Yowzah Oneshot Collection (2)

99(G)

If I were a blade, I'd shave you smooth

                     leiascully

"I loathe that beard," River says, out of nowhere.

The Doctor strokes his whiskers. ”I thought it made me look dignified.”

"I think it makes you look like something’s died on your face," River says, in a surprisingly conversational tone. "I think I’ll have it off you, in fact."

The Doctor’s in a chair before he knows what’s happening, and he’d complain about it, except that River’s in his lap. She spends several long minutes there, applying strategic pressure with her hips and the soft heat of her lips, until the Doctor isn’t sure he could move if he wanted to. River climbs off, looking satisfied with herself, and pours a bowl full of nearly boiling water. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d put the kettle on. And then he doesn’t care much, because she’s back in his lap, making her point quite eloquently without a single word.

When she leaves him again, gasping and helpless, it’s to get a towel out of the hot water and drop it on his face. She wraps it over his chin. He breathes through an open mouth, feeling the chill of his breath in relation to the steam rising off the towel. His world is reduced to the damp scald of the towel, compressed by terrycloth to a hot, wet singularity. When she takes the towel off, he isn’t certain what to do with himself. So he sits and watches as she whips lather in a cup.

"When did you learn to do this?"

She shrugs. ”I’ve been around. Or maybe I’m picking it up on the fly.” Her eyes gleam. ”Trust me, sweetie?”

"My face in your hands, River Song. You may be a bad, bad girl, but you’re all mine,” he tells her, which is something of a risky proposition. She dabs lather into his beard, looking pleased.

"Yes, I am," she says, and it’s half-threat, half-promise, all smug satisfaction.

He half-hopes she’ll climb back into his lap for the actual shaving, but she shows no signs of it. He sits with lather coating his face while she tests the edge of her razor. He doesn’t know where she got the razor, or how she produced it so quickly. He’s found it’s best not to ask questions he might not want the answers to. River looks him over with a critical eye and adds a little more foam with the brush, and then, before he can even really prepare himself, she’s got her blade against his face.

It’s all he can do not to startle away. He closes his eyes, intensely aware of the sharpness of the razor. She scrapes delicately at his face; he can feel the sudden shock of cold air against newly-bare skin. He wants to shiver, but settles for flexing his fingers on his thighs. He has given himself over to her. She is the master of him now. In this moment, the Doctor, terror of the universe, sits quiescently under the ministrations of his barber wife, his fierce mistress. River shaves him, carefully and thoroughly, short strokes segueing into longer, smoother passes, again and again until his face is bare. The Doctor, eyes closes, lets his fingers glide over his thighs in rhythm with the razor. When she swirls more lather over his skin, it’s a shock, and then pleasant, and then the brush isn’t gliding over his face anymore and he braces for the blade.

The touch of the razor is feather-light, but the hair falls away from his face. She is so deadly, and yet she takes such care with him. There’s his miracle.

When it is over, he is so smooth he hardly recognizes himself when he presses his palms to his cheeks, as if she has given him another face. River has not even nicked him: his hands come away clean (as if they could ever be clean). She holds up a mirror and he looks at himself: dark eyes, looming brows, a face only a River could love, perhaps. He feels new. She has stripped away his fears and his pretenses, washed them away with the last of the hot water. His skin is soft. The foam leaves a sharp, pleasant scent in the air and he breathes it in appreciatively.

"Here," River says, and tenderly, with a cloth that’s ice cold this time, she wipes the last traces of lather from his face.

"Thank you," he tells her. "I feel like a new man."

"You look like yourself," she says, her fingertips ghosting down the clean line of his jaw.

"You gave me that," he says, and she smiles that mysterious smile.

"Returning a favor," she tells him. "Better watch out, sweetie. That was quite fun. I might be tempted to take my razor to the rest of you."

He lets himself shiver as she walks away.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

                         leiascully

"I hate the ice planet," the Doctor muttered.

"Not what you said earlier," River reminded him. "I believe your exact words were, ‘Oooh, I love an ice planet!’"

"That was before he got us stranded in the middle of nowhere," Jack said. "In a shack. In a blizzard."

"And I traded my favorite bow tie for this shack," the Doctor said in his most wounded voice.

"Yes, it was my favorite as well," River said. "You married me with that bow tie."

"You traded your wedding tie for this?" Jack asked. "Well, I guess we’d better make it a good night."

"It would be a much better night if you’d stop pushing," the Doctor said. "Always with the elbows. And your feet are freezing."

"Everything’s freezing," Jack said. "Just trying to stay warm. And I’m not pushing - there are just three of us in a sleeping bag that’s not made for three."

"There wasn’t any better offer," the Doctor told him. "At least this one threw in the sleeping bag. We would have all been quite a bit chillier otherwise."

"We’ve managed before," River purred. "Or has that happened yet for the two of you?"

Jack grinned. ”No, but I like the sound of it.” He cuddled closer to the Doctor’s back, reaching over to rest his hand on River’s hip.

"Unfortunately, I didn’t bring the right equipment along to recreate the experience," River said.

"Even better," Jack said. "Now I’m really looking forward to it."

"Yes, I can tell," the Doctor said. "It’s increasingly apparent."

"Listen to you," River said lovingly, reaching up to stroke the Doctor’s face. "I’m proud of you, sweetie. You’re dealing with all of this very well. Wedged between two insatiable and incorrigible people with fifty-first-century sensibilities, and you’re not even trying to hide the fact that your interest is piqued. So to speak." She moved her hips against his to press home the point.

"Surrender seemed the wisest course," the Doctor muttered. "I might as well enjoy myself."

"Seems to be the simplest path," Jack agreed. "Hell, I’d surrender to your wife any night, ice planet or no."

"Oh, yes, you would," River said, her voice full of promise, and this time it was the Doctor pressing his hips to hers, half-involuntarily.

"Personally, I’m really enjoying this ice planet," Jack said.

"What do you think, sweetie?" River asked the Doctor. "Shall we make some memories? Generate a little heat?"

"Oh, all right," the Doctor said.

"They said the blizzard might last three days," Jack said. "Maybe we should save our strength. Not that that’s a problem for me."

"Preserve me from immortals," the Doctor said under his breath.

"Be polite," River chided. "We’ve got three days in a small shack with one sleeping bag. He has a point, though, I’ll give him that. We’ve got food supplies for three days, but too much activity and we’ll be through them before the storm is over."

"Maybe we ought to just rest, then," the Doctor said, slightly relieved.

"Good idea," River said, settling again into the circle of his arms. "More time to plan out our heat-generating activities in case it gets colder." She kissed the Doctor. "You’re so clever sometimes, sweetie."

"Sweet dreams," Jack said into the back of the Doctor’s neck.

"Oh, they will be," River said. "They absolutely will be."