This is my first Doctor Who fic. I love Doctor Who and its wild and adventurous themes, but tried to tone them down for this fluffy fic!
"Don't forget to pick up some milk!" Called Amy as Rory trundled out of the house.
"I won't!" he called, shutting the door with a bang. He grinned to himself as he strode down the motorway, gleeful with the secret knowledge that he would not be returning with milk. For the truth was, he was not going to the supermarket, as his unsuspecting wife believed. He was in fact going to the grotto of his secret lover for an hour of extramarital passion.
Rory knocked on the door of his broad affair's luxury apartment. His classified cutie wrenched open the door and licked his lips with relish. "Hello Rotty!"
Rory gyrated his hips towards the tempting turbot, as happy to see him as he was relieved to be away from his copper-headed chubber of a wife.
"Good evening, fair maiden." Rory broached, raising his overgrown brows suggestively. Rory's date gazed at him with confused lust; he was unsure as to how such a greasy and overweight cad had become his 'number one', but it had happened.
"I don't understand how you're number one," grunted the short-arse. "when it was just a fling before!"
"Me neither, Bonnets!" hooted the bulbous hooker, removing his tweed jacket with some difficulty-it had become entwined with his wobbly bingo wings. When it was finally off, the extent of his personal hygiene issues became quite apparent. Herds of moths came bursting from the oblique dawg's rolls, singing 'Gloria!' in D Flat. This was a huge turn on for Rory's bristly plus-one, who jived along to the happenin' and modern tune.
"Oh, Ronty! That's amazing!" he keened, clutching at his bursting corazón with the passion of a wild mare galloping through fields of dung. Rory began to tear off his bullet proof vest, gurning to the beat of the insects beat-boxing .
"Roll with the Rory!" screamed Rory, his belly cascading to the ground, his 'sausage of fun' swaying enticingly.
"Oi, Roathy!" shouted his smooth beau, caressing Rory's "firm pole", "Let's get started, I can't resist you any longer!"
"Of course, my fine ride." Quoted Rory, pinging his goggles suavely. The goggles smashed into his nose, almost breaking it and causing a torrent of casserole to spew out of his nostrils.
"Och, Roachy, be careful!" shouted the unshaven ungulate. "Now let me at you!"
"Yes, commander Staal!" shouted Rory, helping the pugnacious sontaran out of his space suit. "I will take you where you've never been before!"
"Ho ho ho!" roared Staal, enthusiastically thrusting his seven penises towards his homosexual hash-brown. Rory grappled with the penises with the expertise of a professional lion-tamer, launching one into his mouth, three into his "back passage" and the remaining 6 into a bowl of jelly he had conveniently placed on the bed. Staal chuntered with ecstasy as his ace appendages were stimulated by the bod of the last centurian and a pot of strawberry pudding.
"Good show, Rodney!" He vocalised, grabbing Rory's single manhood and stuffing it into his right nostril.
"OH! OHH!" Rory squealed, writhing with pleasure. "MORE!"
Staal chuckled at the young sir's enthusiasm, and used his tongue to lick Rory's macho thighs. The hot potato and the nifty nurse pulsated and fornicated for several minutes until there was a knock at the door.
"One moment!" chuntered Staal, disentangling his many appendages and grabbing a woolly dressing gown from a nearby chair. "Could be the postman!"
He jogged over to the porta and flung it open, only to be stunned and embarrassed by who was there.
It was the Doctor.
The beaky bumpkin peered at the fat sontaran with horror on his clock.
"Baby?! How could you!? After 900 years!" he cawed, tears pouring from his opticals. A huge torrent of dung came rushing from his rear, as it often did when the time-lord got too worked up.
"Doctorate! I'm so glad you came! I think this creature is a Weeping Angel, and it almost had me!" Staal fabricated through his teeth.
"Get back to space!" growled the sorcerer's apprentice, wielding his sonic screwdriver like a fishwife would a haddock. The diminutive hunk Staal leapt backwards, but alas, his soft robe snagged on an old cactus and he was thrown across the room in a blaze of holy-fire.
"Aieeeeee!" the pendulous hag wailed as the Doctor advanced on him, ferocious as an eel in a barber's shop. The Doctor was about to murder his lifelong ram when suddenly Rory seized him by his buns and dragged him in reverse.
"Please don't!" the corporate nutter brayed, "He's all I have! He lights up my world like nobody else! When his lips touch mine, its the kiss of life! All he wants is to fall in love with someone he can trust! Please, sir, don't smite my dear loaf!"
Rory fell to his knobbly knees and began to smooch the Doctor's llama-skin Uggs. The ancient nerd gazed down with contempt evident in his double chin.
"You disgust me." he honked, swatting Rory with his antique parasol.
What the Doctor had unfortunately forgotten was that his parasol was stuffed with lead pipes as a make-shift weapon. Rory crashed to the ground, a crimson flood of blood spurting violently across the room and splattering Staal in the face.
"Help! Help! I'm blind!" cried poor Staal, frantically trying to wipe the blood from his eyes. Unfortunately, the blood was too thick and Staal's warrior training made him overly dependent on his sight. He stumbled over a pot of ragu and slammed into his wardrobe, smashing it to pieces. A huge piece of veneered MDF flew across the room and plunged straight into the Doctor's heart.
The Doctor gasped and reared, shaking like a dying King-Kong.
"What have you done to me!?" he choked, collapsing to the ground, destroying Staal's potted Oak tree in the process. Staal heard the commotion.
"What's happening? Doctor? Are you OK?" He wheezed anxiously, clawing at his saucy blindfold in vain.
"No, I'm bloody not!" Screeched Doctor Who indignantly. "I need medical attention! Thank God I have two hearts!"
"Not for long!" came a malignant crow, as Rory, who had just barely managed to regain consciousness, drove a trowel through the Doctor's second cardio.
The Doctor bellowed like a boar stuck in the mud and scrabbled at his abdomen. He fell to the ground, dead as a doornail, with his tongue hanging out. Rory grimaced and kicked out at the corpse of his old friend.
"Good riddance, smelly!" he laughed, clutching his wide stomach as he rofled. Staal wiped a tear from his optical, whispering a silent prayer to the Doctor's memory.
Then the obese pair walked away.
3 months later
"Rory, we haven't seen the Doctor in ages!" Karen Gillan whined.
"Shut up." Rory said, pretending that he hadn't noticed that his wife was an imposter.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The knock was as loud as thunder crashing and half a dozen pretentious sculptures shattered throughout Rory's avant-garde home.
"What the hell?" he screamed, beginning to sweat. He strode over to the door and wrenched it open with his foot.
When he saw who was there, he nearly fainted.
"But...but... I kept my side of the bargain!" he squeaked, going as white as a white tablecloth.
"You are a disgrace!" boomed a sonorous voice from beyond.
"NOOOOO." Rory whimpered.
The last thing Karen saw was a blaze of green light as Jean-Claude seized her husband and vanished without a trace.
For Jean-Claude was an Angel of Death.
Oh no, not again! I hope you enjoyed that, and didn't cry too much when the Doctor passed away.
Love, Septimus xxx