Plausible Deniability
Title: Plausible Deniability
Author: kijikun
Pairing: Rachel Smith/Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Unsafe sex, debatable incest, public sex. Beta'd by miriel and sakuracorr.
The Doctor held his beer with both hands, not drinking it. The pub was crowded, and he was supposed to be somewhere else. There was a football game on the TV, but he wasn't watching. Mostly.
The man next to him at the bar had been great company. He didn't even look in the Doctor's direction. Not a single question or entreaty that started with "but Doctor..."
When the man left, a young brunette woman hopped up onto the barstool.
"Mind if I sit here?" She asked with a london lilt to her speech.
He shook his head, and she smiled widely. The Doctor went back to not drinking his beer, not watching the game, and added not studying the girl.
She leaned across the bar, her brown braid falling over her shoulder. "Mark, can a girl get a beer or what?"
Mark, the bartender, laughed. "Thought you'd still be putting finishing touches on things for tomorrow, 'Chel?."
"And miss the game?" She snorted, taking a long drink of the beer he set in front of her. "Besides Dan went back to London yesterday, and the rest of my crew went back to the hostel. No sense of fun, the lot of them."
The Doctor noticed mud caked to her work boots and the cuffs of her faded jeans.
"Rooting for Scotland?" She asked him, nudging him with her elbow. She had an easy going smile. "You're scowling at the TV something awful."
He shook his head. "I'm not very fond of football. Give me a good cricket match any time."
She laughed. "At least you're honest. Most blokes would lie through their teeth."
The Doctor thought, hoped, she'd leave him be after that, but she didn't. Instead, she provided a running commentary on the game. He found he didn't mind much, as she cast aspirations on the referee's ancestries in Middle English.
"What sort of work are you doing?" The Doctor asked during a lull in her rant on why the Scottish team should be required to play in kilts.
"War and siege machines." She told him, straightening her back and lifting her chin.
"War and siege machines?" The Doctor repeated.
She finished off the last of her third beer and nodded. "Catapults, trebuchets … that sort of thing. Everything you need to lay siege of a castle or fortress." She waved at the bartender for another beer. "There's a competition on who can build the most authentic the fastest and have it hold up to extreme weights and such."
"You build them then?" He asked even though he knew the answer. He liked her voice.
"We design them too. The blueprints must be original drafts from one of the build team. We have to base our entries upon designs from the Crusading period, but we can make any modifications that we want as long as the framework stays intact. Lots of wiggle room, though you have to prove your sources." She explained, beaming. "My designs and calculations will see us to a win this year. Those Cambridge snots will get taken down a peg or two when they see us launch a car over their bleeding heads."
"How are you dealing with the stress factors?" He asked, curious despite himself.
"Well -" The Doctor watched her pull a pen out of her pocket and grabbed a napkin as she launched into her explanation.
The Doctor nodded as he listened; her numbers and calculations were sound. "And how do you know I'm not a spy from another team?" He smiled at her. He wondered if the girls would be interested in watching the competition but decided it wasn't worth thinking about.
She smiled slyly. "A charming spy."
He realized with a jolt that she was flirting with him. He didn't mind. Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn't place it.
After an hour of flirtation over discussion of sources and physics equations, the Doctor pulled out money to pay for both their beers. "Let me walk you to your hostel." He heard himself offer. He didn't say, 'Come travel with me,' though he wanted to. He had companions already, a TARDIS full in fact.
"All right," She agreed after a moment.
A block from the pub, in a small tree lined park, she kissed him.
The Doctor let her.
She was young, nineteen or twenty at the best.
When she stepped back, he pulled her forward again. He kissed her and licked her lips. She tasted like beer and ink; he wondered if she chewed on her pens.
She was young, and still thought calculations and number could give her all the answers.
The Doctor pushed her back against the rough bark of the tree behind her. The shadows hid them from view of the path. She worked a hand under his jumper and stroked the bare skin of his waist. His hand was up her shirt, fingers spread on her skin.
She thought she could change things just by being right. That her careful research and plans would change stagnant, long held beliefs.
She slipped her tongue in his mouth, taking what she wanted. His fingers teased her through the soft cotton of her bra. Her lips left his so she could draw in a shaky, gasping breath and she let him pull her shirt up.
She brimmed with excitement and promise, and he wanted that. It had been too long since he was Theta Sigma, since he'd wanted to be. So long since he'd believed all the things that he could hear in her voice.
Her fingers were on his pants dragging down the zipper, pulling at the button. The Doctor had his mouth on her breast, sucking through the multi-colored fabric. Her free hand clutched his head. He didn't have to ask if she was sure. He'd of been when he was like her.
Rash, proud, so sure of herself.
He still was, just not like that.
Her hand was in his pants, and his fingers were unfastening hers. He fumbled and didn't have to worry about the universe coming to a messy end. He pulled her hand from his pants and sucked on her fingers.
He dropped to his knees, pulling down her pants and knickers along the way. She kicked off her shoe, pulled her right leg free of her clothing, and grinned down at him. He pulled her leg over his shoulder, and felt her muscles tremble to hold her weight. She leaned back against the bark.
Nothing in her panting breaths sounded like no or a name. That suited him fine.
Her fingers pulled at his hair. He strained his tongue against her, knees aching.
Her gasps sounded muffled, and he looked up. She held a hand over her mouth, biting the skin.
He reached up and pulled her hand down, holding her wrist against the tree as he pressed his tongue inside of her. When she came, her fingernails dug into his hand. Her legs shook as if they'd give way.
She let her leg fall from his shoulder and stroked his hair; he helped her straighten her clothes. When he kissed her, their teeth knocked. He walked her to the hostel and she kissed him, biting his lip as she did.
She didn't say goodbye.
He didn't ask her name.
The Doctor walked back to the TARDIS; he hoped he could change his pants before any of the three youths aboard noticed.
Author: kijikun
Pairing: Rachel Smith/Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Unsafe sex, debatable incest, public sex. Beta'd by miriel and sakuracorr.
The Doctor held his beer with both hands, not drinking it. The pub was crowded, and he was supposed to be somewhere else. There was a football game on the TV, but he wasn't watching. Mostly.
The man next to him at the bar had been great company. He didn't even look in the Doctor's direction. Not a single question or entreaty that started with "but Doctor..."
When the man left, a young brunette woman hopped up onto the barstool.
"Mind if I sit here?" She asked with a london lilt to her speech.
He shook his head, and she smiled widely. The Doctor went back to not drinking his beer, not watching the game, and added not studying the girl.
She leaned across the bar, her brown braid falling over her shoulder. "Mark, can a girl get a beer or what?"
Mark, the bartender, laughed. "Thought you'd still be putting finishing touches on things for tomorrow, 'Chel?."
"And miss the game?" She snorted, taking a long drink of the beer he set in front of her. "Besides Dan went back to London yesterday, and the rest of my crew went back to the hostel. No sense of fun, the lot of them."
The Doctor noticed mud caked to her work boots and the cuffs of her faded jeans.
"Rooting for Scotland?" She asked him, nudging him with her elbow. She had an easy going smile. "You're scowling at the TV something awful."
He shook his head. "I'm not very fond of football. Give me a good cricket match any time."
She laughed. "At least you're honest. Most blokes would lie through their teeth."
The Doctor thought, hoped, she'd leave him be after that, but she didn't. Instead, she provided a running commentary on the game. He found he didn't mind much, as she cast aspirations on the referee's ancestries in Middle English.
"What sort of work are you doing?" The Doctor asked during a lull in her rant on why the Scottish team should be required to play in kilts.
"War and siege machines." She told him, straightening her back and lifting her chin.
"War and siege machines?" The Doctor repeated.
She finished off the last of her third beer and nodded. "Catapults, trebuchets … that sort of thing. Everything you need to lay siege of a castle or fortress." She waved at the bartender for another beer. "There's a competition on who can build the most authentic the fastest and have it hold up to extreme weights and such."
"You build them then?" He asked even though he knew the answer. He liked her voice.
"We design them too. The blueprints must be original drafts from one of the build team. We have to base our entries upon designs from the Crusading period, but we can make any modifications that we want as long as the framework stays intact. Lots of wiggle room, though you have to prove your sources." She explained, beaming. "My designs and calculations will see us to a win this year. Those Cambridge snots will get taken down a peg or two when they see us launch a car over their bleeding heads."
"How are you dealing with the stress factors?" He asked, curious despite himself.
"Well -" The Doctor watched her pull a pen out of her pocket and grabbed a napkin as she launched into her explanation.
The Doctor nodded as he listened; her numbers and calculations were sound. "And how do you know I'm not a spy from another team?" He smiled at her. He wondered if the girls would be interested in watching the competition but decided it wasn't worth thinking about.
She smiled slyly. "A charming spy."
He realized with a jolt that she was flirting with him. He didn't mind. Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn't place it.
After an hour of flirtation over discussion of sources and physics equations, the Doctor pulled out money to pay for both their beers. "Let me walk you to your hostel." He heard himself offer. He didn't say, 'Come travel with me,' though he wanted to. He had companions already, a TARDIS full in fact.
"All right," She agreed after a moment.
A block from the pub, in a small tree lined park, she kissed him.
The Doctor let her.
She was young, nineteen or twenty at the best.
When she stepped back, he pulled her forward again. He kissed her and licked her lips. She tasted like beer and ink; he wondered if she chewed on her pens.
She was young, and still thought calculations and number could give her all the answers.
The Doctor pushed her back against the rough bark of the tree behind her. The shadows hid them from view of the path. She worked a hand under his jumper and stroked the bare skin of his waist. His hand was up her shirt, fingers spread on her skin.
She thought she could change things just by being right. That her careful research and plans would change stagnant, long held beliefs.
She slipped her tongue in his mouth, taking what she wanted. His fingers teased her through the soft cotton of her bra. Her lips left his so she could draw in a shaky, gasping breath and she let him pull her shirt up.
She brimmed with excitement and promise, and he wanted that. It had been too long since he was Theta Sigma, since he'd wanted to be. So long since he'd believed all the things that he could hear in her voice.
Her fingers were on his pants dragging down the zipper, pulling at the button. The Doctor had his mouth on her breast, sucking through the multi-colored fabric. Her free hand clutched his head. He didn't have to ask if she was sure. He'd of been when he was like her.
Rash, proud, so sure of herself.
He still was, just not like that.
Her hand was in his pants, and his fingers were unfastening hers. He fumbled and didn't have to worry about the universe coming to a messy end. He pulled her hand from his pants and sucked on her fingers.
He dropped to his knees, pulling down her pants and knickers along the way. She kicked off her shoe, pulled her right leg free of her clothing, and grinned down at him. He pulled her leg over his shoulder, and felt her muscles tremble to hold her weight. She leaned back against the bark.
Nothing in her panting breaths sounded like no or a name. That suited him fine.
Her fingers pulled at his hair. He strained his tongue against her, knees aching.
Her gasps sounded muffled, and he looked up. She held a hand over her mouth, biting the skin.
He reached up and pulled her hand down, holding her wrist against the tree as he pressed his tongue inside of her. When she came, her fingernails dug into his hand. Her legs shook as if they'd give way.
She let her leg fall from his shoulder and stroked his hair; he helped her straighten her clothes. When he kissed her, their teeth knocked. He walked her to the hostel and she kissed him, biting his lip as she did.
She didn't say goodbye.
He didn't ask her name.
The Doctor walked back to the TARDIS; he hoped he could change his pants before any of the three youths aboard noticed.