Flip the Tape
"Flip the Tape"
Eleven/Peri
NC-17 (saucy language, revenge-based pegging)
There comes a point in every Time Lord's life when he needs to accept the consequences of his actions. Sexually.
Note: Marginally cleaned-up kinkmeme fill. Thanks, anon!
He bops around the universe, it's what he does, and he runs into old friends all the time, that's also what he does. So he really shouldn't be surprised when he's jaunting around Mr. Wacko's Fun Planet (Fun For The Whole Family But Not Necessarily All Of Them At The Same Time)(TM), eating funnel cake dipped in cheese sauce, and he bumps into a familiar face (not literally, more the torso part).
"Peri!" he says. "Perpugilliam Brown!"
"Who the hell are you?" Peri is not sharing his enthusiasm. She looks irritated and wary (and older, more muscular than she'd been, more threatening). She drops a hand unsubtly to the holster at her hip.
"It's me! The Doctor." He straightens his bow tie. "New face, new look, same old Doctor." He smiles widely. "What do you think?
"How do I know you're the Doctor and not an evil villain trying to use me in order to somehow take over the universe?" This said as if she really does think he was an evil impostor. The nerve of the girl.
(He'll never understand why some people refuse to believe he's the Doctor. He has an innate Doctorness, it's really not that difficult to see. Look at this bow tie, it's a dead giveaway. The noble brow? Another giveaway. The air of casual but confident power and intelligence? Giant neon sign.)
But she's angry and unsure and he suddenly remembers the warm, tangible parts of her, and remembers losing them, so he grabs her by the upper arm (she squawks) and kisses her soundly. Come now, Miss Brown, who else could I be? he thinks, nudging against her telepathically.
"Doctor," she says after she pulls away. "Really."
"I was just-"
"I know."
"Well. So."
"So."
They pause. He takes another look at her: she's more modestly dressed than he remembers but for some reason all he can see is the outline of her tits (still great), that pout (holding up well), the solid curve of her ass (it's been a long time).
She humphs. He smiles.
"How is...what's his name?" He can do small-talk, truly he can.
"Yrcanos."
"How is Yrcanos?"
"No idea," she says. She's starting to fume a little. He'd missed the way her face bent when she got mad.
"You're still angry."
"Of course I'm still angry! You tried to kill me-"
"Did that more than once, didn't I?"
"-and then you abandoned me in the ass-end of nowhere to fend for myself. I married Yrcanos for the free ride off that dump. I think we were together for three days. What did you think would happen, that I'd decide my true vocation was to follow around a troll? 'Thank you for all your help, Doctor, but I feel my future lies in the circus.'" She fake-flutters her eyelashes.
"Oh, stop acting like a-"
This is where she punches him. It hurts. Being punched usually hurts but now he knows for sure it hurts the regular way in this body. His nose is leaking: that's blood. "You made my nose bleed, you, you-" He scrunches his face up, which makes it hurt more. He mentally urges his self-healing/auto-cleaning functions onward. "You human."
But she's smiling. "You sounded just like him, right then."
"Him? Oh, me. Well, I am me, so there you go."
He bangs his way around the universe, it's another thing he does, or sometimes does, depending on the regeneration. This time around he's got this nervous energy under his skin, like he could fuck everyone in the galaxy, if he set his mind to it. After 200-odd years of celibacy he's thinking he should run with it. Jack would be proud.
He's been itching to fuck his way through entire civilizations, which is why it's no surprise he lets Peri into the TARDIS, not when she's checking him out like that, not when her coveralls cling like that to her legs. She grabs him by the lapel and tosses him through the door.
She was always a fighter. He'd missed that. She's a little harder now, a little cooler, but that spark of anger is perfectly familiar: he's getting hard in an almost nostalgic sort of way. She slams him against the console and he flops back bonelessly, setting off the mustard dispenser as he goes. Levers press hard against his spine.
"I waited for ages on that godforsaken planet," she says, then pulls him up, yanks the jacket off, and pushes him back again. This time he lands on ketchup. She goes for his bow tie next.
"It wasn't my fault. Remember? I told you. And then you married Yrcanos! Yrcanos!" He pauses. "Yrcanos!" he says again, for good measure.
She snaps his braces off.
"It was the Time Lords, not me," he says. Around here is where she methodically unbuttons his shirt and drags it off him, his arms sort of following along in that unfortunate ragdoll fashion he has these days. "Perpugillium Brown," he says, tasting each syllable. "Dear Peri. I have missed you."
"No, you haven't." She stares at him critically. He cringes inwardly and resists the urge to hide his nipples. He waits.
Finally, she says, "Kinda scrawny, huh."
"I prefer the term 'lanky'."
"Hmm," she hmm's. She tugs his trousers down and flips him over.
It's somewhere between his dick slamming into the typewriter keys and the air hitting his now-bare ass when he realizes he doesn't so much want to fuck as be fucked. That's new. He moans into the puddle of ketchup.
"Stay there," she says. "Don't move." He doesn't move. He listens to her walk away, a door slams, time passes. He waits. A door opens, she walks back, she almighty unmerciful Rassilon - he hears, with alarming clarity, the sound of a lid being unscrewed from a jar, then a squelch, and then switches hearing for feeling her immaculately-manicured, now well-lubed fingers sliding into him. She crooks an index finger and he nearly chips a tooth on the Twirly Directional Thing, and then nearly starts crying when she moves away.
"I want you to apologize," she says conversationally, breath hitching in between thrusts as she fucks him with, yes, that's a dildo, and where did that even come from? Cold and solid and smooth (glass, he thinks, and stops himself from analyzing it for geographical/temporal information), and almost painfully large; he's never been fucked before in this body and it hurts like hell. My sweet giddy aunt, he mouths into the console, and giggles, then sobs.
She grabs his hair and pulls hard. "I was turned into a bird because of you."
"I'm sorry," he says, as his dick rubs against QWERTY. Actual tears in his eyes now. This is, he can't do this, why is he doing this, of course he's doing this, it's too much, he's covered in ketchup.
"Yrcanos," she says, yanking his head back and keeping it there. She's very good at this, he thinks in an abstracted part of his mind. Excellent sense of rhythm. In another part of his mind, he tucks this away for future reference: one hand tangled in his hair, the other bruising his shoulder, her breasts pressed against his back, the dildo seemingly filling every spare inch of him, hips slamming him into the pleasantly-burbling TARDIS like the fate of the universe depends on it.
She angles her thrusts just slightly to the left (she remembers where it is, praise Omega) and then his brain mostly shuts off altogether.
"Never. Even. Sent. A goddamn postcard."
I'm so sorry, he thinks, because his mouth isn't working at the moment. This is agonizing, this is perfect, he'll be limping for weeks. She's breathing hot into his neck now, hands braced against the console. This is different: his bones knocking hard against metal, his knees going weak, her body soft against the sharp angles of him.
Also different: the way his breath scratches out of his throat, the stupid little whimpering noises he's making. He sounds desperate even to himself. She slows down and he gets louder, she stops moving entirely and he starts begging. Please don't stop I'm sorry just please keep going please please fuck me I'm sorry -
"You're kind of a slut this time around, huh," she says, and that's when he comes.
"What have you done to me, I feel awful, this is not the ideal situation for me to be in at this time," he says, after he discovers he can't move without spasming in pain. He's piled in a heap on the floor. There's a bruise on his hip in the shape of an alarm clock. Peri is watching him from the sofa, still fully dressed, totally composed, the strap-on harness nestled nonchalantly around her hips.
"You love it."
"Only as much as you."
"To be honest, Doc," she says, "it was more an exercise in letting go of the past. I liked you better chubby and dressed like a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, no kidding. This you doesn't do all that much for me."
"Probably for the best," although he doesn't much feel that it is for the best, it's just it wouldn't be good for his heart to break along with the rest of him. Which it is. Breaking, he means. His body. Yes.
She raises an eyebrow, unstraps the harness and tosses it at him (it hits him in the nose, which promptly starts bleeding again) and then leaves without saying a word. He deserves that, he supposes.
As the TARDIS doors whoosh closed behind her, he resolves to find Jack and have a heart-to-heart. He needs to...talk this over. Later, when he can move again. His ass gives out a tired throb. Much, much later. The universe can wait.
Eleven/Peri
NC-17 (saucy language, revenge-based pegging)
There comes a point in every Time Lord's life when he needs to accept the consequences of his actions. Sexually.
Note: Marginally cleaned-up kinkmeme fill. Thanks, anon!
He bops around the universe, it's what he does, and he runs into old friends all the time, that's also what he does. So he really shouldn't be surprised when he's jaunting around Mr. Wacko's Fun Planet (Fun For The Whole Family But Not Necessarily All Of Them At The Same Time)(TM), eating funnel cake dipped in cheese sauce, and he bumps into a familiar face (not literally, more the torso part).
"Peri!" he says. "Perpugilliam Brown!"
"Who the hell are you?" Peri is not sharing his enthusiasm. She looks irritated and wary (and older, more muscular than she'd been, more threatening). She drops a hand unsubtly to the holster at her hip.
"It's me! The Doctor." He straightens his bow tie. "New face, new look, same old Doctor." He smiles widely. "What do you think?
"How do I know you're the Doctor and not an evil villain trying to use me in order to somehow take over the universe?" This said as if she really does think he was an evil impostor. The nerve of the girl.
(He'll never understand why some people refuse to believe he's the Doctor. He has an innate Doctorness, it's really not that difficult to see. Look at this bow tie, it's a dead giveaway. The noble brow? Another giveaway. The air of casual but confident power and intelligence? Giant neon sign.)
But she's angry and unsure and he suddenly remembers the warm, tangible parts of her, and remembers losing them, so he grabs her by the upper arm (she squawks) and kisses her soundly. Come now, Miss Brown, who else could I be? he thinks, nudging against her telepathically.
"Doctor," she says after she pulls away. "Really."
"I was just-"
"I know."
"Well. So."
"So."
They pause. He takes another look at her: she's more modestly dressed than he remembers but for some reason all he can see is the outline of her tits (still great), that pout (holding up well), the solid curve of her ass (it's been a long time).
She humphs. He smiles.
"How is...what's his name?" He can do small-talk, truly he can.
"Yrcanos."
"How is Yrcanos?"
"No idea," she says. She's starting to fume a little. He'd missed the way her face bent when she got mad.
"You're still angry."
"Of course I'm still angry! You tried to kill me-"
"Did that more than once, didn't I?"
"-and then you abandoned me in the ass-end of nowhere to fend for myself. I married Yrcanos for the free ride off that dump. I think we were together for three days. What did you think would happen, that I'd decide my true vocation was to follow around a troll? 'Thank you for all your help, Doctor, but I feel my future lies in the circus.'" She fake-flutters her eyelashes.
"Oh, stop acting like a-"
This is where she punches him. It hurts. Being punched usually hurts but now he knows for sure it hurts the regular way in this body. His nose is leaking: that's blood. "You made my nose bleed, you, you-" He scrunches his face up, which makes it hurt more. He mentally urges his self-healing/auto-cleaning functions onward. "You human."
But she's smiling. "You sounded just like him, right then."
"Him? Oh, me. Well, I am me, so there you go."
He bangs his way around the universe, it's another thing he does, or sometimes does, depending on the regeneration. This time around he's got this nervous energy under his skin, like he could fuck everyone in the galaxy, if he set his mind to it. After 200-odd years of celibacy he's thinking he should run with it. Jack would be proud.
He's been itching to fuck his way through entire civilizations, which is why it's no surprise he lets Peri into the TARDIS, not when she's checking him out like that, not when her coveralls cling like that to her legs. She grabs him by the lapel and tosses him through the door.
She was always a fighter. He'd missed that. She's a little harder now, a little cooler, but that spark of anger is perfectly familiar: he's getting hard in an almost nostalgic sort of way. She slams him against the console and he flops back bonelessly, setting off the mustard dispenser as he goes. Levers press hard against his spine.
"I waited for ages on that godforsaken planet," she says, then pulls him up, yanks the jacket off, and pushes him back again. This time he lands on ketchup. She goes for his bow tie next.
"It wasn't my fault. Remember? I told you. And then you married Yrcanos! Yrcanos!" He pauses. "Yrcanos!" he says again, for good measure.
She snaps his braces off.
"It was the Time Lords, not me," he says. Around here is where she methodically unbuttons his shirt and drags it off him, his arms sort of following along in that unfortunate ragdoll fashion he has these days. "Perpugillium Brown," he says, tasting each syllable. "Dear Peri. I have missed you."
"No, you haven't." She stares at him critically. He cringes inwardly and resists the urge to hide his nipples. He waits.
Finally, she says, "Kinda scrawny, huh."
"I prefer the term 'lanky'."
"Hmm," she hmm's. She tugs his trousers down and flips him over.
It's somewhere between his dick slamming into the typewriter keys and the air hitting his now-bare ass when he realizes he doesn't so much want to fuck as be fucked. That's new. He moans into the puddle of ketchup.
"Stay there," she says. "Don't move." He doesn't move. He listens to her walk away, a door slams, time passes. He waits. A door opens, she walks back, she almighty unmerciful Rassilon - he hears, with alarming clarity, the sound of a lid being unscrewed from a jar, then a squelch, and then switches hearing for feeling her immaculately-manicured, now well-lubed fingers sliding into him. She crooks an index finger and he nearly chips a tooth on the Twirly Directional Thing, and then nearly starts crying when she moves away.
"I want you to apologize," she says conversationally, breath hitching in between thrusts as she fucks him with, yes, that's a dildo, and where did that even come from? Cold and solid and smooth (glass, he thinks, and stops himself from analyzing it for geographical/temporal information), and almost painfully large; he's never been fucked before in this body and it hurts like hell. My sweet giddy aunt, he mouths into the console, and giggles, then sobs.
She grabs his hair and pulls hard. "I was turned into a bird because of you."
"I'm sorry," he says, as his dick rubs against QWERTY. Actual tears in his eyes now. This is, he can't do this, why is he doing this, of course he's doing this, it's too much, he's covered in ketchup.
"Yrcanos," she says, yanking his head back and keeping it there. She's very good at this, he thinks in an abstracted part of his mind. Excellent sense of rhythm. In another part of his mind, he tucks this away for future reference: one hand tangled in his hair, the other bruising his shoulder, her breasts pressed against his back, the dildo seemingly filling every spare inch of him, hips slamming him into the pleasantly-burbling TARDIS like the fate of the universe depends on it.
She angles her thrusts just slightly to the left (she remembers where it is, praise Omega) and then his brain mostly shuts off altogether.
"Never. Even. Sent. A goddamn postcard."
I'm so sorry, he thinks, because his mouth isn't working at the moment. This is agonizing, this is perfect, he'll be limping for weeks. She's breathing hot into his neck now, hands braced against the console. This is different: his bones knocking hard against metal, his knees going weak, her body soft against the sharp angles of him.
Also different: the way his breath scratches out of his throat, the stupid little whimpering noises he's making. He sounds desperate even to himself. She slows down and he gets louder, she stops moving entirely and he starts begging. Please don't stop I'm sorry just please keep going please please fuck me I'm sorry -
"You're kind of a slut this time around, huh," she says, and that's when he comes.
"What have you done to me, I feel awful, this is not the ideal situation for me to be in at this time," he says, after he discovers he can't move without spasming in pain. He's piled in a heap on the floor. There's a bruise on his hip in the shape of an alarm clock. Peri is watching him from the sofa, still fully dressed, totally composed, the strap-on harness nestled nonchalantly around her hips.
"You love it."
"Only as much as you."
"To be honest, Doc," she says, "it was more an exercise in letting go of the past. I liked you better chubby and dressed like a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, no kidding. This you doesn't do all that much for me."
"Probably for the best," although he doesn't much feel that it is for the best, it's just it wouldn't be good for his heart to break along with the rest of him. Which it is. Breaking, he means. His body. Yes.
She raises an eyebrow, unstraps the harness and tosses it at him (it hits him in the nose, which promptly starts bleeding again) and then leaves without saying a word. He deserves that, he supposes.
As the TARDIS doors whoosh closed behind her, he resolves to find Jack and have a heart-to-heart. He needs to...talk this over. Later, when he can move again. His ass gives out a tired throb. Much, much later. The universe can wait.