Fic: Daddy-Daughter Day (Doctor Who)
May. 20th, 2008 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Daddy-Daughter Day
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Doctor/Jenny, Donna Noble
Warnings: WHERE DO I BEGIN? Look at the pairing and tell me I’m not one of history’s greatest monsters. Incest, foo'.
Timeline: Spoilers for 4x06 - The Doctor's Daughter
Word Count: 2,154
Summary: You knew it was coming. Rule 34, bitches.
Donna is out getting groceries on New Earth, alone, since she’s one of those companions the Doctor can hopefully trust to pick up some green eggs and ham without completely unbalancing a society, stumbling across an ancient conspiracy, or otherwise getting dodged up with a monster, so the Doctor decides it’s a good time for a shower. Not a regular twenty-minute shower, but a full-on rad shower to rid him of some of the more grimy time periods he’s visited. He’s just scrubbing the seventies out of his pores when the door opens.
Donna left it unlocked.
And, hey, Jenny! She’s even wearing the same fatigues… she… died… in…
“Hey, wait a minute!” he says, whipping off his shower cap. “Aren’t you dead?”
Jenny beams. “Nope!”
The Doctor figures that, and rattles his way through the technobabble while her eyes travel up and down his body. He realizes mid-way through a jaw-rubbing correction of the explanation that her eyes are fixed between his legs. Ohh, right, naked! His clothes are in the wash and his coat is slung over the chair he really likes at the console, so he turns the shower curtain he hadn’t bothered to draw into a sort of toga thing.
She plants her hands on her hips as if he’s done her a personal disservice. “Hey, I wasn’t done!” She marches over to him and pulls the curtain away; he’s so shocked that he sputters out a protest while she’s tilting her head from side to side, like an art critic. “Hmm, large for a bipedal species… it looks a little blue, when was the last time you used it?”
He cranes his head off to the side. “Welllll, there was that time I visited Reinette after Martha left…” then it was more sputter, “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you, you’re my daughter!”
“Pssh, we share some of the same DNA, that barely makes us the same species.”
“Great, it’s xenophilia instead of incest!”
“Puh-lease, I don’t want to fraternize, I just wanted to touch it…” Jenny eyes him again in a way that was making him distinctly uncomfortable. Her eyes are wide in a way the Doctor would find way too familiar if he had a mirror with him during any given sequence of running down corridors. “But now that you mention it, that would make a keen adventure!”
She reaches for him and although the Doctor, on pain of torture, would not admit to jumping nor to a high-pitched “EEP!” sound, he did end up on one of the TARDIS’s braces.
“Hands! Hands in new places! Very bad!”
“What are you going to, ‘dad’, spank me?”
Although he keeps a rather impressive poker face by his standards, the Doctor’s dick does not.
“Perfect height!” Jenny declares, and the next thing he knew she has her fingers dug into his ass and her mouth… oh, Rassilon, her mouth…
Of course, he can’t very well stop her. He’s hanging from an important architectural feature with both hands. He did try, though, which is how one hand ends up gripping a pigtail, pulling her in and dragging her away and vacillating between those two equally impossible solutions until she takes him deeper, so deep her lips brush his pubic hair. The Doctor is left holding a few blonde hairs, which he quickly tries to dispose of while Jenny does something incredibly good with his balls and her fingers.
“Where’d you learn to do this so good!” the Doctor cries out. Then he scowls. “No, really, where’d you learn to do this so good? If Jack Harkness was involved, I swear…”
She pulls away, and the Doctor really, really wishes she was Time Lord enough to communicate telepathically instead of interrupting the nicest blowjob he’s had since Martha and the planet of aphrodisiacs. “Well, after by some strange coincidence I ended up in the 21st century in that decade you like so much,” (by now he’s jerking his hips at her like ‘can we move it along then?’) “there was this nice man named Ross…”
“Ooh, I liked Ross, that’s fine.”
“Then there was this head in a cement block that gave me some pointers…”
“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good…”
“Hey,” she says while fixing the pigtail he kinda sorta mangled. “Aren’t your arms getting tired?”
He’s halfway through telling her about the whole 900-years-old, last Time Lord, guardian of time and space, lover, fighter, dancer, plus singer, when the brace gives way and he ends up sorta falling on his bony ass. Jenny looks down at him, jiggling, and he actually thinks it’s a little sweet as he sits up.
“Those really are meant more as decoration than as sex aids…” he realizes he’s still holding a chunk of it and tosses it aside, to an unexpected lack of either cat-yowling or glass-breaking. “We’ll have to grow a new one before Donna gets back.”
“Oh, Donna’s coming back!” Jenny beams as she leans over him and does something with her hand that’s not quite as good as the thing she did with her mouth, but it’s so good that he can’t bring himself to ask for the other thing, so he just arcs his hips and tries to get comfortable on the cold grating. “Can we have a threesome? I’ve heard a lot about them and they sound like fun!”
“Yeah, don’t think she fancies me. Or birds. Although there was that time with Martha and the planet of the aphrodisiacs…”
“Hey, could you suck on my finger?” She’s tapping one on his chin. “That always looks so erotic in the stag films.”
So he does. She gets a cheeky grin, like it’s alright, then frowns.
“Not what I expected.”
“The fingertip isn’t an erogenous zone!” the Doctor says defensively. “Except for that one tree-woman on the planet of aphrodisiacs…”
“Would you stop going on about the planet of aphrodisiacs!?” she stops doing the nice thing with her hand and his cock (handjob, that’s the word, it’s a handjob) to put her hands on her hips in an angry huff. “Why am I still wearing clothes?” she demands.
He has a theory involving the dangers of reversing the polarity of the neutron flow, but then he notices her nipples poking out her henley shirt and his head goes all wibbly. Then there’s stripping, then there’s her being naked, then she’s sauntering over to the console wearing only her ‘this is great, innit?’ smile. Which she stole from him.
“Wanna do it on the TARDIS?”
“Technically, wherever we go, we’re ‘doing in on the TARDIS’,” he muses, before trying to cover his erection and at the same time getting a closer look at her breasts and the shorn hair of her vagina and the muscular definition that futzes with the lines of her stomach in a kinda weird, kinda sexy way… while not actually getting closer to the possible-daughter who is treating the TARDIS console like her personal gynecological exam table.
“Come on then, you’re not going to get anything done from way over there, unless you’re a Jagrafess.”
Alright, Ross and… cement-block-lady were one thing, but the Mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe? “Once we’re done having sex, you are so grounded!” he tells her quite firmly as he bends her over the console.
“Yes, daddy.”
“And please don’t call me that when we’re in the middle of… this.”
“You mean fucking?”
“Yeah, that.” He slides into her easy, a tad surprised at how wet she is, and whimpers for a moment in appreciation of her tightness. “Besides, you’re the one who said we were barely the same species.”
“Yeah, me being half-human and whatnot.”
The Doctor coughs.
“So what should I call you?”
The Doctor searches her thin body for a good handhold, settling on what passes for an hourglass figure at her waist. It’s either that or damage her hairdo again. “The Doctor’s fine.”
“Doctor? Doctor who?”
He rolls his eyes as he begins to thrust into her. “Like I haven’t heard that five billion times. Any child of mine would be more original.”
“Sorry I–ugh!—can’t live up to your—oh!—high standards.”
“Now, Rose, for instance—“ the Doctor gets a far-away look in his eyes even as he places Jenny’s left leg up on his shoulder. “She would’ve said something romantic and clever and erotic.”
“D’ya think Rose would’ve found my clitoris by now?”
“Yeah, probably,” the Doctor says wistfully. “Oh, yeah, right, sorry, I’m so sorry…” He reaches down and slides his fingers from her belly button down to the crisp triangle of her pubic hair, stroking the cool flesh he finds there until his fingertips brush wetness. “That it?”
Jenny is throwing her head back so hard she hits a cluster of buttons, which makes the TARDIS shudder. The Doctor really hopes they didn’t just strand Donna on New Earth. That’s all he needs, bringing a companion to New Earth forty years later and finding a bitter Donna there to tell his new girl all about his bride-abducting, spider-genociding ways.
When the Doctor is done looking around the TARDIS for any stray Titanics that might’ve burst through the walls, he gets a faceful of foot as Jenny squirms around to lie on her stomach. Which, of course, breaks them apart again, and the Doctor would almost prefer his Rose-less celibacy to this stop-and-go nonsense. Almost.
“I just had a masterful idea,” Jenny declares, in awe at her own Time Lord brilliance.
“Uh-huh.” The Doctor enters her again. “I’m listening.”
“You’re connected to the TARDIS, right? So if I were to do this…” he reared up on her arms and licked the glass column at the center of the console.
The Doctor pauses in sheer gobstoppedment. “That did absolutely nothing for me.”
“Tasted groddy too.” She spits, then slaps her bum. “Okay, we do this the old-fashioned way.
And that’s just fine with the Doctor. He slams into her, bites the back of her neck, positively mangles her hairstyle with the judicious application of tugging. She pays him back by reaching over her shoulder to jam her nails into his back, pounding on the console with one fist in sheer merriment, setting her legs wider and wider apart until he has to crook an arm around her waist to hold her up, then put another hand down on the console to keep himself up, and finally they slip off the console and her torso ends up hugging the chair. The chair with wheels, so there’s a small demonstration of the laws of physics until the Doctor manages to steer them back into the console, where the chair is pinned in place.
“I think I liked the face-to-face way better,” she says. “Do you mind if we switch?”
The Doctor is far enough along to feel the rush of fluids in the bridge of his cock. “Later.”
“I’d just need a second!”
“I said later!”
“What the bloody hell is this!”
The Doctor stops what he’s doing, and who he’s doing. Donna is standing in the doorway, holding two bags of groceries. Or she was, before they dropped to the floor and egg yolk spilled out.
“Now, Donna, we’re gonna have to replace those.” The Doctor says, keeping his voice remarkably steady as Jenny begins a slow, impatient gyration against his manhood. “And if we put too much money into a timeline, it destabilizes the economy. Do you know how hard it is to fix an economy? I still haven’t gotten America quite right and I’ve been trying for three regenerations!”
Donna points to the female form branching off from the Doctor’s hips. And cooing. “That’s your daughter!”
“Clone, really,” Jenny says. “Would you like to join in? We’re just about to have an orgasm! Speaking of—“ She redoubles her wiggling, which the Doctor studiously tries to ignore.
“You see, the thing is, uhh, genetic morality… Time Lord culture… not what it looks like…”
Donna has her arms crossed by now. “You done?”
“I’m not!” Jenny reaches into the Doctor’s coat and, after some more wiggling which makes the Doctor’s face go familiarly wonky, retrieves the sonic screwdriver. Donna averts her eyes as Jenny gives it a phallic twist, brings it down below her thighs, and shines a blue light where she and her erstwhile genetic-ancestor-cum-no-pun-intended-father are joined. “Aaahhhh.” Her eyes go limpid with release and she holds up the dripping screwdriver. “You want this? I’m done with it.”
“No thanks, I noticed some suspicious goings-on in the city. I’ll probably end up running from monsters and being scared half to death, but that’s better than sticking around here.”
The Doctor grabs the sonic screwdriver from Jenny and looks around for some place to wipe it off. “Umm, right, well, you do that. We’ll just… cuddle, or something.”
Jenny claps her hands. “Ooh, can you read me a bedtime story?”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Doctor/Jenny, Donna Noble
Warnings: WHERE DO I BEGIN? Look at the pairing and tell me I’m not one of history’s greatest monsters. Incest, foo'.
Timeline: Spoilers for 4x06 - The Doctor's Daughter
Word Count: 2,154
Summary: You knew it was coming. Rule 34, bitches.
Donna is out getting groceries on New Earth, alone, since she’s one of those companions the Doctor can hopefully trust to pick up some green eggs and ham without completely unbalancing a society, stumbling across an ancient conspiracy, or otherwise getting dodged up with a monster, so the Doctor decides it’s a good time for a shower. Not a regular twenty-minute shower, but a full-on rad shower to rid him of some of the more grimy time periods he’s visited. He’s just scrubbing the seventies out of his pores when the door opens.
Donna left it unlocked.
And, hey, Jenny! She’s even wearing the same fatigues… she… died… in…
“Hey, wait a minute!” he says, whipping off his shower cap. “Aren’t you dead?”
Jenny beams. “Nope!”
The Doctor figures that, and rattles his way through the technobabble while her eyes travel up and down his body. He realizes mid-way through a jaw-rubbing correction of the explanation that her eyes are fixed between his legs. Ohh, right, naked! His clothes are in the wash and his coat is slung over the chair he really likes at the console, so he turns the shower curtain he hadn’t bothered to draw into a sort of toga thing.
She plants her hands on her hips as if he’s done her a personal disservice. “Hey, I wasn’t done!” She marches over to him and pulls the curtain away; he’s so shocked that he sputters out a protest while she’s tilting her head from side to side, like an art critic. “Hmm, large for a bipedal species… it looks a little blue, when was the last time you used it?”
He cranes his head off to the side. “Welllll, there was that time I visited Reinette after Martha left…” then it was more sputter, “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you, you’re my daughter!”
“Pssh, we share some of the same DNA, that barely makes us the same species.”
“Great, it’s xenophilia instead of incest!”
“Puh-lease, I don’t want to fraternize, I just wanted to touch it…” Jenny eyes him again in a way that was making him distinctly uncomfortable. Her eyes are wide in a way the Doctor would find way too familiar if he had a mirror with him during any given sequence of running down corridors. “But now that you mention it, that would make a keen adventure!”
She reaches for him and although the Doctor, on pain of torture, would not admit to jumping nor to a high-pitched “EEP!” sound, he did end up on one of the TARDIS’s braces.
“Hands! Hands in new places! Very bad!”
“What are you going to, ‘dad’, spank me?”
Although he keeps a rather impressive poker face by his standards, the Doctor’s dick does not.
“Perfect height!” Jenny declares, and the next thing he knew she has her fingers dug into his ass and her mouth… oh, Rassilon, her mouth…
Of course, he can’t very well stop her. He’s hanging from an important architectural feature with both hands. He did try, though, which is how one hand ends up gripping a pigtail, pulling her in and dragging her away and vacillating between those two equally impossible solutions until she takes him deeper, so deep her lips brush his pubic hair. The Doctor is left holding a few blonde hairs, which he quickly tries to dispose of while Jenny does something incredibly good with his balls and her fingers.
“Where’d you learn to do this so good!” the Doctor cries out. Then he scowls. “No, really, where’d you learn to do this so good? If Jack Harkness was involved, I swear…”
She pulls away, and the Doctor really, really wishes she was Time Lord enough to communicate telepathically instead of interrupting the nicest blowjob he’s had since Martha and the planet of aphrodisiacs. “Well, after by some strange coincidence I ended up in the 21st century in that decade you like so much,” (by now he’s jerking his hips at her like ‘can we move it along then?’) “there was this nice man named Ross…”
“Ooh, I liked Ross, that’s fine.”
“Then there was this head in a cement block that gave me some pointers…”
“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good…”
“Hey,” she says while fixing the pigtail he kinda sorta mangled. “Aren’t your arms getting tired?”
He’s halfway through telling her about the whole 900-years-old, last Time Lord, guardian of time and space, lover, fighter, dancer, plus singer, when the brace gives way and he ends up sorta falling on his bony ass. Jenny looks down at him, jiggling, and he actually thinks it’s a little sweet as he sits up.
“Those really are meant more as decoration than as sex aids…” he realizes he’s still holding a chunk of it and tosses it aside, to an unexpected lack of either cat-yowling or glass-breaking. “We’ll have to grow a new one before Donna gets back.”
“Oh, Donna’s coming back!” Jenny beams as she leans over him and does something with her hand that’s not quite as good as the thing she did with her mouth, but it’s so good that he can’t bring himself to ask for the other thing, so he just arcs his hips and tries to get comfortable on the cold grating. “Can we have a threesome? I’ve heard a lot about them and they sound like fun!”
“Yeah, don’t think she fancies me. Or birds. Although there was that time with Martha and the planet of the aphrodisiacs…”
“Hey, could you suck on my finger?” She’s tapping one on his chin. “That always looks so erotic in the stag films.”
So he does. She gets a cheeky grin, like it’s alright, then frowns.
“Not what I expected.”
“The fingertip isn’t an erogenous zone!” the Doctor says defensively. “Except for that one tree-woman on the planet of aphrodisiacs…”
“Would you stop going on about the planet of aphrodisiacs!?” she stops doing the nice thing with her hand and his cock (handjob, that’s the word, it’s a handjob) to put her hands on her hips in an angry huff. “Why am I still wearing clothes?” she demands.
He has a theory involving the dangers of reversing the polarity of the neutron flow, but then he notices her nipples poking out her henley shirt and his head goes all wibbly. Then there’s stripping, then there’s her being naked, then she’s sauntering over to the console wearing only her ‘this is great, innit?’ smile. Which she stole from him.
“Wanna do it on the TARDIS?”
“Technically, wherever we go, we’re ‘doing in on the TARDIS’,” he muses, before trying to cover his erection and at the same time getting a closer look at her breasts and the shorn hair of her vagina and the muscular definition that futzes with the lines of her stomach in a kinda weird, kinda sexy way… while not actually getting closer to the possible-daughter who is treating the TARDIS console like her personal gynecological exam table.
“Come on then, you’re not going to get anything done from way over there, unless you’re a Jagrafess.”
Alright, Ross and… cement-block-lady were one thing, but the Mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe? “Once we’re done having sex, you are so grounded!” he tells her quite firmly as he bends her over the console.
“Yes, daddy.”
“And please don’t call me that when we’re in the middle of… this.”
“You mean fucking?”
“Yeah, that.” He slides into her easy, a tad surprised at how wet she is, and whimpers for a moment in appreciation of her tightness. “Besides, you’re the one who said we were barely the same species.”
“Yeah, me being half-human and whatnot.”
The Doctor coughs.
“So what should I call you?”
The Doctor searches her thin body for a good handhold, settling on what passes for an hourglass figure at her waist. It’s either that or damage her hairdo again. “The Doctor’s fine.”
“Doctor? Doctor who?”
He rolls his eyes as he begins to thrust into her. “Like I haven’t heard that five billion times. Any child of mine would be more original.”
“Sorry I–ugh!—can’t live up to your—oh!—high standards.”
“Now, Rose, for instance—“ the Doctor gets a far-away look in his eyes even as he places Jenny’s left leg up on his shoulder. “She would’ve said something romantic and clever and erotic.”
“D’ya think Rose would’ve found my clitoris by now?”
“Yeah, probably,” the Doctor says wistfully. “Oh, yeah, right, sorry, I’m so sorry…” He reaches down and slides his fingers from her belly button down to the crisp triangle of her pubic hair, stroking the cool flesh he finds there until his fingertips brush wetness. “That it?”
Jenny is throwing her head back so hard she hits a cluster of buttons, which makes the TARDIS shudder. The Doctor really hopes they didn’t just strand Donna on New Earth. That’s all he needs, bringing a companion to New Earth forty years later and finding a bitter Donna there to tell his new girl all about his bride-abducting, spider-genociding ways.
When the Doctor is done looking around the TARDIS for any stray Titanics that might’ve burst through the walls, he gets a faceful of foot as Jenny squirms around to lie on her stomach. Which, of course, breaks them apart again, and the Doctor would almost prefer his Rose-less celibacy to this stop-and-go nonsense. Almost.
“I just had a masterful idea,” Jenny declares, in awe at her own Time Lord brilliance.
“Uh-huh.” The Doctor enters her again. “I’m listening.”
“You’re connected to the TARDIS, right? So if I were to do this…” he reared up on her arms and licked the glass column at the center of the console.
The Doctor pauses in sheer gobstoppedment. “That did absolutely nothing for me.”
“Tasted groddy too.” She spits, then slaps her bum. “Okay, we do this the old-fashioned way.
And that’s just fine with the Doctor. He slams into her, bites the back of her neck, positively mangles her hairstyle with the judicious application of tugging. She pays him back by reaching over her shoulder to jam her nails into his back, pounding on the console with one fist in sheer merriment, setting her legs wider and wider apart until he has to crook an arm around her waist to hold her up, then put another hand down on the console to keep himself up, and finally they slip off the console and her torso ends up hugging the chair. The chair with wheels, so there’s a small demonstration of the laws of physics until the Doctor manages to steer them back into the console, where the chair is pinned in place.
“I think I liked the face-to-face way better,” she says. “Do you mind if we switch?”
The Doctor is far enough along to feel the rush of fluids in the bridge of his cock. “Later.”
“I’d just need a second!”
“I said later!”
“What the bloody hell is this!”
The Doctor stops what he’s doing, and who he’s doing. Donna is standing in the doorway, holding two bags of groceries. Or she was, before they dropped to the floor and egg yolk spilled out.
“Now, Donna, we’re gonna have to replace those.” The Doctor says, keeping his voice remarkably steady as Jenny begins a slow, impatient gyration against his manhood. “And if we put too much money into a timeline, it destabilizes the economy. Do you know how hard it is to fix an economy? I still haven’t gotten America quite right and I’ve been trying for three regenerations!”
Donna points to the female form branching off from the Doctor’s hips. And cooing. “That’s your daughter!”
“Clone, really,” Jenny says. “Would you like to join in? We’re just about to have an orgasm! Speaking of—“ She redoubles her wiggling, which the Doctor studiously tries to ignore.
“You see, the thing is, uhh, genetic morality… Time Lord culture… not what it looks like…”
Donna has her arms crossed by now. “You done?”
“I’m not!” Jenny reaches into the Doctor’s coat and, after some more wiggling which makes the Doctor’s face go familiarly wonky, retrieves the sonic screwdriver. Donna averts her eyes as Jenny gives it a phallic twist, brings it down below her thighs, and shines a blue light where she and her erstwhile genetic-ancestor-cum-no-pun-intended-father are joined. “Aaahhhh.” Her eyes go limpid with release and she holds up the dripping screwdriver. “You want this? I’m done with it.”
“No thanks, I noticed some suspicious goings-on in the city. I’ll probably end up running from monsters and being scared half to death, but that’s better than sticking around here.”
The Doctor grabs the sonic screwdriver from Jenny and looks around for some place to wipe it off. “Umm, right, well, you do that. We’ll just… cuddle, or something.”
Jenny claps her hands. “Ooh, can you read me a bedtime story?”
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Date: 2008-05-20 05:18 pm (UTC)I'll accept a quick and painless death from the gods of fanfic.