Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

117(M)

Last requests

Kit

"Are you sure this is what you-?"

"Doctor."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"If you could do one thing, one little thing on your last definitive, proper, actual moments, you think it wouldn't be-"

"-now, hold on! That's rude, surely. No need to be rude. And I'm not sure "to do" is the best verb, here, under the circumstances. The...um..."

"I have a point."

"You have a point."

Swallowing manfully, they reach for the TARDIS door. There is a deal of shuffling.

"Oi, budge up!"

"One at a time."

"Sweetie, I don't know what you're doing in there. But there is such a thing as too much anticipation."

River's voice is muffled through wood and time and space, but they both feel smiles tug their mouths and crinkle up behind their eyes. The Doctor puts a finger to his lips. "For you, Doctor Song? Never."

"Quite often." She snaps her fingers. Swallows and stares.

"Oh."

Stormcage shadows paint stripes across her face, and she smiles. "You know, boys," she tells them, stepping forward to cup his cheek and run her hand slowly down the other's chest, fingers curling to snap his suspenders. "It isn't my birthday until next week."

"Blame him."

"Hah! Me? I was perfect. If he hadn't been distracted by the Orion Nexus-"

"Sweetie."

Gulp.

"There's a time and a place," she says, stepping between them and into the blue box that has held her hostage for securely than any cell. She blows a kiss to the cameras.

***

They have different shoes, but they're some of the first things to go, and she never asks which of them is which. There is no question, only her mouth on his while her hand is curled, sweet and possessive, in the other's. In his. Warm on his fingers while her tongue traps and teases and it is all he can do to breathe, to think, to suck her lower lip into his mouth and feel it swell into him while she groans.

His hands find her breasts, and she shudders when he bites her shoulder. She laughs as she steps out of a pool of her own clothes, watching them smirk and and stare and wonder at her. "The only way to get me undressed first," she muses. "Is to have two of you. I
think
, my loves, I still win."

"You're wrong. Isn't she wrong?"

"She's unspeakably wr-oh. Oh. Yes. Right. Oh my."

"Some help you are," the Doctor mutters, but he does know how hard it is to find words when River is kneeling like that, taking his cock into her mouth. Slow licks and careful swallows, her left hand reaching up to his and squeezing as the muscles in her throat relax. He watches his ow face. Her hand is hot in his. Sweat trickles down one wrist to the elbow, and he kneels to lick up it up. Salt and skin and River, her muscles flexing beneath his tongue and groans from all sides.

There is a collective shudder when he uncurls her hand; sucks two fingers into his mouth.

***

Her hands are tangled in his hair, pressing him close even as he can feel himself fuck her and he wonders at the ingenuity of her positioning. Her belly spasms against his cheek and, if he lets himself breathe and open his eyes, he can
see
. See her, wet and slick and hot and clenching around him. See her clit, swollen and hard and see
himself, and how he fits, because no matter what he might say about it, how strange it might feel in other bodies, other times, he always does , with her.

He swallows and she screams, sight and insight both lost in different heat.

***

"You know you want to."

She fits between them, languorous and smiling. He toys idly with one breast. Lazy circles, slow swipes with his thumb, flicks of one nail. He scores Gallifreyan love poetry. The other, grinning at them both, sticks to curses and cures. She whimpers. "Ah, go on."

"It's a bit vain, isn't it?"

"But you are, sweetie." She laughs at them. "Splendidly so. And I taught you so well."

"You mean, I taught you."

"Or I did!"

She stops them with one hand over each mouth. "Let's find out, then. Go on. Do it for me."

"River-"

"-Please."

Kissing the Doctor is, well...quite nice, actually. Even without River's appreciative commentary and suggestions, it is still strange and aching to feel four hearts against his own again. Feel the same rushing pulse in his ears and in the other's throat-"Ooooh, yes. You boys just keep improvising,"-almost as if he is young again, and the world is full of other Timelords to kiss.

River's groan breaks them apart. She is pressed up against the wall, back arched, one hand teasing her flushed breasts and the other twisting, pressing against and in herself in a shaky rhythm, eyes wide and transfixed.

"Hello," he says. And there are smiles all around as he reaches her her wrist and the other pulls her lightly from the wall.

***

"I hate you."

She glares at them, straining against bonds made from their shirts and off-world knots. He kisses her. She shudders into his mouth as another set of hands raise her hips.

"No, you don't."

***

She fits against his shoulder, against his back, his chest. He could make lists out of her. Lists and songs and ransom notes. His hands are clasped gently, over her body, and when she sleeps it isn't the wary sort, the soldier sort that is only half a sound away from waking. She is between them and she
sleeps
. They meet each other's eyes as they shift to kiss her hair, and understand each other's last requests.

By the time River kisses them goodbye, she is 32.