Fic: Peach Pit (1/1)
Title: Peach Pit
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ten/Donna
Word Count: 2,988
Summary: All she wants is an apology, and all he wants is to give her one. He just doesn’t know it yet. For the doctor_donna PWP Prompt: Make-up Sex.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Oh, now this turned out dirty. I mean, borderline filthy. So please, avoid like the plague if that’s not your thing, yeah? And apologies in advance if this isn’t quite up to par - it’s been quite a while since I did porn, not to mention since I did porn like this, so I might be a bit rusty. And also for going over the character limit... I don't know what the word 'concise' means, apparently.
Peach Pit
She was reclined against her pillow; a well-loved paperback pinched between two knuckles and a pair of reading spectacles from Zikridane IX that changed color quite accurately to accommodate her outfit perched delicately near the tip of her nose as she stared down at the yellowed pages. The room was lukewarm, her feet burrowed comfortably beneath the sheets, the opposite side of the bed lonely and still - colder than it should have been, given the time of night, and she couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit vindicated as a result of the chill that clung to the bedclothes next to her.
She heard his breath before she deigned to look up at him; felt the shift in the room before the shift of the mattress, and pointedly ignored him even as he leaned into her, dipping his weight so that it jostled her side of the bed. “Go away,” she murmured distractedly, bringing a finger slowly to her lips and darting her tongue out the tiniest bit, just to wet the ridges of her fingerprint, before pressing the damp digit against the bulkier half of her bent-back novel, flipping the page with rapt interest even as his breath quickened beside her, no doubt imagining other things her tongue could wet.
It was his hand beneath the sheets, just barely brushing the bare stretch between her knee and the start of her thigh, seemingly coincidental - almost innocent as he stretched so that his body was parallel to her own - but she was wise to his ways by now; his hand near the hem of her oversized nightshirt, slowly creeping up towards her knickers, never occurred without a motive.
“Didn’t you hear me, Space-dunce?” Donna snapped irritably, her knees bending and closing off her hips in the folds of her skin as she hissed through clenched teeth, trying not to pay too much attention to the nearly maniacal gleam in the corner of the Doctor’s eye; “Beat it.”
When his eyebrows lost themselves in the span between his forehead and his hairline, and his fingers began to walk their way towards her hip bones, massaging over her bottom, she knew her vocabulary selection had probably been most unwise. “Not like that, you prawn,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and slapping his hand; not the least bit playfully, either, given the resonance of the skin-on-skin collision.
“You know me too well,” the Doctor resigned the point with a wicked grin, turning so that he was watching her from the vantage point of his palm, propped idly on his elbow to support his chin.
He was quiet - too quiet - and Donna knew before her book was snatched from her grip that he was up to something; not that the foresight helped her at all, really, as she was left pouting rather pathetically as she glared menacingly over at him, and made a couple of halfhearted grabs at the tattered binding he was taunting her with, dangling just beyond her reach. “Leave me alone,” she finally seethed, fed up and positively miffed as she dropped her arms to her sides, barricading her minimal clothing from his corruption, and staring straight at the wall before her with a scowl that could crack mountains down to dust.
“Why?” the Doctor asked, sounding genuinely confused as he shuffled closer to her, his heat mingling with her own - either he wasn’t quite reading her body language, or he was content to ignore it entirely. Either would be entirely within reason, for a man such as himself.
“Because I’m still angry at you,” Donna huffed, crossing her arms over his chest, her wrists balanced conveniently upon the rounds of her breasts, forcing them down and out, making them appear fuller through the thin fabric of her top.
“Still?” the Doctor asked, sounding more than minutely shocked as he stilled his hand from roaming off her arm, where he’d been running his finger up past her elbow, towards the tilted peak of her nipple where it poked up pertly beneath her shirt.
“Yes, still, you wanker,” Donna groused, almost disgusted as she plucked his hand away from her chest. “Piss off.”
He moved away, somewhat dejected, dropping her reading material into the crease between his pillow and her own. She breathed a sigh, hoping that this would be the end of it - she was not giving into him. Not tonight.
She felt suddenly cool beneath her long nightshirt, and when she saw her simple cotton underwear draped unceremoniously over the Doctor’s fingers, the elastic being pulled between his thumb and forefinger as he eyed the blue undergarments rather cheekily, she knew she could have anticipated no less from him.
“You’re a bastard,” she bit out at him, fighting the urge to roll off of the bed as he slid closer to her, his bare leg creeping out beneath the loose tie of his dressing gown and running down her calves, his toes playing with her heels.
She rolled her eyes at him, perturbed and frustrated that he’d managed to best her, her mind flying to all of the very reasons she was angry with him. “You’re a stubborn, pompous, self-righteous cunt.”
“Who’s?” the Doctor asked lightly, his eyes sparkling mischievously as his finger suddenly reached to brush along the lips of that very part of her anatomy. “Yours?”
“I hate you.” She hated more that she couldn’t suppress the shiver, let alone the moan as his long, soft fingers began tempting just past the lines of folded skin at her labia, where she was growing hotter and wetter by the moment.
“I hate you, too,” he breathed, stilling his hands for just an instant as he leaned down and kissed her, needy and strong, his mouth flavored strongly of desire, but the kiss itself was sheer passion - something deeper as he paused everything and claimed her with his tongue alone.
She gasped as he drove a single finger inside of her, breaking the kiss as she sucked in the air, smiling broadly when she turned wide, accusative eyes upon him, her breath coming too quick to form coherent sentences with any ease. “You’re a fiend,” she groaned as he went straight to work, knowing her too well, brushing against her most sensitive spots in the most delicate of ways, knowing it would drive her mad. “A... aaaa...” she stuttered as he stroked inside of her, just shy of her clitoris. “Fucker...”
He raised an eyebrow at her, trying not to smile in satisfaction as he watched her writhe beneath his simple ministrations. “That’s a bit obvious, love.”
“You’re a right twat, you know that?” she hissed breathlessly as he ducked, pulling his hand free of her and trailing his wet mouth down her shirt, outlining the circumference of her right breast, down in a line between her ribs and through her navel, kissing gently at the line of her pelvis before moving lower.
“And you’re a loud,” he nipped at the very crease of her left thigh, “nagging,” and then her right; “infuriating bitch,” he traced his tongue along the skin of her Venusian cleft, mirroring the movements of his hand just seconds earlier, “who worries far too much sometimes.” His voice dropped lower here, and he titled his chin so that his lips were pressed in a soft, slow sort of kiss around her clit, his tongue flicking out to pleasure her just so for the barest of moments; the violent jerking of her muscles in response the only reaction he required. “So we’re square,” he breathed as he pulled up, looking to kiss her again before returning to convincing her to let go of her grudge against him.
That, as it happened, was apparently the last straw for Donna; and given his experience with her, he should have been expecting as much. What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was the sudden clench of her naked inner thighs around the curve of his abdomen and around to his hips, gripping him tightly as Donna arched at the back, a sharp, cold glint in her gaze as her spine surged forward, giving her leverage.
He was on his back in the blink of an eye, the screech of the springs beneath him and their bounce against his shoulders the only telling signs that it hadn’t always been just so.
“How d’ya like that, eh?” Donna panted, the twist of her lips, all red and swollen from just the one, searing kiss enough to send a wave of desire rushing through him, tightening under the splay of her legs where she was teetering, rocking back and forth against his navel, the sweat glazing her legs grabbing greedily at the hairs on his stomach. “Not so clever anymore, are you?” she whispered, the heat between her legs making his throat dry as he tried to swallow, unsuccessfully; it took all he had in him not to grab at her hips and guide her down onto him then and there.
As if she’d read his mind, he could only stare as she raised herself to hover just above his hips, his hearts stuttering as the line of muscle in her calf shivered beneath her warm, creamy skin; his breath caught as she teased him, the skin of her vulva pressing hot and slick, tantalizing his hard shaft and just barely touching - it was enough to drive him to desperation.
In one last burst of independence, pinned down as he was - nearly quivering with desire, and helpless - he raised his hands and eased up the fabric of her shirt, slowly exposing the shuddering, arhythmic expansion of her stomach, her chest - the way her areolas were pinched and tight around her nipples in arousal, making her breasts seem firmer, higher - her cleavage more pronounced as she loomed over him.
Donna leaned back on her calves, leaving him cold and lonely for a silent instant as the rustle of polyester filled the room, her shirt falling in a dense-sounding heap somewhere indeterminate before she returned, crawling on her knees to position herself between his legs once more, her kneecaps brushing innocently at the underside of his straining cock as she bent over him, slowly separating the gap between the halves of his dressing gown just a bit further, so that the arms hung limply off of him, his whole naked frame exposed to her bidding.
Before either of them could breathe, Donna bucked against him, and in record time had slid him expertly into her, straight through her tight, sweet opening - no one could claim that they weren’t practiced, by any means. He raised his hips into her, driving harder and deeper than she could manage alone as she rode him, hot and quick and aggressive, almost dangerous; her breaths coming sharp and deadly as she gasped every time he adjusted his angle, hitting her just a bit better, and unexpectedly so as she rocked back and forth, pulled up and then surged down.
He was starting to really feel the friction now, biting down on his tongue to keep from groaning, because damn, she was good at this; but he could feel in her insistence that she wanted him silent, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt compelled to comply. He did moan a bit as she fell forward onto him, forcing his cock, still buried inside her, violently upwards as her stomach slapped against his, as her breasts flopped to either side of his chest, crushed beneath her as she lowered herself face-to-face against him.
She panted into him, and he was shaking with the force of his heartbeats, his erection straining against her - they could both feel the movement as he twitch within her. Her eyes were focused on the shining wetness of his lips, and she dove down, biting hard into his bottom lip and sucking forcefully, her tongue drawing patterns on the tender flesh as the Doctor felt himself grow impossibly harder, Donna’s powerfully rocking now more subtle, more delicate - and if anything, it was doing him in all the faster.
“Tell me you were wrong,” she whispered, her lips trailing gently onto his cheek, the stubble beneath her mouth almost saccharine.
“I was wrong,” he gasped, feeling the muscles in his gut seize as his eyes fluttered closed, squeezed shut as he fought for control, stalled the rolling sense of need and release that was racing through his veins with every heartbeat; the truth was, he hadn’t felt so utterly helpless, so close to the very brink of insanity, in longer than he could properly recall.
He whimpered as she pulled herself off of him in one fluid motion, leaving him bereft, the rush of cool against his erection sending a surge of immediacy through his blood. He began to shake just a tad, the first sign of his orgasm showing, and it was so needy, so much a requirement, a craving for that release, that when he felt tough, angry fingers wrap around the base of his cock and curl along the length of it, effectively cutting him off from his impending relinquishment of control, he cried out, his head tilting back at a painful angle as he grimaced against the acute start of pain that resonated from his scrotum and vibrated through the rest of his body.
“How wrong?” Donna demanded, her tone flippant, but her gaze intense.
“So, so wrong.” He nearly choked out a sob as she increased the pressure of her fingers around his pulsing cock. “Very wrong,” he gasped, teeth barred as he tried to keep his eyes upon her, tried to plead her to let go, to stop tormenting him; the tears prickling behind his eyes at the thrumming sense of urgency raging through him were making it difficult to see at all.
“And are you sorry?” Donna forced out, her voice husky and gravelly as she slowly shimmied her way back up his body, her hand still firm around his length but the rest of her slowly uncoiling, her breasts bouncing their way messily up his torso, her nipples grazing the lines of his ribs as she dipped her head and ran her warm mouth in damp lines up his side, sucking long and hard along his clavicle, leaving delicate welts of ruby in her wake to stake her claim upon him.
“Yes,” he murmured as she nipped at the hollow of his throat, the single word turning into two distinct parts as she wantonly ground her hips into his, pressing his cock, held tight in her fist, painfully back into the juncture of his legs.
Donna leaned forward to speak against his open mouth, the breeze of her breath against his teeth his undoing; “You’re what?” she asked, a venomously sweet edge to her voice as she stared him down through narrowed eyes, her nails digging into the hyper-sensitized skin of his desperately-hard penis, one finger after another biting into the rough, vein-lined flesh of his length in time with every fifth beat of his hearts.
“Sorry!” he cried out, flinching at the angry twist of skin beneath her fingertips, at the unbearable need to come, to let go and descend from the sensation of his blood sprinting through arteries that were suddenly much too small; of his hearts cracking beneath the pressure and bursting open inside his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, biting his lip in the most perfect sort of agony. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Donna asked skeptically, her voice low as he writhed under her command.
“Sorry, yes,” the Doctor stammered, his voice faint and pitchy, as if these were the last, half-crazed mumblings of a dying man. “I’m sorry, Donna,” he stumbled over the syllables, light throbbing painfully behind his eyes, between his legs, beneath her hands; “M’sorry.”
That was the magic word, and as soon as her fingers had loosened enough to guide the wet tip of his erection back towards her entrance, he was lost. Spilling his seed before he was even encased by the tight, burning walls beyond her opening, he saw stars before he knew that her hands were molded to his shoulder blades, pushing him farther into her; her muscles clenching around him to keep him inside, her thighs tight but trembling as she held them together, still except for their rapidly heaving chests as he shook within her, as she quivered around him; as they both rode the crests of their orgasms at counterpoint and then fell, drained and depleted, against one another.
They nearly slipped apart, slick and sticky with sweat and come as Donna slid off of him without effort, his now-flaccid cock pressed into her left thigh as she curled herself around him, holding on tightly and nuzzling against the dip of his collarbone as the line of bone dove down into his chest.
“I’m still cross with you, you know,” she spoke into his skin, the words soft and less forceful, more frightened, than before.
The Doctor grinned softly, lungs still burning as he flung an arm out in exhaustion, letting it hang limp over the edge of the bed while the other wrapped around Donna’s shoulders, keeping her close. “Oh, I know.”
“Good,” Donna gasped on the inhale, her head bobbing in a whirlwind sort of satisfaction as she wrapped her slick legs around his own with a sigh. “So long as you know.”
The sounds of their breaths echoed into the night, and both sides of the bed were comfortably warm by morning.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ten/Donna
Word Count: 2,988
Summary: All she wants is an apology, and all he wants is to give her one. He just doesn’t know it yet. For the doctor_donna PWP Prompt: Make-up Sex.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Oh, now this turned out dirty. I mean, borderline filthy. So please, avoid like the plague if that’s not your thing, yeah? And apologies in advance if this isn’t quite up to par - it’s been quite a while since I did porn, not to mention since I did porn like this, so I might be a bit rusty. And also for going over the character limit... I don't know what the word 'concise' means, apparently.
Peach Pit
She was reclined against her pillow; a well-loved paperback pinched between two knuckles and a pair of reading spectacles from Zikridane IX that changed color quite accurately to accommodate her outfit perched delicately near the tip of her nose as she stared down at the yellowed pages. The room was lukewarm, her feet burrowed comfortably beneath the sheets, the opposite side of the bed lonely and still - colder than it should have been, given the time of night, and she couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit vindicated as a result of the chill that clung to the bedclothes next to her.
She heard his breath before she deigned to look up at him; felt the shift in the room before the shift of the mattress, and pointedly ignored him even as he leaned into her, dipping his weight so that it jostled her side of the bed. “Go away,” she murmured distractedly, bringing a finger slowly to her lips and darting her tongue out the tiniest bit, just to wet the ridges of her fingerprint, before pressing the damp digit against the bulkier half of her bent-back novel, flipping the page with rapt interest even as his breath quickened beside her, no doubt imagining other things her tongue could wet.
It was his hand beneath the sheets, just barely brushing the bare stretch between her knee and the start of her thigh, seemingly coincidental - almost innocent as he stretched so that his body was parallel to her own - but she was wise to his ways by now; his hand near the hem of her oversized nightshirt, slowly creeping up towards her knickers, never occurred without a motive.
“Didn’t you hear me, Space-dunce?” Donna snapped irritably, her knees bending and closing off her hips in the folds of her skin as she hissed through clenched teeth, trying not to pay too much attention to the nearly maniacal gleam in the corner of the Doctor’s eye; “Beat it.”
When his eyebrows lost themselves in the span between his forehead and his hairline, and his fingers began to walk their way towards her hip bones, massaging over her bottom, she knew her vocabulary selection had probably been most unwise. “Not like that, you prawn,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and slapping his hand; not the least bit playfully, either, given the resonance of the skin-on-skin collision.
“You know me too well,” the Doctor resigned the point with a wicked grin, turning so that he was watching her from the vantage point of his palm, propped idly on his elbow to support his chin.
He was quiet - too quiet - and Donna knew before her book was snatched from her grip that he was up to something; not that the foresight helped her at all, really, as she was left pouting rather pathetically as she glared menacingly over at him, and made a couple of halfhearted grabs at the tattered binding he was taunting her with, dangling just beyond her reach. “Leave me alone,” she finally seethed, fed up and positively miffed as she dropped her arms to her sides, barricading her minimal clothing from his corruption, and staring straight at the wall before her with a scowl that could crack mountains down to dust.
“Why?” the Doctor asked, sounding genuinely confused as he shuffled closer to her, his heat mingling with her own - either he wasn’t quite reading her body language, or he was content to ignore it entirely. Either would be entirely within reason, for a man such as himself.
“Because I’m still angry at you,” Donna huffed, crossing her arms over his chest, her wrists balanced conveniently upon the rounds of her breasts, forcing them down and out, making them appear fuller through the thin fabric of her top.
“Still?” the Doctor asked, sounding more than minutely shocked as he stilled his hand from roaming off her arm, where he’d been running his finger up past her elbow, towards the tilted peak of her nipple where it poked up pertly beneath her shirt.
“Yes, still, you wanker,” Donna groused, almost disgusted as she plucked his hand away from her chest. “Piss off.”
He moved away, somewhat dejected, dropping her reading material into the crease between his pillow and her own. She breathed a sigh, hoping that this would be the end of it - she was not giving into him. Not tonight.
She felt suddenly cool beneath her long nightshirt, and when she saw her simple cotton underwear draped unceremoniously over the Doctor’s fingers, the elastic being pulled between his thumb and forefinger as he eyed the blue undergarments rather cheekily, she knew she could have anticipated no less from him.
“You’re a bastard,” she bit out at him, fighting the urge to roll off of the bed as he slid closer to her, his bare leg creeping out beneath the loose tie of his dressing gown and running down her calves, his toes playing with her heels.
She rolled her eyes at him, perturbed and frustrated that he’d managed to best her, her mind flying to all of the very reasons she was angry with him. “You’re a stubborn, pompous, self-righteous cunt.”
“Who’s?” the Doctor asked lightly, his eyes sparkling mischievously as his finger suddenly reached to brush along the lips of that very part of her anatomy. “Yours?”
“I hate you.” She hated more that she couldn’t suppress the shiver, let alone the moan as his long, soft fingers began tempting just past the lines of folded skin at her labia, where she was growing hotter and wetter by the moment.
“I hate you, too,” he breathed, stilling his hands for just an instant as he leaned down and kissed her, needy and strong, his mouth flavored strongly of desire, but the kiss itself was sheer passion - something deeper as he paused everything and claimed her with his tongue alone.
She gasped as he drove a single finger inside of her, breaking the kiss as she sucked in the air, smiling broadly when she turned wide, accusative eyes upon him, her breath coming too quick to form coherent sentences with any ease. “You’re a fiend,” she groaned as he went straight to work, knowing her too well, brushing against her most sensitive spots in the most delicate of ways, knowing it would drive her mad. “A... aaaa...” she stuttered as he stroked inside of her, just shy of her clitoris. “Fucker...”
He raised an eyebrow at her, trying not to smile in satisfaction as he watched her writhe beneath his simple ministrations. “That’s a bit obvious, love.”
“You’re a right twat, you know that?” she hissed breathlessly as he ducked, pulling his hand free of her and trailing his wet mouth down her shirt, outlining the circumference of her right breast, down in a line between her ribs and through her navel, kissing gently at the line of her pelvis before moving lower.
“And you’re a loud,” he nipped at the very crease of her left thigh, “nagging,” and then her right; “infuriating bitch,” he traced his tongue along the skin of her Venusian cleft, mirroring the movements of his hand just seconds earlier, “who worries far too much sometimes.” His voice dropped lower here, and he titled his chin so that his lips were pressed in a soft, slow sort of kiss around her clit, his tongue flicking out to pleasure her just so for the barest of moments; the violent jerking of her muscles in response the only reaction he required. “So we’re square,” he breathed as he pulled up, looking to kiss her again before returning to convincing her to let go of her grudge against him.
That, as it happened, was apparently the last straw for Donna; and given his experience with her, he should have been expecting as much. What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was the sudden clench of her naked inner thighs around the curve of his abdomen and around to his hips, gripping him tightly as Donna arched at the back, a sharp, cold glint in her gaze as her spine surged forward, giving her leverage.
He was on his back in the blink of an eye, the screech of the springs beneath him and their bounce against his shoulders the only telling signs that it hadn’t always been just so.
“How d’ya like that, eh?” Donna panted, the twist of her lips, all red and swollen from just the one, searing kiss enough to send a wave of desire rushing through him, tightening under the splay of her legs where she was teetering, rocking back and forth against his navel, the sweat glazing her legs grabbing greedily at the hairs on his stomach. “Not so clever anymore, are you?” she whispered, the heat between her legs making his throat dry as he tried to swallow, unsuccessfully; it took all he had in him not to grab at her hips and guide her down onto him then and there.
As if she’d read his mind, he could only stare as she raised herself to hover just above his hips, his hearts stuttering as the line of muscle in her calf shivered beneath her warm, creamy skin; his breath caught as she teased him, the skin of her vulva pressing hot and slick, tantalizing his hard shaft and just barely touching - it was enough to drive him to desperation.
In one last burst of independence, pinned down as he was - nearly quivering with desire, and helpless - he raised his hands and eased up the fabric of her shirt, slowly exposing the shuddering, arhythmic expansion of her stomach, her chest - the way her areolas were pinched and tight around her nipples in arousal, making her breasts seem firmer, higher - her cleavage more pronounced as she loomed over him.
Donna leaned back on her calves, leaving him cold and lonely for a silent instant as the rustle of polyester filled the room, her shirt falling in a dense-sounding heap somewhere indeterminate before she returned, crawling on her knees to position herself between his legs once more, her kneecaps brushing innocently at the underside of his straining cock as she bent over him, slowly separating the gap between the halves of his dressing gown just a bit further, so that the arms hung limply off of him, his whole naked frame exposed to her bidding.
Before either of them could breathe, Donna bucked against him, and in record time had slid him expertly into her, straight through her tight, sweet opening - no one could claim that they weren’t practiced, by any means. He raised his hips into her, driving harder and deeper than she could manage alone as she rode him, hot and quick and aggressive, almost dangerous; her breaths coming sharp and deadly as she gasped every time he adjusted his angle, hitting her just a bit better, and unexpectedly so as she rocked back and forth, pulled up and then surged down.
He was starting to really feel the friction now, biting down on his tongue to keep from groaning, because damn, she was good at this; but he could feel in her insistence that she wanted him silent, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt compelled to comply. He did moan a bit as she fell forward onto him, forcing his cock, still buried inside her, violently upwards as her stomach slapped against his, as her breasts flopped to either side of his chest, crushed beneath her as she lowered herself face-to-face against him.
She panted into him, and he was shaking with the force of his heartbeats, his erection straining against her - they could both feel the movement as he twitch within her. Her eyes were focused on the shining wetness of his lips, and she dove down, biting hard into his bottom lip and sucking forcefully, her tongue drawing patterns on the tender flesh as the Doctor felt himself grow impossibly harder, Donna’s powerfully rocking now more subtle, more delicate - and if anything, it was doing him in all the faster.
“Tell me you were wrong,” she whispered, her lips trailing gently onto his cheek, the stubble beneath her mouth almost saccharine.
“I was wrong,” he gasped, feeling the muscles in his gut seize as his eyes fluttered closed, squeezed shut as he fought for control, stalled the rolling sense of need and release that was racing through his veins with every heartbeat; the truth was, he hadn’t felt so utterly helpless, so close to the very brink of insanity, in longer than he could properly recall.
He whimpered as she pulled herself off of him in one fluid motion, leaving him bereft, the rush of cool against his erection sending a surge of immediacy through his blood. He began to shake just a tad, the first sign of his orgasm showing, and it was so needy, so much a requirement, a craving for that release, that when he felt tough, angry fingers wrap around the base of his cock and curl along the length of it, effectively cutting him off from his impending relinquishment of control, he cried out, his head tilting back at a painful angle as he grimaced against the acute start of pain that resonated from his scrotum and vibrated through the rest of his body.
“How wrong?” Donna demanded, her tone flippant, but her gaze intense.
“So, so wrong.” He nearly choked out a sob as she increased the pressure of her fingers around his pulsing cock. “Very wrong,” he gasped, teeth barred as he tried to keep his eyes upon her, tried to plead her to let go, to stop tormenting him; the tears prickling behind his eyes at the thrumming sense of urgency raging through him were making it difficult to see at all.
“And are you sorry?” Donna forced out, her voice husky and gravelly as she slowly shimmied her way back up his body, her hand still firm around his length but the rest of her slowly uncoiling, her breasts bouncing their way messily up his torso, her nipples grazing the lines of his ribs as she dipped her head and ran her warm mouth in damp lines up his side, sucking long and hard along his clavicle, leaving delicate welts of ruby in her wake to stake her claim upon him.
“Yes,” he murmured as she nipped at the hollow of his throat, the single word turning into two distinct parts as she wantonly ground her hips into his, pressing his cock, held tight in her fist, painfully back into the juncture of his legs.
Donna leaned forward to speak against his open mouth, the breeze of her breath against his teeth his undoing; “You’re what?” she asked, a venomously sweet edge to her voice as she stared him down through narrowed eyes, her nails digging into the hyper-sensitized skin of his desperately-hard penis, one finger after another biting into the rough, vein-lined flesh of his length in time with every fifth beat of his hearts.
“Sorry!” he cried out, flinching at the angry twist of skin beneath her fingertips, at the unbearable need to come, to let go and descend from the sensation of his blood sprinting through arteries that were suddenly much too small; of his hearts cracking beneath the pressure and bursting open inside his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, biting his lip in the most perfect sort of agony. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Donna asked skeptically, her voice low as he writhed under her command.
“Sorry, yes,” the Doctor stammered, his voice faint and pitchy, as if these were the last, half-crazed mumblings of a dying man. “I’m sorry, Donna,” he stumbled over the syllables, light throbbing painfully behind his eyes, between his legs, beneath her hands; “M’sorry.”
That was the magic word, and as soon as her fingers had loosened enough to guide the wet tip of his erection back towards her entrance, he was lost. Spilling his seed before he was even encased by the tight, burning walls beyond her opening, he saw stars before he knew that her hands were molded to his shoulder blades, pushing him farther into her; her muscles clenching around him to keep him inside, her thighs tight but trembling as she held them together, still except for their rapidly heaving chests as he shook within her, as she quivered around him; as they both rode the crests of their orgasms at counterpoint and then fell, drained and depleted, against one another.
They nearly slipped apart, slick and sticky with sweat and come as Donna slid off of him without effort, his now-flaccid cock pressed into her left thigh as she curled herself around him, holding on tightly and nuzzling against the dip of his collarbone as the line of bone dove down into his chest.
“I’m still cross with you, you know,” she spoke into his skin, the words soft and less forceful, more frightened, than before.
The Doctor grinned softly, lungs still burning as he flung an arm out in exhaustion, letting it hang limp over the edge of the bed while the other wrapped around Donna’s shoulders, keeping her close. “Oh, I know.”
“Good,” Donna gasped on the inhale, her head bobbing in a whirlwind sort of satisfaction as she wrapped her slick legs around his own with a sigh. “So long as you know.”
The sounds of their breaths echoed into the night, and both sides of the bed were comfortably warm by morning.