They end up on an island, somewhere tropical and warm, with palm trees and a sky filled with stars that look achingly close and bright. Pala stretches her arms up to the sky and arches her back, feeling warm and relaxed, with a belly full of spice. Eating human food is sort of like being given the highest grade of gas, but even better.
The variety of texture and flavor... She shakes her head. No wonder her driver refuels so many times a day.
Idris is clutching a wide martini glass full of something purple and gently luminescent, which never seems to empty no matter how much she drinks. Ben is sucking a passionfruit mojito through a ridiculously long curly straw, and Pala laughs when she thinks about how the Bentley had shut down the Thai bartender who insisted that she was drinking it "the wrong way".
Impala herself had felt overwhelmed when they got to the first bar and she saw the vast array of bottles and glasses. Idris had slipped behind her and rubbed a hand along one arm. "It's okay, dear; it's natural to feel overwhelmed, your first time out. Just go with something familiar. What does your driver like?" Pala had ended up with two bottles of a beer called "Tiger", one for each hand. At first the beverage tasted bad, but she found that it grew on her the more that she drank.
Now the bottles are both empty, so she sends them Away, to the same place where she left the weapons and holy water from her trunk. ("They won't let you into any bar like that, darling," Ben had said, and it was true.) Pala smirks, imagining Dean's confusion when he wakes up and finds the bottles of foreign beer.
He'll probably blame Sam — but never say anything to him about it, of course.
"Woo hoo!" Ben, for some reason, is spinning like a top, looking up at the stars with her arms flung wide as her gown flies out and twirls around her. She makes it ten times around before she topples, giggling, and lands face-down on the soft sand.
"Trying to give the beach a hug?" Impala snarks.
Idris bends over next to Ben and begins to rub her back, and Pala falls silent, watching the two older vehicles together. Even before they told her, she could tell that they had been seeing each other for a very long time. There is a grace and an ease in their interactions, a familiarity that speaks of a long history together.
Now, of course, she also knows that tonight is their 50-year anniversary.
50 years... That's longer than I've even been alive.
Pala can't help but feel out of place, an intruder forcing her way into their special day. The feeling has been creeping up on her all night, even though Ben and Idris have been nothing but welcoming. They're just both so classy, and so British, and Pala feels very American and very young. Hell, they've been all over the universe, and she's never even left the US before today.
She looks away and ponders walking down the beach a bit, trying to give them a little privacy.
Idris' voice brings her attention back. The vehicle (who isn't a car) has a way of making everything she says sound deep and important, no matter how random.
"Gravity?" Ben asks.
"Yes! That's one of my favorite things about this universe, is gravity. All those objects with mass, all..." Idris waves her arms around in a sweeping and intricate gesture that manages to simultaneously convey the movements of stars and planets, and also look like a description of a really complicated orgy.
"Bugger gravity," Ben giggles. "S'a bit hard on the old girls, am I right?" She flops up onto her side and runs a hand over her breasts, poking at them inquisitively and grinning as they jiggle. "Without gravity, we wouldn't need brassieres! Am I right, Impala? Back me up, here."
"Whatever, your curves are made of steel 99% of the time," Impala snarks back. "They can't exactly sag, can they? And I'm not even wearing a bra." She looked down at her own, much smaller breasts, and frowns.
"But without gravity, there would be nothing." Idris is off in her own world, pondering topics much larger than even Bentley's breasts. "You should see the universes without gravity... Most of them are just a vast soup of matter, without differentiation. No planets, no stars, no galaxies, no mojitos. No Bentleys, no Chevrolet Impalas. Just an infinite space full of particle stew..." she drifts off, into an awkward silence.
After a moment she seems to notice the other two staring at her, and clears her throat. "I mean, it's not even a good stew. It tastes sort of like bad miso that's been left out in the sun."
A smile tugs at the corner of Pala's mouth, and gradually steals across her face until she breaks out into a loud guffaw. "Bad miso... Holy shit. A universe that tastes like bad miso soup..." She cracks up completely, and has to brush away a tear of laughter from the corner of one eye. "Tell you what, you guys are a trip and a half. I wish I'd met y'all years ago..."
"Yes!" says Ben with great enthusiasm; but she says everything with great enthusiasm. Pala doesn't lend too much credence to that.
Then Ben's eyes light up. "Oh, I almost forgot. I brought something for you guys!" She reaches into her Away, and pulls out a potted plant with spiky leaves.
Pala snorts. "A houseplant? Oh, you shouldn't have... Considering that none of us have houses."
Idris tilts her head to the side and examines the plant intently. "A human narcotic? What have you brought us?"
"It's called marijuana! I borrowed it from Crowley, my driver. He calls these plants his 'little secret'." This time, Bentley actually makes the air quotes. "He says it helps him to relax. And I thought, maybe we could relax too! So I borrowed one from him for the night."
"Oh, okay, weed. I didn't know that came from a plant," Pala mutters. Dean has utilized weed in her backseat once or twice, usually in the company of an attractive young woman. "Your Crowley must have quite the green thumb."
"Oh, yes! He grows tons and tons of different things, I'm forever helping him transport them places." She frowns at the plant in her hand. "These plants are special, though; he has special lights and fertilizers and things, and he has to grow them in a closet, because Aziraphale doesn't approve."
"Who's Aziraphale?" They haven't gotten around to talking much about their drivers.
"He's an angel. He's Crowley's BFF. That's what our friend Anathema said, anyway."
"BFF, huh?" Pala grins. "Do you even know what that phrase means?"
"I think it means that they're friends who have sex. Like 'Best Friend Fornicators', or something."
They fall silent, all staring at the plant.
"So when my driver has weed, it's like a little white cylinder that he lights on fire, and then he puts it in his mouth. How do we get that from this plant?"
"I don't know... Er. I've never actually seen Crowley do it."
They all stare at it some more. Eventually Ben sets it down on the ground and backs away. "We could try just lighting it on fire and breathing in the smoke?"
Idris shrugs. "I suppose that might be worth a shot."
Pala pulls a lighter from her Away. "Shall I do the honors, ladies?"
"Sure, give it a go."
It takes a few tries, but eventually she gets the edge of one of the smaller leaves to catch. The three of them huddle around it, valiantly trying to breathe in the thin curl of smoke that wisps up from the leaf before the flame burns out.
They look at each other. "Anything?"
Ben shrugs. "I mean, I do feel pretty relaxed."
"I feel the same as before," says Idris.
"...Well, maybe marijuana doesn't work on TARDISes," says Ben, obviously trying to hide the note of disappointment in her voice. Pala can't help but feel bad for her, she obviously wanted to do something special for her girlfriend tonight.
The thought once again makes Pala feel like an intruder, and she subtly edges away from the other two.
"Well, I also have something for us all," says Idris, in an obvious, but welcome, attempt to break the silence.
"Ooh, ooh, what?" Ben is actually jumping up and down with excitement.
"The Doctor's current companion seems to quite enjoy sitting in a container full of warm, moving water. She calls it a 'hot tub'. And so, I have created one for her to use. Since we are also in human female shapes at the moment, I thought that the three of us might enjoy it, too."
"You've got a hot tub? Score!" Pala's eyes light up, she can't help it. Ever since hearing Dean exclaim over his escapades in a hot tub at some party, she's been curious about them. "But isn't it, you know..." Pala gestures awkwardly. "In you?"
Idris shrugs. "When you look at it from a certain perspective, everything in the universe is in me, including all of us right now."
"Kinky." Pala smirks. "So you're just a walking, talking orgy?"
Ben rolls her eyes, and smacks Pala playfully on the arm. "Oh, stop it, you." Idris gestures in that way that she has when she's Doing Things. This time, she pushes her hands in toward her belly and then pushes them out, in a move that looks like a slow-mo Running Man. And suddenly, there's a hot tub on the beach.
It bubbles away merrily, and its interior lights show wisps of steam that gently disperse into the night.
"Hell to the motherfucking yeah!" Pala rushes toward the tub, and is about to stick her foot in when Idris grabs her arm.
"In all of the cases that I've seen, humans shed their clothing before entering the hot tub."
"Oh right... nudity." She looks down at her sleeveless top and tight jeans. The belt looks confusing, but the shirt comes off easily, flying over her head to be discarded on the sand. The tropical wind brushes against her flat stomach and small breasts, and a pleasant shudder sweeps through her, for no reason.
She notices with interest that her nipples are changing shape, rising up from her skin into small, round pebbles. She brushes against one with a finger, just to see what will happen; it grows even larger and rounder, as another shudder sweeps through her and makes her muscles clench.
It feels interesting, so she does it again.
"Sometimes I forget that this comes off!" says Ben, pawing at her gown. "Er.. Can I get some help, here?"
"Sure, let me," Pala says, tearing herself away from her self-exploration and stepping over to stand at Ben's back. She blames that strange shudder for what she does next.
Instead of starting to untie the laces right away, Pala rests her dark hands again Ben's pale shoulders, and slowly slides them down the sides of her back, letting her thumbs pass over each triangle of skin that's exposed by the gown's lacing. Ben's breath hitches and she steps back, leaning against Pala in such a way that her firm, round rear is pressed against Pala's thighs. It feels good, but Pala remembers her task and bends Ben forward so that she can reach the ties without losing that enjoyable pressure.
Ben lets out a tiny moan as Pala begins to slowly untie the laces of her gown. She doesn't quite understand what compels her to do it, but as Pala pulls the long ribbons free from each hook, she presses her lips gently against Ben's pale skin. It's only a slight pressure, nothing too intense; just a teasing trail of warmth down the center of her back.
It seems to be effective, judging by Bentley's shudders.
But when Pala unhooks the last ribbon and rises to her feet, she's startled to find another pair of hands wrapped around Ben's neck and back. Idris and Ben are engaged in a deep lip-lock, looking like they're battling to swallow one another's tongues.
Oh. So it wasn't her, at all.
With a sinking feeling, Pala watches for a moment.
They're so wrapped up in each other. And, so what? It's their 50-year anniversary, after all. Who does she think she is, trying to insert herself in the middle of that?
It's just plain selfish, is what it is.
Pala turns her head and takes a deep breath.
Right. She should just leave, give them some privacy. Hell, they've been building up to this all night; she's probably been cock-blocking them for way too long already.
She turns sharply on her heel, and starts to take broad strides down the beach, kicking up sand with every step. It's childish, but her fists ball up, and she contemplates finding a tree to hit. This skin that she's in is so soft and squishy, she imagines it would cause damage; but she mostly doesn't care. She wants to wreck something, or get wrecked; it doesn't matter which.
It's like she saw something for a minute, and thought... But of course not.
"Oh no you don't!" Idris' voice cracks like a whip, breaking into Pala's self-pitying monologue. "Where do you think you're sneaking off to?"
Pala pauses, but doesn't turn. "I was just gonna leave you guys alone," she mumbles.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you." Idris sounds almost like an angry mother; it would be funny under other circumstances.
"I said, I was going to leave you guys alone, so you could have some privacy," Pala says, turning back around and over-enunciating every word.
Great. Idris sounds like an angry mother, and now Pala is reacting like a 16-year-old. Way to impress the cool kids, there.
Both Idris and Ben are staring at her. Ben looks confused, and Idris just looks pissed.
"So, what, you lead us on all evening, and now you decide you're not interested? What, is my girlfriend not good enough for you?" Idris takes a step toward Pala, eyebrows pushed down into a glare.
"I... Wait, what? I'm sorry, I don't..."
"Oh, Manchester!" Ben exclaims. "You're both giant idiots, you do realize that." She starts to walk toward Pala, and as she does, her gown slips the rest of the way off, revealing a classy set of black lace lingerie. It's more than a little hypnotic. Pala blames the complex sway of those breasts for the fact that she just stares, dumbly, until Ben is right up in her face.
Finally she looks up, and tries to take a step backward just as Ben's hands close firmly around her wrists.
The older car is a lot stronger than she seems.
Ben pushes Pala's wrists behind her back and holds them there in an unbreakable grasp, while she leans in close and whispers right in Pala's ear. "You think that we don't want you, is that it? You think that somehow we invited you to come with us by mistake? That Idris didn't know exactly what she was doing, when she gave you this form?"
Pala looks at Ben wide-eyed.
"Chevy, please. Idris always knows exactly what she's doing. And I may be a lady, but that doesn't mean that I'm naive. Of course we want you. That's the whole point of all of us going here together, isn't it?"
Before Pala can formulate a response, another pair of hands snakes around her waist. For a second her hand reaches for a weapon, but she relaxes at the sound of Idris' voice next to her other ear.
"Do you trust us?"
Impala swallows. She's seen a lot in her relatively short life, enough to know that trust is something earned. But these two are like her, in a way that she's never seen before. They may be the only two beings truly like her that she'll ever meet. And that's something she hadn't even realized she wanted, until now.
"Yes," she whispers.
Pala looks up to find Ben's dark red lips curving up into a wicked grin. "Good. You won't regret it."
Suddenly Idris' hands are fumbling with the buckle of Pala's belt and drawing the wide band of leather away. It winds out through the loops of her jeans, one by one, until the entire belt is looped around Idris' slender hand. Then that hand disappears behind Pala's back.
She gasps at the first touch of smooth, warm leather against her arms; and then Impala forces herself to remain still while Idris winds the band tightly around both of her wrists in a figure-eight pattern. "There, see? You're not going anywhere," Idris whispers in her ear, while buckling the ends together. The belt is loose enough to be comfortable, but tight enough that she couldn't slip out of it without serious contortions. It binds her arms together firmly, where she can't use them; it makes her arch her back, and pushes her breasts forward.
"We're going to show you exactly how we want you," Idris announces, matter-of-factly.
"O-okay.." Her voice is cut off by Bentley, who leans in for a kiss and expertly slides her tongue into Pala's mouth.
She gives up thinking and decides to go with the flow then, as Idris peels her jeans down around her knees. Then there are hands everywhere, slow fingertips tracing lines of warmth against the darkness of her skin. Ben starts at her neck and slips downward, running over the curves of her breasts and the tender skin along her sides, while Idris moves from her ankles to her calves and up over her thighs.
They meet in the middle, and suddenly there are two hands pushing Pala's thighs apart, while another slides down the curve of her ass, and a fourth makes its way down from her bellybutton. She loses track of which hand belongs to whom; she rapidly stops caring, when the hands approach the most sensitive skin and trail teasing fingers along the wetness between her thighs.
Then there are fingers inside of her, more than one, and she's wet and wide and ready, but the shock when they push in ruins her balance. Pala is agile, but with her hands bound, she can't recover. She goes toppling backward with a squeak, until strong arms catch her and lower her down. Idris' body underneath her is strength covered in softness, and then Ben is lying on top. Suddenly it's an Impala sandwich, with breasts and fingers and tongues everywhere.
Pala swears that there are more hands on her than there should be, but they keep moving, teasing, touching, and she can't keep track. Fingers ghost over her breasts, caressing and rubbing the nipples between fingers, until the sensation goes right down to her groin and she arches her back as far as it can go. Other fingers slide between her buttocks, and slowly, teasingly circle the sensitive ridges of that circle of tight skin. Still others fingers move in and out of her, covered in her own wetness, stretching and filling in a way that feels glorious, putting pressure on that perfect spot inside that makes her thigh muscles clench with every stroke.
Being bound means that she is freed from having to participate; all that she can do is feel. So she does, moaning and trembling, muscles tensing and releasing in a rhythm that isn't under her control. Someone is kissing her, and first it's Ben and then it's Idris, and then when Ben takes up a long silk shawl and ties it around her eyes, she doesn't even know anymore. It doesn't matter, all that matters is that some tongue fills her mouth and some soft lips press against her own, comforting her, reminding her that she is not alone.
So very not alone.
Despite all of the fingers everywhere, they avoid touching her clitoris for the longest time, denying Pala the one thing she absolutely needs to get over the top. Finally, when she's moved past begging and into incoherent whimpers, something warm and hard presses against her skin, right below her navel. Whatever it is starts gently buzzing, and moves downward slowly. Pala can feel the vibrations through her entire body long before the thing ever goes between her thighs.
When it reaches her pubic mound, the thing stops moving, and Pala thinks that she could cry. It holds in place for a moment, pressed into her skin; the vibrations are almost enough to put her over, but not quite. Not quite. She's pretty sure there must be tears in her eyes, and spares a moment to be grateful for the concealing scarf. Then the mouth that's pressed against hers lifts, and Ben's voice says, "Impala. Say yes."
She knows what it means, and does not hesitate. "Fuck, yes!"
When her lips close around the word, the buzzing thing finally, finally slides into place over her clit, and the fingers push in even harder. It's right on the verge of being too much, too hard, dances right along that edge of painful intensity — and then finally.
Finally Pala breaks open, and her orgasm seizes her like an electric shock. All of her muscles lock up tight, and she arches wildly into the air and screams, without any self-restraint.
The thing is, it doesn't end. After the first wave, there comes another and then another, relaxing and contracting again and again, never getting less intense. She doesn't know how long it goes on, hasn't a clue; it could be minutes or hours that she stays like that, held at the very peak of orgasm.
If it weren't for the belt and the blindfold she couldn't do it, it would be too much. She would run, screaming. But the leather against her wrists and the silk scarf over her face help keep her anchored, force her to stay with the sensation. She feels, and breathes, and comes and comes and comes, until all of her muscles are exhausted and sore.
After some uncountable span of time, when her throat is raw from screaming and her clit is starting to become over-sensitized, the buzzing thing finally has mercy and withdraws. The fingers slip out of her slowly, one by one.
They don't leave her, though, and for that she is grateful; they stay pressed against her skin, holding her in place, slowly and gradually bringing her down. They move against the belt buckle and unwind the strap from her wrists, stretching out her arms and easing the tense muscles. They lay her out on the soft grass as the body underneath her moves out of the way, and they stroke her sore thighs and legs until they completely relax.
Last of all they unwind the length of silk from around her eyes, and Pala blinks upward into the brightness of strange, Southern-hemisphere stars.
After a moment of readjustment to seeing, she turns her head to see Ben and Idris, arm-in-arm, looking at her. Idris' expression is typically inscrutable, but Bentley looks almost slightly nervous.
Ben speaks first. "Well? Do you believe us now?"
Impala smiles, and then cracks up, worn-out body shaking with laughter as she holds out her arms so her girlfriends can help her up.
They end up going to the hot tub after all. Pala sinks down into the hot water with a moan, letting it relax her sore and stiffened muscles.
"Worn out, hey?" Ben teases, with a grin.
"Hell yeah! And it's all your fault, both of you." Pala winks. "Hey, what was that buzzy thing, anyways?"
Idris turns her palm down and then up. When she opens her fingers, she's holding a smooth metal cylinder with a round, smooth tip and a slender, tapered shaft. "Do you mean this? My Doctor made it for me, as a present. It's sonic."
"Yeah? Well, whatever it is, it's pretty great. I wonder if Dean could make me one? He knows how to build things..."
"Hmm. I don't think you have the tech here, but it's possible he could come up with a mechanical analogue."
Pala shrugs. "If there's one thing he knows, it's how to improvise."
They lapse into silence, then, and float in the warm water until their skin starts to become wrinkled and pruned.
As they're dressing, Idris comes over to Pala. "Well, what do you think? Will you come with us next year?"
"Baby, I'll come with you anytime you want, as many times as you want." Pala winks. "But seriously, Idris, this is the most fun I've had in, like, ever."
"Good. I'm so glad." She leans in closer. "I think that having Ben in your life will be very helpful to you in the years to come."
"Huh? Why's that?"
Idris just smiles that inscrutable smile. "Don't worry about it for now."
Bentley comes over then, having collected her purse and scarf, and throws her arms around them both, grinning. "Next year, hey?"
"Next year," Impala echoes. "And for many years to come." She throws her arms around her girlfriends, and smiles.