The Doctor stormed through the TARDIS corridors with River in hot pursuit. He was doing his damnedest to get away from her before he said something he truly regretted but she just wasn’t taking the hint. Her shoes clacked haughtily on the floor as she matched his pace. He swung left into a long forgotten room (a favourite of his eighth incarnation) and tried to close the door on her, but she had it wedged open with a foot. He threw his hands up in exasperation and began to pace the room like a caged animal as she came softly in and shut the door behind her.
Her footsteps took on an echo on the cold stone floor as she rounded the room to the far wall. Her lack of reaction to the flickering wall sconces, great fireplace, enormous banqueting table and textile wall hangings informed him that she had been in this room before. Foreknowledge: the one thing guaranteed to rankle him further. He growled as he took a sidelong look at her. She was fingering his swords.
“Still not in the mood to talk?” she asked with a knowing smirk. He didn’t give her so much as a grunt in response. “Perhaps we could find a resolution by some other method?”
He crossed his arms and stared straight at her, his face likely betraying his interest, because she smiled. “How long as it been since you partook in a little sword play?” He didn’t answer. “Not this regeneration then. Obviously I’d go easy on you, considering how out of practise you are.” She pursed her lips in mock pity.
“You’ll do no such thing!” he spoke at last, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it to the side. “Choose the weapons.”
“Foil? Sabre? No. Well, seeing as it’s a special occasion,” she said, reaching down to flip open a chest and pull out two swords with ornamental hilts, “the rapiers, I think.”
She threw one at him and he lunged to catch it, then cast her a disapproving glare. She paid no attention and withdrew her sword from its scabbard; she then tested the double-edged blade before swiping the air to produce a pleasing swish.
Her stance was polished; that worried him slightly. The last time he did this he lost a hand, and he was considerably less awkward in that body. There would definitely be no growing anything back this turnabout. He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped up, dancing in the candlelight, as she tested the weight of her sword in her hand. “Ready?”
“Just a second,” he said, relieving his sword of its scabbard and trying to find a comfortable stance. “Wait, aren’t we going to wear body-armour?”
“What are we? Children?”
He swallowed and used his free hand to pull his collar looser with two fingers. “You’re not going to fence in those are you?” he asked, indicating her shoes with the tip of his rapier.
“I fence better in heels,” she said with a confident flick of her head. “Now are you going to keep stalling or are we going to tussle?”
He put his left hand behind his back, suddenly able to find his stance, bore his teeth and nodded. He stepped forward, making the first move. She parried easily, deflecting his pitiful attempt. “Are you just fiddling around with me or what? Make a bit of effort. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”
“I just want you to feel you’re doing well,” he replied, hoping that she couldn’t tell that he had been making an effort. He shook his shoulders out and took his stance again. She attacked this time and, to his surprise, his limbs reacted instinctively, blocking her thrusts, blades ringing as they clashed. There was a hot determination in her eyes and she was entirely unperturbed by her lack of progress.
Then she swiped low, making a large gash in his trouser leg and a scratch on his thigh. “Ow! River, Rules! Nothing outside of the torso.”
She was still smiling and it was becoming unsettling. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“At least stay away from the face.”
He growled at her, which only seemed to please her more. He made his attack, thrusting his sword in her direction and driving her back as she parried each attempted blow. His limbs were really warming up now, muscle memory from past regenerations: a neat perk. He spied a weakness in her defence and couldn’t help but exploit it. He flicked the tip of his sword upwards, sending the top three buttons of her blouse clicking across the stone floor.
She glanced down at her blouse, gaping open to reveal her bra, then looked back up, unmistakably impressed. He flicked his hair out of his eyes smugly and cocked an eyebrow. As usual, his self-satisfaction lead to his downfall. She slashed at his side, severing a brace, slicing through his shirt (his favourite shirt) and leaving a nice bloody cut along his ribs. “River! Be careful!”
“Who said I wasn’t?” she asked, backing up a little to a safe distance.
“You know, sometimes I’m not quite sure if you’ve fully recovered from your conditioning.”
“My conditioning? Training certainly, but conditioning? What makes you assume someone would need to be conditioned to want to kill you? A bit egotistical, don’t you think?”
That was enough, he began a Capo Ferro attack, laying waste to her advantage and driving her backward. The first fifty thrusts she could block with her predictable Thibault defence, but with the fifty-first he sliced through her bra strap, letting one cup fall loosely revealing a pink nipple. Unlike last time he didn’t let his baser instincts distract him and he continued his assault, sending her further backwards towards the open fire. Thirty more swipes she could thwart but on the thirty-first he had her at concession point.
She started to laugh.
“Something amusing?” he asked.
“It’s just that I know something you don’t know.”
“And what’s that?”
With that she kicked her shoes off and shot him her flashiest grin.
“I thought you fenced better in heels?”
She rolled her eyes. “How utterly ridiculous, no one fences better in heels.”
Without further delay she set upon him, bouncing merrily on the balls of her feet, seemingly unperturbed by her loose breast, slashing and swiping with newfound vigour that he was finding hard to counter. Her blade shot upward, catching on his collar and he paused.
“You wouldn’t be so cold blooded,” he said, forgetting her inborn defiance.
With a flick of the wrist she murdered his bow-tie, sending it falling in tatters to the floor, and nicked his chin for good measure.
Their blades clashed once more as he set out to avenge his neckwear; his breathing was sharp, as was hers, and their skin glowed with effort as they each attempted to vanquish the other for pride and for victory.
River leapt surefooted onto the great oak banquet table with surprising ease and with a single quick swipe, cut the remaining bonds of her bra and flung it at him. He dodged it effectively and rounded the table.
“Come down,” he said, spoiling for their match to continue.
“You come up,” she replied, taking two graceful steps backwards by means of invitation. He shook his head to put her off guard, and then was in motion, vaulting up to join her on the table-top. His feet planted perfectly, as though he had never stumbled or made an ungainly gesture in his life. He raised his sword and wriggled his hips in triumph, “Ha!”
She lunged forward, slipping the tip of her blade under his shirt and slicing upward, cutting away a swathe of fabric and severing his second brace. His trousers, not loose enough to truly drop, fell low on his hips.
River stepped back, letting her blade loll as she took in the sight of his bared torso. She had always been a sucker for his hipbones, poor dear; she was only human in so many ways.
He stretched forward and wound his blade around hers; she allowed him to flick it out of her hand and it clattered across the stone floor. He raised the tip of his rapier to her throat and rested it so gently against her skin that it made no impression.
She closed her eyes, exposed and vulnerable before him. He knew someone who would have found this level of trust quaint and foolish, but that wasn’t how he felt about it at all. He found her willingness to drop all of her ingrained defences in his presence — knowing full-well what he was capable of — incredibly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously, mind-blowingly hot.
He withdrew his sword and speared the table-top.
It took two quick steps to cross the space between them and he placed a thumb where the sword had been only seconds earlier. She was trembling; eyes still shut and head back.
A casual onlooker may have read fear in her demeanour, but the Doctor knew better. He could taste it in the air around her, see it in the glow of her skin, feel it in the rhythm of her pulse under his thumb and hear it in the hitch of her breath — It wasn’t fear that was making her shiver at an almost cellular level, it was lust.
He brought his free hand up to her hip to unfasten her skirt, but found his fingers suddenly betraying him as they fumbled for the tab of her zipper. He looked down at his hand, but his treacherous fingers would not obey. Removing his thumb from the hollow of her throat, he bent over to take a closer look and bring his second hand into play. River dropped to her knees, gathered him in her arms and pressed her cheek to his.
Low and hot, she whispered, “A swordsman without his blade is a swordsman still.”
The mechanism of his body clicked into place again at her reminder, and his mind and limbs were in concert once more. He grasped the tab and slid the zipper smoothly down. In a symphony of steady movement he eased her onto her back, slipped her skirt down over her legs and lay above her, pressing his unwounded thigh to the magnetic heat at her centre.
His compliant fingers found the remaining buttons of her blouse and flicked them open before cupping her warm breast in his palm. He kissed her then, his hot tongue sliding over hers through cooler lips. He ground himself against her hip and his thigh between her legs as he teased her nipple with the flat of his thumb. She sighed hotly in his ear and rolled her hips against him. She wanted more and he was happy to oblige.
With steady movements he drew himself up to kneeling, turned her over onto all fours and pulled her up until her back was flush with his chest. Taking her earlobe between his teeth, he helped her shuck her blouse from her shoulders. Her hands slid behind her back, found her beloved hipbones and traced them with delicate warm fingertips, following their line downward to capture his cock through his trousers.
He canted against her, pushing her forward as he pulled her blouse down over her wrists and off, then eased her onto all fours once more. He toed off his boots and shed the remainder of his tattered clothing with unprecedented ease.
He knelt in behind her again as she glanced over her shoulder, swaying her hips in anticipation. He slid her knickers off, leaving her entirely at his mercy on top of the ancient oak banquet table. Her breath hitched as he pressed himself against her opening, stretching her out to fit him, until he was buried to the hilt in her slick heat.
She tilted her hips as he rocked against her, her body seeking out the angle she needed and her breathy moans increased in volume. The line of her back: a gorgeous curve undulating down from the cleft of her backside and up to her neck. Her strong shoulders held steady, with arms leading down to fingers splayed on the wood.
He leaned forward, sliding his hands under to her breasts and pulled her up again, fitting her against his torso as he thrust up into her. Keeping one steadying hand at a breast, he moved the other down to firmly finger her clit.
She stretched her arms up and tangled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head down as she turned to allow his mouth to meet hers. They kissed fiercely, tongues warring and lips battling.
His fingers worked harder on her clit, stretched out as it was from the angle, and she clenched intentionally around his cock making him buck into her with renewed abandon. This would be a race to the finish and he was confident of victory. Releasing her from the kiss, his tongue found the spot behind her ear guaranteed to increase his odds. The hand at her breast worked her nipple into a peak and the one at her clit rubbed a maddening anti-clockwise swirl, all the while his cock was sliding surely up into her.
His body was a multi-tasking one-man orchestra.
Certain regenerations had naturally been better lovers than others, but he had never thought that this one would even rank in the top five, let alone display the magnificent fluency with which he was currently fucking River.
Perhaps it was her, perhaps she brought it out in him with her fearlessness. Most people who didn’t fear him had no idea that they should, but River, she knew. River had seen the darkness within him, the things he had done, everything he was capable of and still stood up and allowed him into her life, and into her bed.
A quiver in her body signalled her oncoming orgasm and he was brought back into the moment, feeling the slide of his cock against the tremor of her cunt as she canted forward with the force of her climax. Her hands planted on the table and he followed her down, slowing his wrist between her legs but still squeezing her breast for his own purposes as he persisted in fucking her. She continued to groan as each thrust elongating her orgasm.
Eager to draw out their pleasure, the Doctor slowed his movement, balancing on the edge of the abyss for as long as possible. River’s voice cut through the haze of potential pleasure. “Doctor,” she gasped, “do something for me?”
“Anything, River. Anything. Just name it.” He rocked into her sliding slowly over the precipice, the drag of his orgasm drawing him inexorably to completion. There was no turning back.
“Frederick. He has to go.”
If the Doctor hadn’t already been shouting, “Yes,” he would have screamed, “No.”
The treacherous woman had just revealed her true self and it was too late. He was beguiled and tricked and coming hard, his body acting completely independently of his mind, bewitched by her charms.
He shuddered as he folded over her and slid sideways onto the table, not sure if he was actually sobbing. River rearranged herself to lie alongside him as he buried his face in his hands. She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck with tenderness belying her duplicity. He opened his fingers to take in her expression: loving as ever, the shrew.
She spoke, voice like silk, “Doctor, deep down you know that the TARDIS is no place for a puppy.”