Title: World Cup Fever
Rating: R
Summary: Just some lighthearted adult fun between the Doctor and Charley, following the events of Living Legend.
A/N: Not really trying to make this one fit in the overall timeline of the 8/Charley relationship as I see it, but all of the double entrendres of Living Legend struck me while I was listening last night, and I wrote this. :)
The first twenty minutes of the cleanup had been completed at record pace. But after that, more than a little bored with the task at hand, the Doctor was finding things to distract himself with. The trans-dimensional projector that the Threllips had left behind was of no great interest to him; he'd played with such technology as a child in the Academy. It was hardly enough to keep his interest. Bored, his pace slowed, and the hours passed even more slowly.
It probably would've been easier to simply detonate a small explosion and dispose of the alien technology that way. But that wasn't particularly subtle, and there were an awful lot of people congregating not too far away. When they came to investigate - as they almost certainly would do - they would find fragments of unusual metals the likes of which did not exist on Earth. It wouldn't be conducive to the history of 20th Century Earth to simply blow up the Threllips' portal.
And so he and Charley had dismantled it, piece by piece, and took the pieces into the Tardis for disposal elsewhere. Or, more likely, so that it could sit in an unused storage area until the Doctor simply forgot about it. Unfortunately, this process was considerably more delicate and time than a stick of proverbial dynamite. It was hours before they'd finished with the clearing, and Charley stood brushing her hands together at a job well done.
"There! That oughtta do it!"
"Yes, and so much for celebrations," the Doctor answered ruefully. "I'm sure everyone's either gone home by now or they're too drunk to be any fun at all."
"It's just as well." Charley smiled as she stepped in closer. "You wouldn't want to contract World Cup Fever."
There was a tease in her voice, a subtle look in her eyes that made him smile as he slipped his arms around her waist. "Oh, I'm probably already infected."
"Aw... How unfortunate for you."
"For us."
"Us?"
"World Cup Fever is spread through physical contact, remember? We've certainly had our fair share of that tonight."
Her smile grew, and she slid her hands up to his shoulders, pressing her body in closer against his. "So does that mean I'm going to start screaming and gyrating and pressing my face against yours?"
"Not necessarily in that order."
"In what order, then?"
He smiled as he moved one hand to the side of her face, then back into her hair. His fingers tightened, gripping her hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to guide as he closed the short between them. He reveled for a moment in the way she held her breath, the feel of her single heart hammering in her chest as it pressed against his. The anticipating, the tingling excitement, was itself nearly as satisfying as the warmth of her kiss. He traced her lip teasingly, and she opened her mouth to him, her tongue meeting his halfway. As they intertwined, she gave a soft moan, and his smile widened as he withdrew, lips still brushing hers as he whispered, "Feel free to gyrate."
Breathless, she smiled back as she pushed her hips into his. "Feel free to make me scream."
He lifted her just enough to make her unsteady on her feet, then turned and pushed her back against the tree that was nearest to them. She gasped in surprise, but he quickly covered her mouth with his again, breaking the kiss only long enough to lean down and pull her long skirts up, slipping his hands underneath. There was pure desire in the way she gripped his shoulders, moaning softly. It was in the way his kisses fell on her neck, a hint of teeth and demand mixed with a question that her body answered with enthusiasm. Yes, she enjoyed every moment of what he did to her. Yes, she loved him. Yes, she wanted him.
His hands smoothed up her thighs, over the soft, warm skin she kept hidden. His body was tightening with excitement. Not the flaming lust of childish hormones but a deeper fire that burned much hotter. Pent up emotions and smoldering passions, need and warmth and intimacy and infinite trust. Love. He loved her. And he wanted her.
She was pushing his coat back as he rose to face her again. He left her undergarments where they fell and pulled her legs around his waist, bracing her against the tree's rough bark. Rolling his shoulders, he let his jacket fall, and her fingers worked quickly to unbutton his shirt and vest. She was delicate enough to avoid ripping it, yet quick enough to make short work of the bothersome fabric that was in her way.
Light, gentle fingertips traced the scars on his chest as their mouths met again. Down to his abdomen and the fastening of his pants. Feelings so long dormant, so deeply buried by so much self control and regulation, were let out to play. His fingers traced her curves, under the skirts that were bunched up between them. Soft flesh and silent invitation. He could smell her, hot and salty and ready for him. The pheromones were thick in the air between them, and they made the blood race through his veins and pool in his groin.
"Oh dear." The sound of her voice, distinctly feminine and laced with intrigue, interrupted his thoughts.
"Oh dear?" he whispered back.
"Is this a symptom as well?"
Her hand slipped inside of his trousers and gentle fingers curled around his erection, holding him firmly. He groaned at the contact. "No, Charley, I'm pretty sure that's all you."
She laughed lightly, wriggling and moving her legs so that she could push his trousers past his hips. "In that case, forget scrubbing the Tardis floors. I can think of much more suitable punishments for you."
"There will be plenty of time to explore your inner dominatrix later, Charley. Right now..." He closed his hand over hers, pressed his hips forward, and slowly, carefully joined their bodies together. "I need you."
She gave a pleasure filled sigh as she moved her hand and tightened her legs around his waist. Wet heat welcomed him, and his eyes rolled back. She whispered telltale sounds of her satisfaction, her breath warm and tickling on his ear. "Insanity virus indeed..."
The cool breeze on his back gave him a surprisingly exposed feeling, even in the darkness. Her nails in his shoulders, a sharp bite of pain against the pleasure, made him tight with building passion and need. They fit together so naturally, as if their bodies had no idea just how different they were supposed to be. Just now, they were two parts of the same whole.
"Doctor?" He could hear the tension in her voice as he thrust harder, faster, pleasure building.
"Yes, Charley?"
"Do you suppose... anyone would... come to investigate if they... heard a woman... screaming in the woods?"
He almost smiled, but he was too near to release to manage much more. "They'll probably think... it's World Cup Fever..."
She arched her back, screaming at the treetops as her nails raked down his arms. The echoing sound of her voice, total abandon and total freedom, triggered his release as much as the tight clench of her inner muscles around him, and he groaned loudly as his hips thrust erratically against hers until, finally, he was spent. In the tingling afterglow, he leaned forward on his arm, bracing himself on the tree.
"Doctor?"
"Hmm?"
Charley paused for a moment before answering weakly. "Did we really just have loud, drunken sex in the middle of a dark woods?"
"I'm not drunk. Are you?"
"Drat! I knew I'd forgotten something."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, raising a brow in question. She smiled back at him.
"I guess we'll just have to go for a few drinks and try again," she suggested.
He laughed quietly as he dropped his head forward, his brow against hers. "Charlotte Pollard, you are insatiable."
As her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, he realized that he had never been happier than he was right now.