by ptork66 [Reviews - 3]

  • All Ages
  • None
  • General

Author's Notes:
Eleventh Doctor fic. Written before we saw Matt Smith any more than at the end of David Tennant's fantastic finale as Ten.

Beta'ed by Leslie (Bad_Dickens). Any mistakes are my own.

Crash survived. Crisis averted. TARDIS fixed and en route to nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere? No matter. She could fly without his supervision, and he had more important things to do than micromanage his wonderful, capable ship. He sighed happily, running his hands with childish delight over the colourful, blinking controls, giggling under his breath, his back and shoulders vibrating with shoddily suppressed glee. His eyes lit with excitement, and his hands began running over his new body again. If he kept this up he'd never be able to keep his hands away from himself. How exciting! He froze, one hand curled around his hair, in the midst of stroking it, and the other slipped just under the waistband of his pants.

Frantic hands, shaking slightly with anticipation, started undoing buttons, hastily pushing off his clothes as quickly as he could. He lifted his leg, attempting to take a step, and promptly fell over, eyes wide with momentary confusion as he blinked at the floor. He shook his head, sitting and contemplating the obstacle preventing the removal of his trousers. He lifted his leg, hands exploring it. "Ah," He intoned, "it isn't me. Shoes. I remember those." He quickly set to work undoing his laces, toeing off the articles and staring in wonder, his mouth falling open slightly. His jittery hands couldn't keep away, and they eagerly set to exploring the newly revealed flesh.

"Ah! Feet! I knew I had feet. But I have real, beautiful feet with toes! Lots of them! Ten! I have ten toes! How wonderful is that? Oh, just think of everything I could do with ten toes." He stopped in sudden question, then looked down with intense concentration, lines wrinkling his forehead. "One, two, three, four, five," He pulled up his other foot, "six, seven, eight, nine, and yes! Ten! Haha!" A big grin lightened his face, and he bent over, loudly kissing the tops of his feet. He shivered, the chill of the metal flooring seeping into his exposed skin.

His eyebrows raised and he jerked around, yanking up his trousers as he scrambled to his feet and dashed down the halls of his beloved to his room, throwing open the door to his wardrobe and digging through it. "Socks, I knew it! I knew I had to have them."

He sighed explosively, warmth bubbling in his chest as he laughed, rifling through a drawer that consisted entirely of socks, tossing some of them over his shoulder. He was alive, he could feel. Time to celebrate and revel in the sensations! He pulled out an armful of socks and plopped back down on the floor, clapping his hands together as he contemplated which pair he was going to try first.

A thick set of woolen, rainbow-coloured ones caught his eye, and he smiled as he reached for them. "Oh, Donna. Whatever happened to you?" He murmured happily, slipping them on. He leaned back, his eyes closing as he relaxed, relishing the feel. He wiggled his toes experimentally, enjoying the rub of fabric against his skin. He allowed himself a few indulgent moments before he yanked them off, eagerly searching for his next.

He tried the most colourful ones he could find, the most exotic, the ones that looked like they'd feel great. A pair of toe-socks captured his attention for long minutes, staring delightedly at them as he tested out the dexterity of his new-found digits. He decided that, for the moment, his feet-gloves were his favourite. "Ah, cashmere," He sighed in pleasure. "I have such remarkable taste." He reached for them, no longer worried or scared or lonely. He had a drawer full of socks and new sensations to experience. What more could he possibly want?