her own dripping down her vulva. Her body convulsed, seized against him, every muscle contracting and spasming simultaneously. Waves of ecstasy thundered through her seemingly endlessly.
The both continued to ride their orgasms even as they began to pass, slowing naturally to let aftershocks of pleasure throb through them without overstimulating themselves.
Eventually, eyes still closed, sweat glistening across their skin, they collapsed against each other. The Doctor felt himself soften inside her, but she held him firmly against her with her heels so he would stay fully sheathed inside her. He could feel her heartbeat against his glans.
Their breathing slowed, then aligned. They both slept, though only for an hour or two; neither needed much rest.
Both dreamed of a different kind of sex than they’d just had.
Neither remembered it in the morning.