Impromptu Therapy

"You alright, Doctor," I ask as I walk into the console room. Once she'd come down from her post-blowbang high, she'd closed off and spent the last couple of days very tightly controlled - and surprisingly conservatively-dressed - around me. "Oh, hi John," she replies with slightly **** cheerfulness, "yeah, I'm fine." I hum skeptically and grab a biscuit from the dispenser. It's a custard cream, which I'm ambivalent towards - possibly some sort of coded message from the TARDIS about not letting my urges run away with me, but almost certainly not. "Uh-huh," I say, "and not dwelling on the mysterious voice that sounded like pure sex and persuaded you to infest yourself with aphrodisiac slime and take advantage of my clearly-compromised mental state while in your clearly-compromised mental state."

I should probably feel worse about phrasing it like that, but I literally had a mantra looping in my head the whole time recited by a woman who's already laid a temporal trap for us once before - also, I need the Doctor to know I'm thinking of the least charitable interpretation of the whole thing when I speak. I reach down and grab her ass - she jumps slightly and her breath hitches, but doesn't try to pull away - before looking her in the eyes. "See," I say, "no sudden loss of common sense, no little voice in your head telling you to bend over and take my cock, no libido going out of control." She breathes out shakily. "Sure, yeah, I'm fine," she replies, "still got all my faculties. It's just... Everything got a bit out of hand, is all."

That'll happen when a man with literally infinite staying power decides to fuck you into a dopey mess, I mentally agree. "I dunno about that," I say faux-innocently, "what's three days to a pair of time travelers?" She relaxes a little as my hand roams her ass, kneading and stroking each massive cheek through her yoga pants. "Depends on where you spend it," she replies, "and it was four-and-a-half days for me - I'm the one who had dozens of slimegirls crammed up her bum, after all." I roll my eyes and give her a little swat on each cheek - her breathe hitches with each one, but this time there's no flinch. "Three-and-a-half," I retort, "you didn't have to spend almost a day sucking them all off after you got them out. Admit it, you did it because you forgot to stop yourself from doing something for you."

She licks her lips nervously but doesn't say anything, so I press on. "Listen, no matter what happened afterwards, you still cured all of those people," I tell her, "you still aired the management's dirty laundry across half a fucking galaxy and things still worked out okay in the end. You're still the Doctor, it's just now you know you're also a phat-assed, horny bitch who loves to tease. You can be both! It's normal for you to be both. People who make their job their life are sad sacks of shit at the best of times." She hip-checks me hard enough to send me stumbling. "Oi," she admonishes me with a smile, "it's a vocation, not a job."

I rub my ribs where they hit one of the many panels of buttons and switches, then smile back. A bit cheaty, I think, but I'm not having her moping about loosening up anymore. It's no good for anyone. "You feeling better," I ask. She nods and shimmies her hips a little as I slap her as hard as I can on each asscheek. "Tons," she replies, arching her back slightly as the remnants of her earlier tension bleed away. Good, I think, because you're not getting a drop of my cum until you're happy to get on your knees and beg for it.

"Good," I say, then set my face into a more serious expression, "now can we please drop the Bacchanalians off somewhere? The TARDIS keeps redirecting me to them whenever I try and find a different pool and if I really wanted to get piled on by a bunch of cum-hungry sluts whenever I tried to go for a quiet swim, I'd have stayed behind at Wakeford."

I watch from the TARDIS doorway as a Drahvin soldier drops to her knees in the middle of a bustling Venusian street and starts **** down two slimegirls' cocks at once. Other technicolour figures can be seen milling about among the crowds or gesturing flamboyantly to the wares of street vendors' carts, clearly integrating well after just a couple of decades. "They got that from you," I say to the Doctor, pointing out the theatrics. "And who was it who decided it'd be a good idea to put me in a chokehold while he was prone-boning me," she asks. I give her a flat look. "Also you," I retort, "you were literally begging for it." She huffs and goes back over to the console.

"Bit odd seeing them out and about so near Earth though," she eventually says as I keep watching the crowd, "last time that happened was... four hundred years ago from now, give or take a couple of decades. Not Bacchanalians, mind you, or the human race'd be long extinct - had a common ancestry though." I turn to look at her as she fiddles with the controls, and she puts a little extra wiggle into the idle motion of her hips in response. "They were only barely sapient," she continues, "but top-notch mimics. You could leave one near a cobbler's shop for a couple of years and come in one day to find it churning out shoes by the cartload, or one in a small town would start going around and cleaning people's houses because it watched them do it through the window."

"Or if one of them knocked a woman up," I cut in, "the child would grow up to be able to do a nearly perfect impression of a functional human. Fairies, right?" She looks up and points at me across the top of the console stage. "Gold star to you," she says, "'cause yeah, fairies. They had a biological ability to shift in and out of higher dimensions, so people saw a bunch of weird shapeshifting blobs doing useful stuff when they fancied it and acting like... well, like wild animals when they were messed with and then boom-" She mimes an explosion with her hands for emphasis. "-fairy tales. Most of Earth's population slipped out of these dimensions in the first half of the nineteenth century on account of a looming apocalypse. Obviously that whole thing-" She gestures to herself. "-never got off the ground, but most of them never had any reason to come back, so off they went."

"Fair enough," I respond, on account of not really being able to respond any other way, "we done checking in on the kids? We know they're smart enough to normally use volunteer surrogates instead of just infecting anyone, so there doesn't seem much else to look at." Something glints in the reflective surface of the crystal pillars out of the corner of my eye, but I dismiss it as just another light blinking on the console. "Sure," she replies, "anywhere you'd like to go?" I think for a second, then shrug. "Just don't try to make it relaxing," I say, "and we might be okay." I head over to my armchair as the Doctor sets us in motion and begins to twirl around the console pole in her crop top and yoga pants.

Something tells me they won't be staying on for long.