I own naught but these words.

Set sometime after LKH and contains spoilers Sweeties...

On a planet called Earth in the Milky Way there is a continent known as Africa; within this continent is a country known as Egypt; and, in the heart of the city known as Giza you will find a blue box. That is, if you know when to look...

The year is 1920 AD. Approximately two miles from a blue box four friends lay upon a large picnic blanket, splayed across the sand, a spectacular view of some of the galaxy's finest architecture displayed in front of them for their own viewing pleasure. Two of them lie parallel on the ground, body's brushing against one another but they appear too comfortable to notice; a wine glass is clasped between the hands of one of the pair, the light from the small campfire reflecting off her red locks as they seem to dance in the air around her. Her partner notices how she seems preoccupied by something, unnerved, anxious. He notices because he feels it too. He feels the weight knowledge that had been bestowed upon them a time before, and yet ahead of that moment. He remembers a time where the four of them had been gathered in a situation so achingly similar to this it was almost painful. He consciously reaches for his partners hand and strokes it reassuringly, eliciting an empathising squeeze from the recipient. They know not to give away too much, not to jeopardise time itself, so they say little and keep smiling. It gave them time to contemplate the bizarre saga that their lives had become, the wine and the balmy air lending itself to some rather fanciful ideas concerning the universe and their destiny.

It was early days for them, well most of them. Comprehension of the situation was still difficult to come by, and watching the other two members of the group was fuelling these maddening thoughts; one was shy yet excited in his interactions with the other, where she was bold and familiar in her actions towards him. Would they be in the same situation as they were? Was she already? Was he there yet? Questions pounded through their heads until the din was becoming unbearable and fatiguing. It's about time they turn in anyway, dim the lights, get some shut eye; they've had a long, complicated and exhausting day, not aided by an army of the extremely angry ancient deceased and a swarm of locusts. Tonight they were glad of their small campsite in the Egyptian desert; it gave them the opportunity to form a schedule: run while the sun is up, sleep when it goes down. Life in the blue box put them in a state of what felt like perpetual awakening, where nothing was indicative of when they should sleep, other than the complaints from aching limbs. Tonight they had no more monsters to fight, and they had watched the sun fall beyond the horizon with their own eyes, adding to the satisfaction that they could live in an approximation of normality be it for only a few hours. They turn to each other and nod before making their excuses.

"Well, I don't know about you, but we humans are exhausted." The redhead says between yawns.

"Yeah, I'd say it's about time we turned in." Her partner agrees.

The other male, dressed in a tweed jacket, bow-tie ensemble sighs, "Oh Ponds, all you ever do is sleep."

The redhead laughs, warm Scottish tones. "Oh Doctor, we do more than that don't we Rory." She laboriously clambers up, hauling her red faced partner to join her by his forearms.

The facial expressions in the group now vary from bemused to mortified.

The bemused expression belongs to an older woman with bright and even older eyes whose face is partially concealed by a rather extraordinary mane of golden curls. "Too much information mother." She giggles.

The redhead realises how her utterance had been misconstrued but was struggling with forming anything coherent due to her mildly intoxicated state, "Noo, I didn't mean that! I mean- we um- run."

She swayed a little and Rory rushed to steady her, still red faced, "Yeah, we sleep and run."

The Doctor coughs, "Well off to your tent Amelia, Centurion. Sleep, and dream of running."

Rory gives a small mock salute, "Goodnight Doctor, River. Don't stay up all night." He sounds a little uncomfortable in the last line, but it's quite frankly entirely understandable. After all, how many people have a human-plus time-lady daughter that is older than they are and is quite possibly married to their best friend? How many people have spent their entire life attempting to keep another best friend within the confines of the law whilst intermittently slipping off and occasionally adventuring with another who just happens to be the same person? It makes sense that this individual may struggle with the nuances of parental authority.

River lifts her head to him and rolls her eyes, "Of course not Daddy."

Rory smiles at that, and the Ponds head to their small sanctuary; River's tone was light-hearted and sarcastic, but underneath it all was a lifetimes worth of endearment. A highly complicated lifetime that he was only just coming to terms with, but he couldn't help but feel proud to have been part of it.

They were alone now, River and the Doctor. Lying next to one another on a blanket beneath the stars; the great pyramids of Giza a backdrop to what promised to be one hell of a night...

Neither one of them spoke for a while. They simply lay there, in the half-light cast by the still glowing embers, contemplating and waiting.

River empties her third glass of wine and The Doctor reaches for the bottle that he's taken nothing from himself.

She smiles and holds out her hand in protest, "No more tonight, my love." She rolls over onto her back so her vision holds nothing but stars and infinite, endless space.

He enjoys the endearment; it reminds him that his nerves have no place in this relationship. He wants to be cool and suave, and yes he can flirt, by Rassilon he can flirt but he's still a little hesitant when it comes to anything more; it's been a while and his courting skills are a little rusty, but he want this, he wants her, he wants them. The way she addresses him is encouragement, and the very nature of their time-streams tells him that his feelings are reciprocated. He's learning. This body is still something to get used to, and he's not entirely sure how to make it behave. The first time they kissed his limbs had taken on a wholly independent life of their own; it was as if there was some loose wiring somewhere between his synapses and his muscles, something that had perhaps overreacted to the intoxicating closeness of her, or the tickle of her hair on his cheek, or perhaps her hands caressing his face. Although the final break in his synaptic synchronicity was probably the pressure of her hips rolling into his pelvis, but he'd been trying very hard to suppress those very un-timelordy feelings, and the sensation it had began to arouse is not one that he would freely admit to.

He rolled onto his back, mimicking her position, hands clasped on his chest. Unlike her, he was not contemplating the stars.

At first he was intrigued by her, by her spoilers and infuriated by her familiarity; soon his intrigue was held by her bravery, her intellect. It had taken a while, but eventually he was proud of her tenacity and loyalty, and he was prepared to reciprocate her trust; now he was beginning to feel new things: urges, wants, needs. As he watched the light from the fire dance over her long, exposed limbs, entwining with her unruly golden curls with a ferocity that lit her coy smile up incandescently he had a new and more frightening urge. He wanted to touch her.

Her lower legs were bare where her sand coloured desert shorts ended; her exposed flesh was taught over her muscles, he could see them work beneath the skin as she flexed her bare feet and stretched her limbs. Her blouse was tucked neatly into her shorts, the top few buttons were undone revealing a small section of her cleavage. He could see the light cotton fabric slightly disturbed by the breeze, and the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in the night air. Her neck, long and slender, cushioned by curls from her unruly yet mesmerising hair. Oh, how he so desperately wanted to run his hands through that hair; to stare into her eyes, full of time and space: eyes made to match his. He wanted to feel the beat of her heart -hearts?– against his own. To find out how alike they really were.

She could map the path of his eyes without even looking at him. He'd traced the entire expanse of her body before focussing on what would be his favourite parts, his sight was now firmly locked and she smiled because she doubted he'd even realised that she knew he was staring, bless. It was her hair that fascinated him, and she found that endlessly charming. Not that he didn't appreciate the many other sights her body had to offer, but eventually his hands would always return to her hair. Quite frankly it was no surprise, she knew herself that it was magnificent. She wondered if he'd really had a chance to touch it yet, entwine his long, talented fingers in those untameable strands. The thought saddened her, it felt like bereavement, but she was prepared. River Song was always prepared. After all, how would he know much her hair would entertain his hands if he never got the opportunity; everything must begin somewhere.

"I have a proposition for you." Her voice was steady, soft but serious.

This pulled The Doctor from his rather tactile thoughts, the darkness shielding any blushes, his eyes still directed at her, "Sounds interesting, will I like it?"

She doesn't giggle, although the temptations strong, "Yes."

Her assuredness captivated him, and he simply doubted that he could ever resist one of River Songs propositions, "Go on then..."

River rolled to her right so that she was now face to face with him, "You're never one to miss an opportunity."

He expected this proposition to be more direct, something he could understand, but she held all of his cards, "I- er- pardon?"

Her lips curled into a smile, and her eyes glowed with her newly formulating plan, "Well, it seems to me that we happen to have an opportunity."

The Doctor heard the suggestive lilt in her voice, and he gulped nervously, "We do?"

River propped her head up on her elbow, tilting to just the right angle so that the firelight would illuminate her face, creating a glowing halo of curls: the perfect frame. "Definitely."

He subconsciously edged his body closer to hers and rolled to his left, they were about a half a metre apart, close enough to make out every strand of her hair, every star reflected in her eyes. "What do you want?"

She locked eyes with him, head propped up with one arm, the other reaching out to straighten his bowtie, "It's about what you want honey." She saw the corner of one of his eyebrows rise in scepticism, and she grinned, "Oh, don't look at me like that. I know what you want. I can feel your eyes on me."

He couldn't bring himself to form a coherent sentence, "I- er- I..." He blushed. He was facing her, and he blushed. There was no hiding it.

"Oh eloquent as always." She ran a thumb across his heated cheek, amused by his manner, "You're adorable when you don't know how to get what you want."

He lay there transfixed by her and the hand tracing his jaw-line. "You had a proposition?"

"Indeed I do Sweetie." She withdrew her hand from his face and was delighted to see the disappointment in the loss of contact dancing in his eyes. "I'll let you have what you want, if you can find out what I want."

"So it is about what you want," he chides gently.

She shrugs her shoulders and flashes him that disarming smile of hers.

Her eyes were heavy with lust, and he could just about place it as being so. He was entirely sure of where this was going, but he was beginning to have a very good idea. "How do I find out what you want?"

She laughed, warm and seductive: so very River. She leant in close to his ear so that he could feel her warm breath tickling his sensitive skin, "By getting what you want."

Her breath on his face was creating a tingling sensation that ricocheted off his limbs and pooled somewhere inside, heating his body, tensing his muscles; he shuddered slightly and took a deep slightly ragged breath, "How do I get what I want?"

She gently pulled his face so they were directly in-line, her eyes boring into his, "Oh Sweetie, all you need to do is ask."

He tentatively replied. "Can I..?" He desperately wanted to grab her by her shoulders and fling them both back onto the blanket, kiss her hard and fast, let his hands wander through her hair; but, he was nervous. By God, he was terrified. Terrified, and excited.

She nodded, and reached out to him with her right hand, pulling him closer to her and entwining his fingers with hers, "You can put this hand wherever you like."

He closed his eyes, took a deep hearty lungful of the night air, and exhaled deeply. He opened them and sat up. His hands knew exactly where they wanted to be. He pulled her up so that they were sitting side by side, facing opposite directions. His hand slowly moved toward her cheek, his thumb brushing along the side of her jaw. She released a breath that she didn't realise she'd been holding, and fought to suppress a moan.

He caught a tendril between his forefinger and thumb, coiling it around before letting it spring back.

"Is it... magic?" He sat there captivated by each strand, twirling its mass through nimble fingers whilst his other equally nimble fingered hand wandered along her side before resting on her hip.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Magic, Sweetie?"

"It's just so..." He fought to find the appropriate adjective.

"Wild?" She added helpfully.

His hands continue to wander, and she can no longer suppress herself vocally. She let out a quiet moan, her head tilting back into his hand. The sound excites him and his other hand begins running up her side. She squirms a little in response causing the hem of her blouse to fall from the waistband of her shorts.

"Yes, it is rather." He grins at her, "But, that's not the word I was looking for."

She feels his hand brush along bare flesh and she grabs it, pinning it to her side, willing him to let it travel under her blouse, rather than over.

She tries again, "Big?"

"Yes, big and wild." He gasps a little as his hand reaches the material at the bottom of her bra. "I was thinking more along the lines of..."

She reaches out with an arm and hooks it around his neck, because if she doesn't she thinks she might just topple over. "Yes..?" She breathes the words like a prayer, and hopes to God that he's going to kiss her soon.

He's staring at her intently now, and the proximity is intoxicating for them both. He takes in a deep breath and with its release comes the word he's been searching so desperately for, "Beautiful."

Waiting is no longer an option and suddenly she is pulling him back down onto the blanket, her mouth meeting his. His hands, oh his hands, they're everywhere at once: her hair, her face, her stomach, her arms. Roaming across the expanse of her body, and hers are doing just as well.

She's hooked a leg over his hips, and he can feel the pressure of it through his trousers as she drags it along the backs of his legs; he releases an animalistic groan into her mouth and he can feel her smiling against his hungry lips. She tugs at his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, and she attempts to unbutton it single handed. After a minutes futile attempt she grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him over so she's now on top; her mouth never leaving his.

She's kneeling over him, her hips dangerously close to his pelvis, and he knows that if she moved a fraction of an inch further down she'd feel his desire; and so she did. His fingers grip her skin a little tighter at the sudden contact in a place that hadn't felt that sort of closeness in a very long while.

He rolls out her name from his tongue like it's sacred, "River."

She pulls back so that she can make out his shirt buttons in the quickly fading light cast by dying embers, "We've never done this before in your time-stream?"

He affirms this with a nod of his head, and he sees the sadness in her eyes for just a second before it's replaced with a mischievous twinkle. "Well then, as I said..." Her fingers were making quick work of the buttons, "this, my love," She pulled his braces simultaneously down his shoulders as he wriggled his way out of them, "is an opportunity." She allowed her hand to slide across his bare chest fingertips grazing his nipples, before reaching up to his neck to entwine his hair with her fingers. She pressed her mouth onto his and held it there, tongues duelling, lips being tugged by teeth, hands running rampant through hair and over sensitive skin, until they desperately needed air. The Doctor made good use of the moment and began unbuttoning River's blouse. He paused and gave her a look that said 'may I?'.

She laughs at his gentlemanly action, not unkindly, but in some sort of bemused adoration. "Yes, you may."

Then his fingers are like lightening, much less clumsy than he himself had anticipated; and in seconds he's pulling the blouse down her shoulders as she shrugs it off. Showing her bare skin to the night air, she was relieved by the sudden cooling she received from the breeze and rolled her shoulders back, neck arching into the night. She reached behind her back and released the clasp of her bra, tossing it aside so that her breasts were free, nipples hardening in the cooling night air. From this position all he could see was River against the star dappled canvas of the sky, light illuminating her skin giving it a pearly ethereal glow.

The Doctor had a millennia's worth of images stored in his mind: flashes from every end of the Universe, some from beyond it; the most beautiful sights time and space had to offer. Yet the one that well and truly stole breath from his lungs was River Song.

He gazed up at her, hands caressing the bare flesh of her waist, "You're a goddess."

She leant over him until her nipples grazed the exposed skin of his chest, her mouth by his ear and whispered, "I'm a Time-Lady."

Words were no longer required as the cradled his forehead against hers, and suddenly there was an overwhelming crash of time and space flowing through two minds. He could see her, all of her; feel her in there, and she was beautiful. Suddenly there was a rush of words, mantras, sonnets rushing through his mind in his own language, and she could share in it all. Behind the lids of their eyes they could see the constant loop and interweave of their time-streams flowing together, golden flashes and red heat: euphoria. They barely realised that they were removing their superfluous clothing in the midst of it all.

Soon they were lying completely naked beneath the stars, limbs interlocked, neither knowing quite whose hands were roaming where, or whose legs were wrapped around whom. His mouth traced along her clavicle, his tongue reaching out to taste a trickle of sweat resting in her décolletage; he can feel arcing away and towards him seemingly almost at the same time, and he thinks that perhaps this is all a dream. His thoughts simply shatter when he sees her position herself above him, hands firmly gripping his shoulders, ready to descend.

"Ready?" The words falls from her mouth in a breathy whisper, a stray lock of hair tumbling in front of her eyes.

He reaches up and tucks the hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek; his hand travels the length of her side and she shivers under his fingers. He reaches her waist and in one swift movement slides her down until he is inside, filling her completely. She gasps and locks out her arms against his shoulders for support. She wiggles around wasting no time in accommodating for him, and elicits a long arduous groan. Soon she's sliding up and down, panting in ecstasy as he meets her thrust for thrust. Now he feels sure that there's no way to tell where he ends and she begins, and it's the most divine thing in the Universe. He's kissing her with all his might and it's as if he can taste himself in her; her nails are digging into the back of his neck, enough to cause pain, but it's the most exhilarating pain he's felt in all of his long life.

When he feels her muscles clamp around him there's no way he can hold on any longer, and he spills into her, giving her everything. Then she's there panting over him, a smile gracing her lips that she simply cannot contain. He reaches up and pulls her into him, embracing her body with his; content enough to lie beneath the stars in one another's arms. He whispers to her in Galifreyan and she replies in the same. It's impossible to know exactly what either said, but an educated eye would deduce that it's the same in every language: eternal.

DW -

When the Ponds awake from their long slumber, grinding the sleep from their eyes and heading into the morning Sun, they are met with a pile of discarded clothes and two absent Time Lords. They stood in silence for about a minute before Rory spoke, "It's too early for this."

Amy sighed, "They grow up so quickly."

They turned around and headed back to their sanctuary, dreading the journey back to the Blue Box later that day; and approximately two miles from where those discarded clothes lay, said Blue Box smiled to herself, for she'd had just as much a hand to play in this as fate herself.

FIN.

Thank you for reading, review...?