The black paper was removed. In its place, his hand, holding a paper cut out of a fish, red, and glittering with stuck on sequins and bits of gold paper, moving up and down as if swimming. She couldn't help but laugh, leaned back against the chair, relaxed, feeling his arm come around her in the shadows, a confident move belied by the slight shaking in his muscles that he couldn't quite hide. She curled her feet up on the seat, moulded herself against the strict lines of his side a bit more closely, feeling a slight fluttering in her stomach and a stutter in her heart.

On the screen, a box, coloured roughly in blue descended slowly into the centre of the picture, lowered by two familiar hands. The flaps opened, and the hands reached inside to remove a doll, some kind of action figure, clad only in a pair of combat trousers and big boots, its chest bare, all rippling torso and biceps. Around its neck was a tiny stethoscope. It was meant to be him. A burst of laughter exploded from her, her sides shaking with helpless tremors until the pressure of his arm forced her closer against his side, her head resting now on his leather clad shoulder, her hand placed for support on his stomach. Her heart was beating so wildly she was sure he could hear it. His hand traced intricate patterns against her arm but he kept his eyes fixed straight on the screen.

Next out of the box was another figure, exactly the same as the first, but wearing a tiny pink dress, which left its bulging pectorals exposed. A ball of yellow wool was on its head. She shifted her hand down, smacked his leg in retribution but left it lying there as the second doll went back in the box and out came another, a princess this time, complete with crown and big skirts. She gave him a little squeeze, feeling him tense and relax against her, shift his legs slightly further apart so she could fit her fingers over the hard curve of this thigh, into the warmth where his legs pressed together. She didn't look at him. He didn't look at her.

Together, the two figures were walked away from the box and across a strip of metal, laid across what looked for all the world like a fish tank. The princess was taken out of frame and in a close up shot she saw the other doll holding a fishing rod, hanging down into the water. The rod was pulled up, with a bit of green slime on the end, and the angle panned out, showing the two figures moving at a rate of knots back over the metal bridge towards the box. The camera swung round to show a paper chain of cut out fish rushing after the fleeing dolls. The doors of the box closed and it was lifted up off screen again. She sensed, rather than saw his head turn towards her in the darkness, the weight of his lips as he pressed a kiss against her hair feather light. She didn't dare move, afraid he would stop, afraid he would start.

Another black piece of paper replaced the first with symbols that could only mean 'The End'. The screen puttered into silence, tense, expectant. Ignoring the runaway pounding of her heart she inched her head hesitantly round to face him, finding him so close that their lips were almost, nearly, not quite touching, the heat of his breath warm in the recesses of her mouth. She was aware that her chest was rising and falling in an unsteady, arrhythmic pattern, but his hand had slipped down and under her shoulder and his fingertips were resting against the swell of her breast. Her hand was now clamped firmly between the warmth of his thighs. It took all her willpower to look up at him against the thick tension hanging between them. Most of his face was lost in pools of shadow but his gaze leaped out at her so brightly it burnt the darkness away. There was a hunger in his eyes, a heat, and a naked desire that she could feel deep down inside. She could sense the things he wanted to do to her hanging like a promise in the air. She was only capable of half formed images of what she wanted to do to him.

Abruptly, the lights came back up, and in the distraction he was off the chair like a coiled spring, heading out of the door and down the corridor before she realised he was gone.

When they finally left the TARDIS the dazzling radiance of sun reflecting on a grey-green sea punched into her eyes, and the clang of the metal walkway beneath her feet was deafening. The biting wind knifed through her clothing but it didn't take him long to find the spot he wanted, unravelling a long metal wire with some sort of box on the end and lowering it into the icy water. They had been only a few minutes but he was already looking around apprehensively. Catching whatever it was he wanted, he retracted the line, snapped the box shut, and motioned her urgently back towards the TARDIS. The clamour of other steps behind them broke her concentration and she glanced behind. They looked as much like fish as she was a princess. At least ten feet tall, and bright red, they had wide set mouths and a suggestion of gills and their skin had a distinctly oily sheen. But the legs on which they were advancing rapidly toward her showed they had been out of the sea for quite some time. The last thing she remembered as she felt herself trip and plummet headlong into the water was an outcry of syllables that sounded nothing like her name.

She woke, and her teeth were chattering. She couldn't move her fingers and her hair was plastered to her head. She was lying on her side, soaking wet but covered in something warm. Levering her eyes open a crack she saw she was in the console room, stretched out on the jumpseat and the Doctor's back was right in front of her as he worked on the controls.

He seemed to know she was awake intuitively, span on his heel and came to kneel in front of her. He was as wet as she was but it didn't seem to bother him. He put his hand against the chill skin of her forehead, her cheek, his eyes serious as he assessed her. She took a deep breath, tried to sit, although her hands were curled into claws with the cold.

She gestured towards the door, raised her eyebrows in a question. Throwing her an exasperated look he pointed to her, mimed her tripping, falling forward, flailing his arms above his head. His urgent actions stopped suddenly, and he put his arms up straight in the air, head hanging limply forward. The shock of the water temperature must have knocked her out. He pointed to himself, mimicked a dive and a swimming motion, and then he rushed over and kissed her.

It wasn't a kiss, exactly, her mouth was closed, but his was open and she could feel his breath pushing against her lips. Mouth to mouth resuscitation to bring her back to life, and it had exactly the same effect the second time. She was cold, she was shivering, she was dripping all over the seat, but the simple touch of his lips on hers made all of that irrelevant. Her body responded, responded and responded and wouldn't stop responding. What started as a shiver turned into an uncontrollable shudder as tendrils of ice cold fire snaked down her spine. Her back arched, her head tilted back, eyes closing and an absolute throb of sudden pleasure hit her between the legs. But as soon as he started kissing her he stopped, pulling back, looking slightly surprised, as if he hadn't really meant to do what he had just done.

She watched him, making a circling, continue movement with her hand — he still hadn't finished the story, and she was fairly sure she knew what was coming next. He blinked quickly, throwing off his distraction, mimed one handed swimming, dragging something behind him and then he took the key out of his pocket, showed her being carried inside. And he moved towards her to kiss her again. She was ready for him this time, opened her mouth as his lips met hers, felt him start, just a little, when he realised she was waiting for him.

For an infinite instant they hung there, neither moving, suspended on the brink of something new. But she felt her responses overtaking her again and in the same moment, he moved at last, his hands coming up to cup her face, shifting so that he was sitting next to her. She opened her mouth wide against the light touch of his, felt his jaw move as he followed her lead and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in. She wanted him. She didn't need to tell him. He crushed her lips against his, opening his mouth wider, wider against hers, encouraging her to do the same, to match the pattern he was setting. His tongue ran round the inside of her lips, tasting her, feeling her, checking her warmth. He pushed himself further in, and she reacted in kind, finding his mouth cool, but soft behind the slight rasp of his lips. Their tongues met, sliding across each other in a sensual dance that became stronger and stronger, more forceful, more probing. He was kissing her so hard she barely had room to draw breath, but she hooked her hands around his neck more tightly to stop him pulling away. The cold and the wet was forgotten, she was warmed by the rush of her heart, running so fast it felt as if it would explode through her chest, warmed by the hot wetness she could feel below, the aching pleasure spreading upwards with a repetitive tightening that was almost painful.

She didn't think she had ever responded so strongly to anyone before. And it was more than simply the quick reflexes of her body; the fact of kissing him seemed to fill her with a bone deep elation, a happiness so strong she wanted to hug herself with the wanton joy of it. But kissing him wasn't enough. She craved the feel of his hands on her breasts, his tongue between her spread legs, his length juddering inside her. Feverishly, she slid her hands down his chest and was amazed at the sensation of him shivering beneath her touch. She wasn't the only one whose body was responding.

She didn't bother with his jumper, went straight for the button of his jeans. She wanted him, was desperate for him, feeling his hands smooth over her breasts on their way down to the ache between her legs. The pace of their kiss increased as he touched her through her jeans, his hand pushing her legs apart, the sodden fabric forced against her warmth making her tremble. He moaned in his throat, fumbling as he undid the button, cracked down the zip, and she raised herself up off the seat to let him pull her trousers away. Impatient with her efforts for him, his fingers closed over hers, releasing the fastening of his jeans and guiding her hand until she closed it around him.

She felt his fingers prying into her hot wetness, going straight to the small fold of flesh that would make her gasp. She nearly came when he touched it for the first time, but settled for a muted cry and a convulsive tightening of her hand that made him groan into her mouth. She shunted her hips forward to the edge of the seat, dropping one leg to rest on the floor, reaching out to take him in both hands, squeezing and rubbing, stroking and sliding and circling until the wetness underneath her fingers let her know just how he felt about her caress.

Finding a new angle, his fingers thrust up inside her as her back curved, nearly breaking the kiss. He stretched her, from the inside out, matching the movements of his other hand, working her in ever harder, ever faster patterns. Her body wanted him, she wanted him, he wanted her. Pulling back from his mouth at last, she took what she wanted, throwing her leg across his lap to straddle him, feeling him guide her down with this hands on her hips. He was bigger than she had known, fitting her and filling her and making her eyes flutter open as he hit the barrier deep inside her.

He was watching her face, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, panting through parted lips. She raised her hips up off him again, slid back down, controlling her pace with her thighs as she started to move. She was soaking wet both inside and out, but she couldn't have cared less. He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard, one hand welded to the place between her legs, stoking her cries, his other forcing her hips down, on top of him.

They didn't need words, their language was in the motion of their bodies, the convulsive tightening of her muscles around him, the iron thickness that he was driving inside her. She was so close to orgasm, so lost in her responses that she almost missed the message her body was screaming at her, had been screaming at her for hours.

As soon as she saw it, it was obvious. Although she knew he wouldn't understand she told him anyway.

'I love you,' she said, as the waves of pleasure washed over her.

'I love you,' as he sat up, wrapped his arms about her, shuddered his climax into her.

'I love you,' as she collapsed against him, exhausted with release.

She felt his hand searching for something under the discarded blanket, came up holding the notebook and pen. She didn't have the strength to look as he scribbled on it with one hand, the other stroking the line of her bottom. Pushed the pad into her hand.

Amazing what you hear when you don't speak, it read. Clear as day, black and white, she could read exactly what he'd written. Suspiciously she looked at him, wondering just when he'd fixed the translation circuit, but he just winked at her, and leaned close to whisper in her ear.

'P.S. I love you, too,' he said.

If you enjoyed this story, please read The Postman's Daughter or The Car Crash Bride by Sally Anne Palmer, two romance novels available electronically and in print via Amazon.