Title: Yoghurt
Summary: The Tardis might like Yoghurt-thingie but the Doctor doesn't. River is feeling contradictive and the Doctor deals with it. (Totally insane and crack!fic hence title)
-o-
"River" he admonished her in an exasperated voice as he watched her spill some unknown dense liquid, chalk-white and compact, on his Tardis console.
"Sorry," she told the Tardis and ignored him, not looking even remotely contrite, the white stain now sliding further down and leaving behind a gooey residue on his machine.
"You see, this is why you're not supposed to eat while driving!"
She stuck her tongue out at him, cheeky and rude, blue eyes mischievous. Was she always going to be this contradictive? This smug mayhem of chaos? Pff!
He cursed at her, Old High Gallifreyan rolling of his tongue in a stream of ancient words, dulcet tones of a foreign language, and he laughed as he watched her brows knit together. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to follow the hurried, mumbled words.
He ended his tirade with a rather undignified curse, words he would never translate even if held at gunpoint, but somehow the outraged, perturbed look on her otherwise smirking face was worth it. Oh boy – he thought – she really was livid. His inner, gleeful voice sniggered.
"Take that back," she told him in a huff, crossing her arms across her chest and giving him an annoyed look; his favourite indication he was getting on her nerves. Time Lord: 1, River Song: Nil!
"Take your youghurt-thingie back," he retorted and pointed to the glob still lying on the console, still spreading. Just the sight of it annoyed him; a living stain of icky milky-compound.
Her face changed, and her frown broke into a smile. A sinister smile by the look of it and her voice was ominously soft, contradictive; "No"
Wool-headed, stubborn, dratted, infuriating… - … argh! He tried to glare at her but it prattled off her, ineffective and feeble. Dratted woman! He wondered, for the umpteenth time, why he travelled with her? – even if it were for short periods of time. Maybe it made sense though - why it was small, brief periods of time, he reasoned. Travelling with her for longer, and they would end of killing each other; a double murder or murder/suicide on-board the Tardis – now that would something entirely different. Of course he would only regenerate - which would only leave River dead. Hmm.
"River!" he warned her, voice low and threateningly.
"Sweetie," she imitated his voice, word of warning too, a hand casually on her waist as she regarded him. She was spoiling for a fight, quite evidently.
"You are absolutely unbelievable, you know that! Bloody impossible – whoever taught you manners did a poor job!" he ranted the words leaving his mouth before he could contemplate the meaning of them, a small fire of fury in the pit of his mind, smouldering to life. "Woman," he demanded pointing at her, then pointed to the stain "Clean up!"
And he watched as she spilled another drop of her food, her smile wide and vindictive.
Oh - a declaration of war.
"Riiii-veehr" he growled, an animate, livid sound erupting from his abdomen and he lunged for her.
There was only one way to deal with her, he thought, as he leapt across the floor, adrenaline running though him in the sweet rush of excitement and exhilaration. She stepped aside in surprise, her eyes widening as she avoided him, stepping around the console.
So he chased her around it, low growls tingling in his throat and he had an almost feverish desire to tackle her to the ground.
Her surprise quickly turned to amused yelling, her voice high as she screamed at him – yelling words of insanity in-between fits of laughter.
By a miracle, some twisted sense of humour; he was faster than her and caught up with her. He threw himself at her, lunged and gripped around her middle as he tackled her to the floor. They landed in a heap, the air knocked out of them both. He quickly regained his breath though and he straddled her before she could escape.
All he could hear was her shallow gasps of intake, his own loud as well in his ear, and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest through his thighs.
Time Lord: 600, River-la-de-da-Song; Nil!
He poked her in the ribs and watched her squirm, her body shirking away from him. He gave her a wide, triumphant smile before he started his attack, tickling the sides of her abdomen, running his fingers up all the way to the edge of her armpits and all the way down to the swell of her hips, in over the front in circles around her navel; leaving no sensitive spot untouched or un-tickled.
Vengeance, was sweet.
And her shaky breaths turned to uncontrollable laughter as she squirmed and tried to make him stop – but he was positioned quite solidly on top of her.
Her laughter soon transformed into pleading cries and apologies amidst the giggles, tears rolling down her cheeks.
No mercy.
She laughed harder, clusters of I'm sorry between heaving for air.
Yes – there was only one effective way of dealing with her when she was in this contradictive mood.
Yes - only one way.
- and somehow worth the yoghurt spill, after all.
-o-
People assume that yoghurt is a strictly milk derivative … but actually, from a non-milk, non-dairy viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of yoghurt-smoghurt… dairy-mairy… stuff.
/Iso (who has a weird craving for... - ... yes you guessed it)