A/N: God, I'm having fun writing this thing. But if there's a plot, well, someone tell me what it is.

When the Doctor wakes the next (figurative) morning in an actually normal manner, he nearly has a double hearts-attack when it happens again.

He rouses himself with a yawn, feeling relieved the remainder of the night had been dreamless. Rolling onto his side, his eyes blink open.

They immediately meet bright, playful green ones.

Even though it may seem so, the Doctor does not shriek or nearly fall off the bed, because that would be terribly embarrassing. At any rate, he's bewildered and surprised out of his wits.

"Morning, honey." River sits up on his bed, clearly pleased with herself and silently laughing at him as she adjusts a hairpin. Fortunately (or maybe not- but he's not going to think about that), she's wearing something less revealing than what his mind's eye had envisioned the previous night: a black leather jacket over a lace edged tank top, charcoal grey trousers with lighter pinstripes, a pair of buckled combat boots. He personally thinks she looks amazing in black, sort of like a secret spy agent or a criminal mastermind, or a sinister, minxy dominatrix-

He quickly banishes those thoughts and the sudden flash of images across his mind, instinctively pulling and knotting his dressing gown closed. He's blushing, he's sure. His cheeks feel redhot. He scowls.

"No warning at all? Not even 'hello, sweetie'? Are you trying to kill me- again? I'd rather not regenerate before breakfast," he says crossly, and her grin only broadens. "What're you doing here and why did you decide to do-" he gestures at her wildly, "that, out of all the things you could have done to wake me up?"

"Oh, and how would you like me to wake you up, Doctor?" Her voice drops from light and teasing to low and alluring in less than a millisecond. So that wasn't just a fantasy of his that River Song can be more than capable of those certain things. It's potentially dangerous.

"W-well, you could- maybe just- I don't know, just don't try to scare me like that!" He is squeaking now, just a bit, and he knows how hard he's blushing now. Just so he doesn't have to look at her anymore, he steps to the floor and makes his way towards the closet in the corner of his room. Mean, unfair River Song who acts like she doesn't care for his well-being.

"I really can't help it. You make it too easy," says River, teasing again. "You're not going to ask why I just happened to be in your bed the moment you woke this morning?"

"Do you have to do that?" he mutters, shifting through the clothing hanging on the closet's rack to find a shirt. "You really are going to kill me before breakfast, and that's disappointing. I just got three new flavours of jam from Kudapaie yesterday and I was looking forward to them." He picks a button-down from the rack and holds the hanger in his mouth, searching for a bow tie.

"Old habits die hard."

"I've gotten that by now, dear." It's strange how easily the endearment rolls off his tongue, even when he has a hanger in his mouth. It seems natural. Maybe he'll use it more often. She likes it when he calls her those names, he's figured out. And he won't admit how much he likes 'sweetie'. "Though you could do me a favour and tell me why you broke out of Stormcage. Could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't just so you could flirt with me before moonpeach-satsuma jam on toast. Or with a spoon, more likely."

"Oh, you wish I did," she scoffs at him. He smirks- and instantly drops the hanger. He frowns and reaches down to pick it back up. "They decided to move me yesterday to another useless cell, after what I did to the last one. Wasn't my fault, entirely. I only disintegrated the bars."

He drops the shirt once more. "What?"

"It was partially your fault, too, seeing as you were the one who gave me the- " River pauses momentarily. "Or is that spoilers?"

"River, you're not allowed to do things like that, you know," the Doctor tells her. He turns his miffed expression on the closet's supplies as he attempts to chastise her, but only managing somewhat of a complaint. He doesn't know why he tries; it's not as if she'll ever stop, not even for him. Mostly because she's River Song and she knows that he knows he doesn't actually mind it. He finally finds a pair of trousers. He combs through the rack again, searching for the bracers he hung there yesterday. The shirt can be left on the floor for right now, because it obviously doesn't like him very much.

"Look, those are habits, sweetie." There it is again. "Anyway, there was rather a debacle involving several guards who were all terrible kissers- " and he feels irrationally annoyed at that remark, " -then I got word of misplaced test scores at Luna, and I lost my favourite shoes! Not to mention that I burned out my only curling iron- "

"Why do you need a curling iron?" he asks incredulously, turning to look at her with a furrowed brow after resting his as-per-usual tweed jacket over one shoulder, having found it and the bracers.

River gives him a look that's mean, scary, and still slightly sexy all at once. It's a terrible combination and inconsiderate to the state of his insides. "Because I was hoping we could have a girls' night in and do makeovers, Doctor," she says flatly, then huffs,"Some of these don't come as natural as I'd like," as she holds up several caramel-tinted curls.

"Well, I sort of figured a bit that the rest give off this mad bounciness so much it helps. . . the others. . . not to need it." The Doctor's words trickle off with the Look River is still fixing upon him, so he shuts up and drops his clothes next to the shirt on the floor, beginning to seek out a pair of shoes.

"Do you want to know why I decided to drop in or not?"

"A little, yeah." He finds the shoes, drops them next to the clothes as well, and starts looking for pants. Which should be a first priority, really.

He absentmindedly has a thought that maybe he won't need them later if River's here, which is absolutely not good and he winces the thought far away.

"I wanted to get away for a while. Wanted to see my parents. And I do have a steady babysitting job," she adds drily.

"What? For who? When'd you become a nanny?" Now he's bewildered. There is no one less likely than River who would look after small children.

She sighs, her look less mean and more the impatient sort of one being patronised. "Who, indeed?"

"Oh." He does find a pair of pants; the blue ones with little yellow ducks on them. One of his favourites. "That's almost rude, Dr. Song."

"The truth does hurt, honey."

"That's even more rude," he mumbles. It seems he's collected all his clothes, so the final act is, well, putting them on. "Um, River? I'm going to have to. . . get dressed, you know," he says tentatively, his hand over the knot on his dressing gown.

"I suppose you will," she says, appearing fully nonchalant as she looks over at him from the bed.

"And. . . you're still here."

"Fancy that."

"On the bed. Next to where I am."

"If only you could use that fantastic sense of direction to fly the TARDIS, honey."

He ignores the jab (but just barely) and speaks, again, hesitatingly, "And I'll be here. . . naked, without clothes, in front of you."

"That is what seems to happen before one gets dressed, yes."

Damn it all, he's blushing again. "So. . . you'll. . . have to leave. Just for a bit." Or not.

"Now, why would I do that?"

He curses this regeneration's little giveaways straight to hell. It's torture. "Because- b-because you'll be on the bed, next to me, and- and I'll be here, without clothes on!"

"Mm. . . deja vu," she purrs (his dreams really do cast her quite in-character- that really should be a problem), and rises from the mattress. "Now, that's spoilers." His stutterings immediately halt on his tongue as she draws closer. When his back presses against the wall, hands fluttering uselessly, his mind shifts automatically to the aforementioned dreams of last night. He tries madly to shut it off.

"You look considerably better that way, if you want my opinion, my love." River smirks, her eyes- sparkling, emerald, slightly darkened- trail over his figure and linger on certain places. He opens his mouth to attempt coherency, but fails miserably when he realises she has him between the wall, herself, and his dressing gown, which is really quite a thin material, now that he thinks on it. Too thin.

"D-do you think so?" the Doctor manages, his eyes locked on her fingers starting to trace an invisible line across the blue, silken fabric, starting at his shoulder, then across his collarbone, up his neck, behind his ear. She brushes over one spot that makes him sigh, his eyes closing.

What he feels next is a caress of lips over his neck, just below his jaw. She begins leave the lightest of kisses down his skin, chaste and just as teasing as her voice itself. His hands have fallen at her waist. He moans softly at the sensation.

"Doctor?" River breathes, her tongue licking briefly at his collarbone.

"Yes," he whispers, not honestly sure if it's a reply or a plea.

She draws back suddenly. "You left these on your bed." She holds up his pants from last night- the ones he nearly ruined. "And speaking of before breakfast, you might want to shower first. No wonder I remember liking this dressing gown so much; it's not very concealing."

She drops his polka-dotted pants near his pile of clothes and starts for the door. She tosses him a wink over her shoulder before leaving.

The Doctor closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He lets his incredibly tense body relax against the wall.

Mean, unfair River Song who actually doesn't care for his well-being.