Kiss the Cook ('Classics' entry)
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who_contestTitle: 'Kiss the Cook'
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff/Humor
Word Count: 2,189
Pairings or Characters: Eleventh Doctor, Amy, Rory, River; brief mention of the Dream Lord; blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to the Seventh Doctor
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after 'The Wedding of River Song'; brief reference to 'Amy's Choice'; blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to a later episode (but I'll let you catch that for yourselves)
Warnings: Smidge of very mild innuendo-ish naughtiness
Summary: At that moment, the timer dinged.
The TARDIS kitchens were a shambles. Her pantry wasn't in much better shape.
Pools of egg white were slowly drying on a countertop, congealing around half-dissolved clumps of brown sugar. Smears of vanilla extract slowly dripped down the side of a cabinet, landing in soft thumps into a small pile of flour. Across the floors were strewn crushed eggshells.
The cause of this chaotic hodgepodge was not a Dalek attack. Nor was it a Sontaran attempt at hijacking. Nor, in short, anything pertaining to any of the myriad hostile forces throughout the universe.
The cause was, in fact, something entirely different--but potentially no less dangerous.
The Doctor had had another brilliant idea.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He stared at Amy, aghast. "What do you mean, you've never baked chocolate chip cookies?!"
Amy shrugged, feeling inexplicably sheepish, as though he'd caught her doing something she shouldn't. "The women in my family...just...aren't bakers," she explained. The words felt like a lame excuse. Her mind drifted back to that mixing bowl in the seemingly perfect life the Dream Lord had concocted, and she felt oddly guilty.
The Doctor's look turned, if possible, even more scandalized. "Are you joking? You've got to bake chocolate chip cookies sometime in your life! It's practically a rite of passage! Everybody learns to bake cookies! It's a fundamental part of childhood!" He snatched at Amy's wrist and began dragging her up the labyrinthine TARDIS corridors, Rory trailing along behind them.
They came to a halt in the kitchen, and the Doctor rummaged around in a small cupboard. "Put these on," he directed, tossing a pair of aprons at the Ponds. He led by example, snatching one at random and quickly knotting it around his waist.
Amy cinched hers on just in time to catch the cookbook that was tossed her way.
"Measurements," the Doctor barked at her, causing her to hurriedly thumb through the pages. "Rory, help me with the ingredients!" He rushed to the pantry door, almost crashing into it in his usual energetic-puppy glee.
"Please tell me these are actual, proper chicken eggs," Rory told the Doctor, fishing a carton out of the refrigerator. "Earth chicken eggs. I don't want to crack one of these things open and have to fight off a fire-breathing Venusian quail, or something!"
"Mister Pond, I'll have you know that I resent that!" With a put-upon sigh, the Doctor shoved a large sack of flour into Amy's arms. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "For your information, fire-breathing quails are native to the Altair system, and I got rid of those eggs seven months ago! I think," he added, deliberately letting his face fall uncertainly. He laughed as Rory passed the carton nervously over to Amy. "Oh, relax, Rory; I was kidding! They're actual, proper Earth chicken eggs, from a perfectly ordinary market in your century. There's nothing to worry about. Cross my hearts," he finished, suiting the action to the word.
"Did you have anything like this back on Gallifrey," Amy wondered, juggling the flour and the carton of actual-proper-Earth-chicken eggs. "You know, the fundamental-part-of-childhood thing?"
"Yes, we did, as a matter of fact. Well..." The Doctor rubbed the back of his head, looking more than a smidgen embarrassed. "We had the Untempered Schism. Which is sort of...not even remotely the same thing at all, actually. Oh, shut up," he grumbled good-naturedly in reply to her amused smirk. His face fell suddenly. "Oh...wait a minute..."
"What's the matter?"
He stared at Amy, sorrow in his eyes. "If you've never done this...then..."
"What?" Her own eyes widened as realization dawned. "Oh..."
Rory's arms slid around his wife's waist, holding her close, needing the comfort as much as she did. "Melody never did, either," he finished.
Pursing his lips, the Doctor stared at them determinedly. "We're changing that," he announced, clicking his fingers and pointing at them. "We're changing that right now. Making up for lost time," he concluded, hugging his in-laws fiercely before tearing out of the kitchen.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"So, where are we off to this time," River asked, sauntering through the doors. Behind her, they closed, cutting off the screaming of prison alarms. "And is this a family outing, or is it newlywed-couples-only?"
"In response to your second question, please be on your best behavior," the Doctor answered, knowing how unlikely it was that she'd follow that particular instruction. "Because, yes, your parents are aboard. As to your first question," he finished, putting in random coordinates, "nowhere in particular."
"Hmm. I'm intrigued." She stopped dead in her tracks, blue eyes widening in surprise. "Are you wearing what I think you're wearing?"
The Doctor proudly beamed, straightening his tie jauntily. "Yes, I am. I wear an apron now." He winked. "Aprons are cool."
"It suits you. And I just might have to take you up on that later," River said with a coy grin.
"Sorry; what?" He stared at her, bemused. Looked down when she pointed at his apron, and blushed furiously. "O-oh..."
Embroidered across the front of the apron, beneath a larger-than-life red lipstick-mark, was spelled Kiss the Cook.
"Careful, dear," she murmured, tracing her fingertips along the threads of the embroidery. "A girl like me might take that as an offer." She flashed a wink of her own, delighted as his blush deepened. Oh, she could just eat him up when he had that awkward-little-boy look on his face. "Now, where are Mummy and Daddy," she asked, switching to a more businesslike manner.
"They're--" The Doctor cleared his throat, alarmed at how squeaky his voice had become. He tried again, relieved when his usual baritone came back. "They're in the kitchen."
River grinned wickedly. "I don't suppose they're cooking us a romantic dinner for two, by any chance?"
The Doctor held in a shiver. Damn it, but this woman had a way about her.
"Of course not. They're--we're--baking cookies," he informed her, trying to conceal how jittery she made him. Knowing, deep down, that he was probably failing miserably in the attempt. "Chocolate chip," he added, plastering his best I'm-Mister-Cool grin on his face.
He staggered back a bit in surprise as she locked her arms around him, an enthusiastic squeal escaping her lips.
"Your favorite," he asked--but River was already darting up the corridors. "I'll take that as a yes."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Doctor, why do you keep calling them cookies," Rory wondered, carefully measuring out sugar. "Isn't that an Americanism? Not to point out the obvious, but you're not an American."
The Doctor scratched his cheek absently, inadvertently smearing it with flour. "Because calling them 'chocolate chip biscuits' just doesn't have the same feel," he replied. "It doesn't sound quite so...happy. Besides, I'm also not from England--I'm not even from your planet. I can call them whatever I like."
"You seem to make a point of sounding like you're from England," Rory pointed out. He immediately felt as though he'd grown a second head, what with the stare he was given in reply.
"What sort of logic is that? I sounded Scottish in a past life, but that doesn't mean that I like the sound of bagpipes. No offense, Pond," the Doctor added, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Amy, as though half-fearful that she was going to hit him.
She, meanwhile, was scooping a handful of chocolate chips into her mouth. "Sorry; what did you say," she asked around the morsels.
"Nothing. And stop eating the chips; we're going to need those!" He snatched the bag away, dumping the contents into a mixing bowl.
"Fine, Raggedy Man!" Amy raised her hands, laughing. "But I think you're supposed to mix the other ingredients before putting the chocolate in."
He shot her a mildly baleful glare. "You mix them your way; I'll mix them my way." One finger shot into the air as the Doctor adopted his best professor attitude. "Incidentally, did I ever tell you that I was present when Ruth Wakefield invented the original chocolate chip cookie recipe?"
Three pairs of eyes stared at him, their owners silent and skeptical.
"Okay, I guess I didn't," he murmured, blushing. "Probably because it isn't true. And there are multiple stories as to how the recipe was invented, depending on whether you believe Toll House or Nestlé."
"Which version do you believe," River wondered, spooning softened butter into the bowl as he held it out to her.
He beamed. "Who cares which version's true? As long as the end result tastes good, the whos and whys and whens and hows don't matter." Snatching the remaining cupfuls and tablespoonfuls of ingredients, the Doctor dumped them in unceremoniously and began stirring. "Now, somebody get me some baking sheets, would you? I should have some parchment paper to line them with in a cabinet somewhere."
The parchment paper was eventually discovered in the freezer--"I knew I'd done something with it," the Doctor muttered, setting it on the stove to briefly defrost--while the baking sheets turned up in the observatory--to which he either couldn't remember the explanation, or else was too embarrassed to go into the details.
Dough mixed, baking sheets lined, stove at the right temperature, only one step remained.
"Baking time," the Doctor said with a whoop of enthusiasm. "Who wants to take care of this with me?"
"I'll help you," River volunteered.
He smiled. "Right. Get yourself a spoon, then."
"And what do we do," Rory asked.
"Go and have fun. Do something...Pondy."
Amy slid an arm around Rory's waist. "Kissing in the swimming pool," she asked him mischievously.
"Oi!" Turning around, the Doctor gave an outraged glare. "No! Find something else to do, for God's sake! That's embarrassing! And inappropriate! What do you think this is, anyway? A snog box?" He waved an agitated hand dismissively in their direction. "I got in some new DVDs not long ago; go and give them a look."
With a laugh, Amy led Rory out of the kitchen. "Spoilsport," she called over her shoulder.
He sighed and turned back to River. "Oh! Nice work." She'd already scooped dollops of dough onto the prepared sheets, and was sliding one into the oven.
"Thank you, dear," River responded, straightening. "My, my," she murmured, setting a kitchen timer. "All that time until the first batch is ready."
"It's not that much time," the Doctor replied, consulting his watch. "Besides, I'm sure we'll find ways to...keep ourselves..."
He stared, swallowing as she draped herself in the doorway, giving him her best naughty come-hither look.
"Busy," he finished, slowly backing away from her.
She closed the door behind her, coming for him just as slowly. The gleam in her eyes sent shivers through him. "Oh, I'm sure we will, sweetie..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Rory poked his head around the door. Instant regret made his cheeks burn. "Yeah, this isn't awkward," he announced wryly.
River sat contentedly cradling the mixing bowl, snuggled in the Doctor's lap. She nibbled away at a spoonful of cookie dough, blissfully ignoring him as he writhed against the apron strings that held him firmly in the chair she'd bound him to. Every so often, he made sounds of frustration behind the dishrag that was wedged in his mouth.
"Sorry to interrupt...whatever it is I'm interrupting," Rory continued. "I was just wondering how the cookies are doing?"
"They should be ready in a few minutes," she replied, beaming.
He nodded. "Okay. Carry on," he said, turning away--and trying to ignore muffled cries for help.
"Dear old Dad," River said fondly, watching him leave. "He puts on a brave face. I'm sorry," she added with an innocent smile, turning back to her semi-reluctant captive. She held up a spoonful of dough. "Did you want a bite?"
Twisting helplessly--where in Hell's name had this woman learned to tie knots?!--the Doctor let out a series of incoherent grunts.
"Very well, my love." Her smile becoming more mischievous, River dropped the spoon back into the mixing bowl. "Hold still..." She eased the Doctor's collar aside before playfully nipping at his neck.
At that moment, the timer dinged.
"Saved by the bell," River whispered, giving the Doctor a harder nip--and savoring his protesting yelp--before turning her attention to the stove.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A full and happy day under their belts, it was time to take Amy and Rory home.
Their hands--and stomachs--full of warm cookies, they stepped out of the TARDIS as the sun was setting. Rory fumbled in a pocket, trying not to drop any cookies as he searched for the house key.
"Here; let me get that for you," River called. She pulled out the Doctor's sonic, applying its signal to the lock. At her father's thankful smile, she blew a kiss. "See you soon, dear," she added, hugging her mother tightly.
Amy hopped up the steps, then turned back at the door just before going inside, a semi-amused frown on her face. "You're going to untie the Doctor, now, aren't you," she asked.
She wasn't quite sure that she wanted to analyze the grin on her daughter's face.
"Oh, don't worry, Mummy, dear," River purred. "I'll get around to it."
She closed the TARDIS doors, her smile turning predatory.
"Eventually," she added to herself.
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff/Humor
Word Count: 2,189
Pairings or Characters: Eleventh Doctor, Amy, Rory, River; brief mention of the Dream Lord; blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to the Seventh Doctor
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after 'The Wedding of River Song'; brief reference to 'Amy's Choice'; blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to a later episode (but I'll let you catch that for yourselves)
Warnings: Smidge of very mild innuendo-ish naughtiness
Summary: At that moment, the timer dinged.
The TARDIS kitchens were a shambles. Her pantry wasn't in much better shape.
Pools of egg white were slowly drying on a countertop, congealing around half-dissolved clumps of brown sugar. Smears of vanilla extract slowly dripped down the side of a cabinet, landing in soft thumps into a small pile of flour. Across the floors were strewn crushed eggshells.
The cause of this chaotic hodgepodge was not a Dalek attack. Nor was it a Sontaran attempt at hijacking. Nor, in short, anything pertaining to any of the myriad hostile forces throughout the universe.
The cause was, in fact, something entirely different--but potentially no less dangerous.
The Doctor had had another brilliant idea.
He stared at Amy, aghast. "What do you mean, you've never baked chocolate chip cookies?!"
Amy shrugged, feeling inexplicably sheepish, as though he'd caught her doing something she shouldn't. "The women in my family...just...aren't bakers," she explained. The words felt like a lame excuse. Her mind drifted back to that mixing bowl in the seemingly perfect life the Dream Lord had concocted, and she felt oddly guilty.
The Doctor's look turned, if possible, even more scandalized. "Are you joking? You've got to bake chocolate chip cookies sometime in your life! It's practically a rite of passage! Everybody learns to bake cookies! It's a fundamental part of childhood!" He snatched at Amy's wrist and began dragging her up the labyrinthine TARDIS corridors, Rory trailing along behind them.
They came to a halt in the kitchen, and the Doctor rummaged around in a small cupboard. "Put these on," he directed, tossing a pair of aprons at the Ponds. He led by example, snatching one at random and quickly knotting it around his waist.
Amy cinched hers on just in time to catch the cookbook that was tossed her way.
"Measurements," the Doctor barked at her, causing her to hurriedly thumb through the pages. "Rory, help me with the ingredients!" He rushed to the pantry door, almost crashing into it in his usual energetic-puppy glee.
"Please tell me these are actual, proper chicken eggs," Rory told the Doctor, fishing a carton out of the refrigerator. "Earth chicken eggs. I don't want to crack one of these things open and have to fight off a fire-breathing Venusian quail, or something!"
"Mister Pond, I'll have you know that I resent that!" With a put-upon sigh, the Doctor shoved a large sack of flour into Amy's arms. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "For your information, fire-breathing quails are native to the Altair system, and I got rid of those eggs seven months ago! I think," he added, deliberately letting his face fall uncertainly. He laughed as Rory passed the carton nervously over to Amy. "Oh, relax, Rory; I was kidding! They're actual, proper Earth chicken eggs, from a perfectly ordinary market in your century. There's nothing to worry about. Cross my hearts," he finished, suiting the action to the word.
"Did you have anything like this back on Gallifrey," Amy wondered, juggling the flour and the carton of actual-proper-Earth-chicken eggs. "You know, the fundamental-part-of-childhood thing?"
"Yes, we did, as a matter of fact. Well..." The Doctor rubbed the back of his head, looking more than a smidgen embarrassed. "We had the Untempered Schism. Which is sort of...not even remotely the same thing at all, actually. Oh, shut up," he grumbled good-naturedly in reply to her amused smirk. His face fell suddenly. "Oh...wait a minute..."
"What's the matter?"
He stared at Amy, sorrow in his eyes. "If you've never done this...then..."
"What?" Her own eyes widened as realization dawned. "Oh..."
Rory's arms slid around his wife's waist, holding her close, needing the comfort as much as she did. "Melody never did, either," he finished.
Pursing his lips, the Doctor stared at them determinedly. "We're changing that," he announced, clicking his fingers and pointing at them. "We're changing that right now. Making up for lost time," he concluded, hugging his in-laws fiercely before tearing out of the kitchen.
"So, where are we off to this time," River asked, sauntering through the doors. Behind her, they closed, cutting off the screaming of prison alarms. "And is this a family outing, or is it newlywed-couples-only?"
"In response to your second question, please be on your best behavior," the Doctor answered, knowing how unlikely it was that she'd follow that particular instruction. "Because, yes, your parents are aboard. As to your first question," he finished, putting in random coordinates, "nowhere in particular."
"Hmm. I'm intrigued." She stopped dead in her tracks, blue eyes widening in surprise. "Are you wearing what I think you're wearing?"
The Doctor proudly beamed, straightening his tie jauntily. "Yes, I am. I wear an apron now." He winked. "Aprons are cool."
"It suits you. And I just might have to take you up on that later," River said with a coy grin.
"Sorry; what?" He stared at her, bemused. Looked down when she pointed at his apron, and blushed furiously. "O-oh..."
Embroidered across the front of the apron, beneath a larger-than-life red lipstick-mark, was spelled Kiss the Cook.
"Careful, dear," she murmured, tracing her fingertips along the threads of the embroidery. "A girl like me might take that as an offer." She flashed a wink of her own, delighted as his blush deepened. Oh, she could just eat him up when he had that awkward-little-boy look on his face. "Now, where are Mummy and Daddy," she asked, switching to a more businesslike manner.
"They're--" The Doctor cleared his throat, alarmed at how squeaky his voice had become. He tried again, relieved when his usual baritone came back. "They're in the kitchen."
River grinned wickedly. "I don't suppose they're cooking us a romantic dinner for two, by any chance?"
The Doctor held in a shiver. Damn it, but this woman had a way about her.
"Of course not. They're--we're--baking cookies," he informed her, trying to conceal how jittery she made him. Knowing, deep down, that he was probably failing miserably in the attempt. "Chocolate chip," he added, plastering his best I'm-Mister-Cool grin on his face.
He staggered back a bit in surprise as she locked her arms around him, an enthusiastic squeal escaping her lips.
"Your favorite," he asked--but River was already darting up the corridors. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Doctor, why do you keep calling them cookies," Rory wondered, carefully measuring out sugar. "Isn't that an Americanism? Not to point out the obvious, but you're not an American."
The Doctor scratched his cheek absently, inadvertently smearing it with flour. "Because calling them 'chocolate chip biscuits' just doesn't have the same feel," he replied. "It doesn't sound quite so...happy. Besides, I'm also not from England--I'm not even from your planet. I can call them whatever I like."
"You seem to make a point of sounding like you're from England," Rory pointed out. He immediately felt as though he'd grown a second head, what with the stare he was given in reply.
"What sort of logic is that? I sounded Scottish in a past life, but that doesn't mean that I like the sound of bagpipes. No offense, Pond," the Doctor added, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Amy, as though half-fearful that she was going to hit him.
She, meanwhile, was scooping a handful of chocolate chips into her mouth. "Sorry; what did you say," she asked around the morsels.
"Nothing. And stop eating the chips; we're going to need those!" He snatched the bag away, dumping the contents into a mixing bowl.
"Fine, Raggedy Man!" Amy raised her hands, laughing. "But I think you're supposed to mix the other ingredients before putting the chocolate in."
He shot her a mildly baleful glare. "You mix them your way; I'll mix them my way." One finger shot into the air as the Doctor adopted his best professor attitude. "Incidentally, did I ever tell you that I was present when Ruth Wakefield invented the original chocolate chip cookie recipe?"
Three pairs of eyes stared at him, their owners silent and skeptical.
"Okay, I guess I didn't," he murmured, blushing. "Probably because it isn't true. And there are multiple stories as to how the recipe was invented, depending on whether you believe Toll House or Nestlé."
"Which version do you believe," River wondered, spooning softened butter into the bowl as he held it out to her.
He beamed. "Who cares which version's true? As long as the end result tastes good, the whos and whys and whens and hows don't matter." Snatching the remaining cupfuls and tablespoonfuls of ingredients, the Doctor dumped them in unceremoniously and began stirring. "Now, somebody get me some baking sheets, would you? I should have some parchment paper to line them with in a cabinet somewhere."
The parchment paper was eventually discovered in the freezer--"I knew I'd done something with it," the Doctor muttered, setting it on the stove to briefly defrost--while the baking sheets turned up in the observatory--to which he either couldn't remember the explanation, or else was too embarrassed to go into the details.
Dough mixed, baking sheets lined, stove at the right temperature, only one step remained.
"Baking time," the Doctor said with a whoop of enthusiasm. "Who wants to take care of this with me?"
"I'll help you," River volunteered.
He smiled. "Right. Get yourself a spoon, then."
"And what do we do," Rory asked.
"Go and have fun. Do something...Pondy."
Amy slid an arm around Rory's waist. "Kissing in the swimming pool," she asked him mischievously.
"Oi!" Turning around, the Doctor gave an outraged glare. "No! Find something else to do, for God's sake! That's embarrassing! And inappropriate! What do you think this is, anyway? A snog box?" He waved an agitated hand dismissively in their direction. "I got in some new DVDs not long ago; go and give them a look."
With a laugh, Amy led Rory out of the kitchen. "Spoilsport," she called over her shoulder.
He sighed and turned back to River. "Oh! Nice work." She'd already scooped dollops of dough onto the prepared sheets, and was sliding one into the oven.
"Thank you, dear," River responded, straightening. "My, my," she murmured, setting a kitchen timer. "All that time until the first batch is ready."
"It's not that much time," the Doctor replied, consulting his watch. "Besides, I'm sure we'll find ways to...keep ourselves..."
He stared, swallowing as she draped herself in the doorway, giving him her best naughty come-hither look.
"Busy," he finished, slowly backing away from her.
She closed the door behind her, coming for him just as slowly. The gleam in her eyes sent shivers through him. "Oh, I'm sure we will, sweetie..."
Rory poked his head around the door. Instant regret made his cheeks burn. "Yeah, this isn't awkward," he announced wryly.
River sat contentedly cradling the mixing bowl, snuggled in the Doctor's lap. She nibbled away at a spoonful of cookie dough, blissfully ignoring him as he writhed against the apron strings that held him firmly in the chair she'd bound him to. Every so often, he made sounds of frustration behind the dishrag that was wedged in his mouth.
"Sorry to interrupt...whatever it is I'm interrupting," Rory continued. "I was just wondering how the cookies are doing?"
"They should be ready in a few minutes," she replied, beaming.
He nodded. "Okay. Carry on," he said, turning away--and trying to ignore muffled cries for help.
"Dear old Dad," River said fondly, watching him leave. "He puts on a brave face. I'm sorry," she added with an innocent smile, turning back to her semi-reluctant captive. She held up a spoonful of dough. "Did you want a bite?"
Twisting helplessly--where in Hell's name had this woman learned to tie knots?!--the Doctor let out a series of incoherent grunts.
"Very well, my love." Her smile becoming more mischievous, River dropped the spoon back into the mixing bowl. "Hold still..." She eased the Doctor's collar aside before playfully nipping at his neck.
At that moment, the timer dinged.
"Saved by the bell," River whispered, giving the Doctor a harder nip--and savoring his protesting yelp--before turning her attention to the stove.
A full and happy day under their belts, it was time to take Amy and Rory home.
Their hands--and stomachs--full of warm cookies, they stepped out of the TARDIS as the sun was setting. Rory fumbled in a pocket, trying not to drop any cookies as he searched for the house key.
"Here; let me get that for you," River called. She pulled out the Doctor's sonic, applying its signal to the lock. At her father's thankful smile, she blew a kiss. "See you soon, dear," she added, hugging her mother tightly.
Amy hopped up the steps, then turned back at the door just before going inside, a semi-amused frown on her face. "You're going to untie the Doctor, now, aren't you," she asked.
She wasn't quite sure that she wanted to analyze the grin on her daughter's face.
"Oh, don't worry, Mummy, dear," River purred. "I'll get around to it."
She closed the TARDIS doors, her smile turning predatory.
"Eventually," she added to herself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 07:10 pm (UTC)*huggggggggggggggg* ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 12:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 07:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 02:17 pm (UTC)Hah! I could just hear the innuendo dribbling out of that. It must have been fun in her brain right at that moment. :D
"You seem to make a point of sounding like you're from England," Rory pointed out. He immediately felt as though he'd grown a second head, what with the stare he was given in reply.
LOL. I can just see that look. And wonderful explanation.
"It's not that much time," the Doctor replied, consulting his watch. "Besides, I'm sure we'll find ways to...keep ourselves..."
He stared, swallowing as she draped herself in the doorway, giving him her best naughty come-hither look.
"Busy," he finished, slowly backing away from her.
ROFLMAO!
You know he wasn’t getting out of it, not with her, and that apron, and chocolate, and him being cute.
That gives a whole new definition to “tied to the apron strings.”
Ooh, naughty naughty River. Love the ending.
I love this whole story! I sat here with a huge grin on my face all through it. Everyone’s voices were totally in character and I could just see 11’s bouncy innocence and River’s predatory innuendo. Hah! Excellent!
Thank you for this story, I needed a good River/Doctor story.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 07:12 pm (UTC)Thanks again! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 02:57 pm (UTC)I found myself laughing a lot, the humour certainly shining through and the fact she tied the Doctor up and Rory interrupting them just cracked me up. You could just picture him being all awkward and cute :D
I call them cookies as well but everything else I call biscuits so I have to agree with the Doctor on that one.
'chocolate chip biscuits.' Doesn't sound right ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 07:14 pm (UTC)the fact she tied the Doctor up and Rory interrupting them
That sort of happened by accident; it wasn't something I'd initially planned. Then it popped into my head, and I realized that, with River around, it couldn't be any other way. :) I'm not even sure that I was initially going to put her in until this part happened.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-06-02 08:01 pm (UTC)She is just one badass woman :D and yes it couldn't be any other way haha! Well lets just say I am dead pleased you did chuck her in there when you did ;)
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Date: 2015-06-05 02:35 pm (UTC)♥♥♥
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