It’s quite a wonder he doesn’t run out of breath. Then again, you vaguely remember him explaining he doesn’t have a human-like lung system at all, and then you just wonder if it was possible for him to wear out his vocal cords.
And then you wonder if it’s possible for him to exhaust those vocal cords some other way.
You’re not sure if you entirely mind his incessant rambling… after all, even if you can’t get in a word edgewise, he does have a voice as majestic as purple mountains flowing with rivers of honey. With unicorns.
You’re not going to admit that.
You lean against one of the bronze rails exhaustively as the Doctor is under the console taking care of the messy sabotage that the aliens-of-the-day have wrecked in his ship. Peculiar aliens, them, apparently fond of planetary domination and puzzles. They haven’t actually removed any pieces from the TARDIS, just scrambled the insides like a jigsaw puzzle that almost fits and the picture is nothing like it should be. The temporal inhibitors are all backwards, certain charge circuits have been reversed, and five entire grids of datachips have been rearranged into a mildly amusing mosaic pattern on each with the colors of the chips instead of actual functional order. The Doctor briefly considered rewiring the grid for the mosaic pattern to work instead. It was difficult enough to find the sabotaged grids in the first place, and rewiring would require the rearrangement of the other 628 grids.
He decided against. Thankfully.
He also, unfortunately, decided to talk about Chelonian politics and a whole bit of controversy about the coloring of shells which had you both bored and confused until he mentioned that they were a tortoise-like species. Which left you with bored.
You looked back and forth at the Doctor’s outstretched legs and his remarkable scarf sprawled everywhere and his little rolling contraption that he’s laying on and you decide you have nothing to lose and he has time.
What’s the point of being a Time Lord if you don’t have any time to waste?
Also, he’s moved on to the shell carving politics.
You yank down on his coat and he rolls out from under the TARDIS console looking particularly confused and adorable at the interruption with his particularly wide eyes and, before you lose your nerve, you brace your hands on either side of him, and kiss him.
He makes a surprised sort of noise but no sort of protest, and you feel unexpectedly magnetized to his lips because that is certainly not a human-like taste. Well, that would be silly to expect. He doesn’t even have proper lungs.
So you stay there certainly longer than you initially intended to but he responds to your delight. He then deepens the kiss and your arms weaken a bit around him and you make a noise you’re not sure you’ve ever made or heard before in your life. Before you know it his tongue is doing something very interesting to your tongue and you break away and gasp as you’ve collapsed on top of him as you inevitably wonder what that tongue could do to other places.
He raises his eyebrows at you and smiles. “Well I wasn’t expecting that,” he comments, in a tone laced with not-unpleasant curiosity and you’d swear it was deeper than before.
You’re stunned for a moment before he tosses the pieces of TARDIS that his hands have hung on to aside efficiently and hoists both of you up to stand. You hardly have time to come to grip at the Doctor’s sides before he has one hand cupping the side of your head, his tongue does brilliant things to your mouth, and his other hand lightly traces fingers straight down from a spot behind your ear down your neck which causes your knees to almost buckle and you make that noise again. How many hands does he have? The hand is suddenly massaging between your shoulder blades and you practically fall limp, breaking the kiss and leaving you panting.
He chuckles and then wastes no more time to relocate his lips to your neck, leaving wet patterns with his tongue. You hear fabric shifting noises but are too distracted to notice that he’s guided your arms subtlety behind you and your wrists are skillfully tied up by his scarf. You yelp and flush a deep red as he nonchalantly continues his work on your neck, teasing your sides with his fingers with some certainly alien technique and rests you against the rails around the TARDIS console, slipping his leg between yours, before slowing down and taking in your lack of breath and new blush with thinly veiled fascination.
“How interesting!” He grins, briefly looking behind you to see the handiwork of the knots of his scarf, before meeting your glazed eyes again.
He gets close to your face again, and says, softly and deeply, “I think you enjoyed that.” He gives you another light kiss and looks slightly behind you again as his eyes seem to light up with a brilliant idea, as you’re sure it is.
“And I think we could make some delightfully creative use of these railings, don’t you think?”