The eleventh Doctor was hungry.
But not hungry for food.
He threw off the covers of his bed and ran to the control room.
Saving the whole of time and space sometimes made a timelord crave certain…things
On his way, he heard his companions, Amy and Rory, in their room having loud, implausible sex in their bunk bed. This only increased his apatite.
His mind wandered to that console, those keys on the type writer. He would go and stroke them now. Maybe a little harder than usual. Pump that pump as hard as he could. Oh yes.
But when he got there. It appeared as though he and the Tardis would not be able to have their special time together. Sparks were erupting from every corner. The typewriter was on fire. He watched in horror as a small explosion took place that blew a quarter of the console to pieces.
The Doctor tried to fix the broken pieces, but to no avail. He then decided he needed to land, but that didn't seem possible either. It seemed as though every place in every time period contained too many paradoxes for him to land.
"Amy! Rory!" he called out.
But the Doctor's cries of terror could not be heard over Rory's moans of ecstasy.
The Doctor examined his monitor and focused on a certain area of time and space.
No. It couldn't be.
He checked another point in time.
Another point in space.
Another point in both time and space.
An alternate universe.
Five alternate universes.
But there was no denying it. All the fixed points in time had been altered.
In their place, filthy, unbelievable mind-boggling sex took hold.
Everyone (older than 18 obviously) was having sex when they were supposed to be doing other things
"The sex will tear time apart!" the Doctor cried.