ext_68550 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
sandystarr88.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2010-10-21 06:04 pm
sandystarr88.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-10-21 06:04 pm
Entry tags:
Advent Calendar by sap1066 (Adult)
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing: Doctor/Rose
Length: 22,524
Author on LJ: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Author Website: Profile at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind
Why this must be read:
Because sap1066 is one of the best Nine/Rose authors out there and in this wonderful smut filled piece the Doctor and Rose find new and interesting ways to have sex for all the days of the Advent calendar. When I first read this story I was amazed with how creative the author was with each new chapter, she certainly raised the bar when it comes to PWP fiction.
On the tenth of December, they saved the world, because they hadn’t done it in a week and a half and he didn’t want to get out of practice. It wasn’t a very big world, not up to his usual standards. Rose said she’d been bigger worlds given away free with magazines and he’d had to explain to her very carefully, that sometimes, size really didn’t matter. She agreed, and he felt like spanking her. Every time she opened her mouth that morning he’d felt like spanking her, as well as every time she hadn’t. He’d spent most of the day on hands and knees, crawling down tunnels too tiny to stand up straight in, watching Rose’s denim clad bottom wave around in right in front of his eyes.
The TARDIS was parked in the only cavern in this underground world big enough to accommodate it, and they’d gone off in search of the rock eating insects that were devouring the planet from the inside out. Because he said he was a gentleman, he insisted she precede him into the stony corridors, and because what he said wasn’t necessarily true he’d spent the whole morning lusting after her shamelessly. There was a lot of shameless going around.
‘So basically,’ she said, halfway into a space so narrow she had to wriggle her hips to get through. ‘We’re going to find the nest, and put down some bait, and then they’ll all die off?’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ he replied absently, watching her backside make suggestive movements in the light of the sonic screwdriver.
‘Then this doesn’t count as saving the world, does it? This is more like pest control.’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ he said, trotting out his stock answer to anything he couldn’t be bothered to think about.
She sniggered. ‘So — if this is pest control — does that make you the exterminator?’
He wasn’t even remotely amused. He stopped. ‘Did you just make a joke about the destruction of my entire race? A disaster I caused, so terrible it left me drifting through time and space, emotionally crippled, until I met some Cockney schoolgirl and totally lost my mind.’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ she shot back, giggling. ‘I bet that makes me a very naughty girl doesn’t it?’
His mouth went dry. When they went back to the TARDIS to pick up some more bait she disappeared before he had a chance to think up a suitable punishment, locking the bedroom door behind her. He waited outside the ship, tapping his foot in impatience. The tenth of December was turning into a thoroughly frustrating day. Ten was clearly his unlucky number.
When she appeared at the door he changed his mind. She was wearing knee high black leather boots, fishnet tights and a pleated grey skirt so short it would have been banned instantly at the Prydonian Academy. A white shirt several sizes too small completed the ensemble, with a red and black striped tie slung carelessly around her neck. He hated ties.
Her hair was in pigtails and he thumbed her cheek suspiciously. ‘Are those meant to be freckles?’ he asked.
‘Eyeliner,’ she replied triumphantly, withdrawing a wooden ruler from behind her back. ‘Up the apples and pears?’ she offered.
‘I thought I told you size doesn’t matter?’ he noted, nodding her back towards the tunnels.
‘Oh no,’ she answered. ‘You always make me go first. It’s your turn.’
‘That’s why I’m a gentleman,’ he retorted. ‘But you groped me enough last week so in you go, and I’ll come after you.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she muttered to herself, and went back down on hands and knees.
He quickly learned he had been wrong about the tights. What she actually had on were stockings, and a suspender belt, and a black thong with tiny red flowers sewn on it. In red stitching. And he knew that because he had such a close up view of it.
At the second intersection he gave her directions. ‘Turn left,’ he said. She went right.
Something on the floor grated against his hand. He looked down. It was the ruler. He looked up. Rose’s bottom smiled at him insolently. He picked up the ruler and made her smile that little bit pinker. She squealed. But at the next junction she went wrong again and needed correcting. He was happy to oblige. By the time the world was thoroughly saved she had made enough errors to earn herself detention.
Crawling out of the tunnels she made no attempt to stand up, so he yanked off the thong, kneeled up, and prepared to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. Unfortunately, she’d been paying far more attention in class than he had.
She waited until he penetrated her, and then, before he could get comfortable, she took a deep breath and squeezed her muscles around him, gripping him in a hot, wet embrace so tight it made him gasp. He tugged himself back out a bit against the pressure, all his hidden nerve endings posting him little messages about friction, and rubbing. He pushed back in again, felt his legs go weak at the resistance, the stranglehold of her warmth around him. This was the woman whose pelvic floor could wake him up all on its own, after all. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to anything that might be listening for the wonderful sport of gymnastics.
So he surrendered, and he rode her as hard as she would let him, his hands on her hips, his arms around her waist, his nails on her back. He threw himself into her until the sweat was trickling down his face, pumping as fast as he could, banging and slapping against her as finally, with a shout that could be heard on the other side of the world, he shot into her and collapsed.
She rolled from underneath him, snatched up the ruler from the floor and kneeled up, looking down at his firm, white, naked, vulnerable, and entirely unprotected behind. She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind it not being ladies first,’ she said. ‘As long as it’s ladies second. Someone should teach you better manners.’ She raised her arm.
Advent Calendar
Pairing: Doctor/Rose
Length: 22,524
Author on LJ: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Author Website: Profile at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind
Why this must be read:
Because sap1066 is one of the best Nine/Rose authors out there and in this wonderful smut filled piece the Doctor and Rose find new and interesting ways to have sex for all the days of the Advent calendar. When I first read this story I was amazed with how creative the author was with each new chapter, she certainly raised the bar when it comes to PWP fiction.
On the tenth of December, they saved the world, because they hadn’t done it in a week and a half and he didn’t want to get out of practice. It wasn’t a very big world, not up to his usual standards. Rose said she’d been bigger worlds given away free with magazines and he’d had to explain to her very carefully, that sometimes, size really didn’t matter. She agreed, and he felt like spanking her. Every time she opened her mouth that morning he’d felt like spanking her, as well as every time she hadn’t. He’d spent most of the day on hands and knees, crawling down tunnels too tiny to stand up straight in, watching Rose’s denim clad bottom wave around in right in front of his eyes.
The TARDIS was parked in the only cavern in this underground world big enough to accommodate it, and they’d gone off in search of the rock eating insects that were devouring the planet from the inside out. Because he said he was a gentleman, he insisted she precede him into the stony corridors, and because what he said wasn’t necessarily true he’d spent the whole morning lusting after her shamelessly. There was a lot of shameless going around.
‘So basically,’ she said, halfway into a space so narrow she had to wriggle her hips to get through. ‘We’re going to find the nest, and put down some bait, and then they’ll all die off?’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ he replied absently, watching her backside make suggestive movements in the light of the sonic screwdriver.
‘Then this doesn’t count as saving the world, does it? This is more like pest control.’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ he said, trotting out his stock answer to anything he couldn’t be bothered to think about.
She sniggered. ‘So — if this is pest control — does that make you the exterminator?’
He wasn’t even remotely amused. He stopped. ‘Did you just make a joke about the destruction of my entire race? A disaster I caused, so terrible it left me drifting through time and space, emotionally crippled, until I met some Cockney schoolgirl and totally lost my mind.’
‘Sort of, yeah,’ she shot back, giggling. ‘I bet that makes me a very naughty girl doesn’t it?’
His mouth went dry. When they went back to the TARDIS to pick up some more bait she disappeared before he had a chance to think up a suitable punishment, locking the bedroom door behind her. He waited outside the ship, tapping his foot in impatience. The tenth of December was turning into a thoroughly frustrating day. Ten was clearly his unlucky number.
When she appeared at the door he changed his mind. She was wearing knee high black leather boots, fishnet tights and a pleated grey skirt so short it would have been banned instantly at the Prydonian Academy. A white shirt several sizes too small completed the ensemble, with a red and black striped tie slung carelessly around her neck. He hated ties.
Her hair was in pigtails and he thumbed her cheek suspiciously. ‘Are those meant to be freckles?’ he asked.
‘Eyeliner,’ she replied triumphantly, withdrawing a wooden ruler from behind her back. ‘Up the apples and pears?’ she offered.
‘I thought I told you size doesn’t matter?’ he noted, nodding her back towards the tunnels.
‘Oh no,’ she answered. ‘You always make me go first. It’s your turn.’
‘That’s why I’m a gentleman,’ he retorted. ‘But you groped me enough last week so in you go, and I’ll come after you.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she muttered to herself, and went back down on hands and knees.
He quickly learned he had been wrong about the tights. What she actually had on were stockings, and a suspender belt, and a black thong with tiny red flowers sewn on it. In red stitching. And he knew that because he had such a close up view of it.
At the second intersection he gave her directions. ‘Turn left,’ he said. She went right.
Something on the floor grated against his hand. He looked down. It was the ruler. He looked up. Rose’s bottom smiled at him insolently. He picked up the ruler and made her smile that little bit pinker. She squealed. But at the next junction she went wrong again and needed correcting. He was happy to oblige. By the time the world was thoroughly saved she had made enough errors to earn herself detention.
Crawling out of the tunnels she made no attempt to stand up, so he yanked off the thong, kneeled up, and prepared to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. Unfortunately, she’d been paying far more attention in class than he had.
She waited until he penetrated her, and then, before he could get comfortable, she took a deep breath and squeezed her muscles around him, gripping him in a hot, wet embrace so tight it made him gasp. He tugged himself back out a bit against the pressure, all his hidden nerve endings posting him little messages about friction, and rubbing. He pushed back in again, felt his legs go weak at the resistance, the stranglehold of her warmth around him. This was the woman whose pelvic floor could wake him up all on its own, after all. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to anything that might be listening for the wonderful sport of gymnastics.
So he surrendered, and he rode her as hard as she would let him, his hands on her hips, his arms around her waist, his nails on her back. He threw himself into her until the sweat was trickling down his face, pumping as fast as he could, banging and slapping against her as finally, with a shout that could be heard on the other side of the world, he shot into her and collapsed.
She rolled from underneath him, snatched up the ruler from the floor and kneeled up, looking down at his firm, white, naked, vulnerable, and entirely unprotected behind. She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind it not being ladies first,’ she said. ‘As long as it’s ladies second. Someone should teach you better manners.’ She raised her arm.
Advent Calendar