"River! River, River, River." The Doctor hugged her for all he was worth. Burying his face in her hair and squashing her as close as he could.

She laughed a little and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him back. "What's wrong, Sweetie?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice muffled in her hair. He turned his face into her neck, snuggling his face into her. "I was lonely."

Her heart flopped over in her chest. "There's no reason for that!" She rubbed her hands over his back. "There's never any reason for that, sweetie," she said softly. She pressed her cheek against his. Sometimes his great age just weighed on him. She was always happy when he came to her when that happened. "You've got me," she whispered in his ear.

"I know," he said, pulling back. He looked her in the eyes, the loneliness fading, and the happy coming back.

"Let's do something!" he said, still holding her, that grin starting to peep through again.

She settled against him, perfectly content. "Like what?" she asked.

"Let's play a game," he gave her a bright-eyed, hopeful look.

"Chess?" she asked.

He screwed his face up in a grimace, "Nah. Too boring. Too much thinking. I know, let's play Monopoly!"

She grinned, she leaned forward, pressing her nose against his in challenge. "I'm cutthroat at Monopoly," she reminded him.

"I know," he said with relish.

—

They were arrayed on the floor of the Tardis den. Book lined shelves, wood paneling, a real fire in a real fireplace.

The Doctor was missing a shoe, a sock, his jacket and his bowtie. River was pared down to her Stormcage undershirt, sweatpants, and socks. She was wearing his bowtie around her fist.

She hadn't been lying when she said she was cutthroat at Monopoly. There were hotels and a few spaceports on half the properties on the board. The Doctor's shoes (and one sock) sat next to her neatly arranged money, his jacket thrown over the wingback chair behind her.

She rolled the dice and crowed as she landed on "Chance." He was startled from contemplating the glow of the fire gleaming on her muscled arms.

She flipped the orange card over. She grinned and flicked it around so he could see it. "Go to Boudoir, Go directly to Boudoir, do not pass Go, do not collect 200 credits."

She gave him a flirty look, subtly wiggling her shoulders (which did marvelous things to her chest in that undershirt he noticed) and slid her piece, the rocketship, down the board to the Boudoir, which had previously been the Jail, but the bars had been redrawn with curves at the bottom suggesting lowered drapes.

The move brought her close to him over the board. He swallowed and tried to drag his gaze back up from her shirt. She licked her lip. He gave a little muffled squeak.

He quickly scrambled for the dice and rolled them, as she gave a husky laugh. His piece, the shoe, landed him on Park Place. It had a spaceport, and a hotel.

He looked at his messy, and diminutive, pile of money. He looked up at her. She cocked an eyebrow and grinned at him.

"How much is the rent?" he asked, feeling more flushed than the fire accounted for.

She bit her lip at him. Oh god, he hated when she did that. He could feel his volition dribbling out his toes.

"More than you have there, Sweetie," she said. A distinctly predatory look coming into her eyes.

He gulped and scrambled through his assets. He held up a yellow Community Chest card. "I could trade you my "Get Out of Jail Free" card!"

Her eyebrows popped up. She nicked the card out of his hand and looked at it. "How is this still in the game?" she asked, turning it over, examining it like a relic.

She'd redesigned the game ages ago. She flicked the card into the fire. "Neither of us need that!" she pointed out, grinning unashamedly.

He watched the card burn in the fire. The heat from the flames warmed the room, reflecting off them.

Suddenly he lifted a finger upward. "Ah! You're in the Boudoir! You can't collect rent in the Boudoir!" he pointed out triumphantly.

She kept her eyes on his, reached forward and slid her piece from behind the draped bars to, "Just Visiting."

He stared at her, "That's against the rules."

She grinned harder. "Since when do we follow the rules, Sweetie?"

He stared down at his pathetic pile of multicolored credits. "I don't have enough to pay the rent," he protested.

"Oh," she bit her fingernail, her eyes raking him slowly from top to bottom. "I'm sure you have something to trade."

He reached down for his remaining sock.

"Uh-uh," she said.

He looked up. She grinned at him. "Park Place," she reminded him. "With a spaceport."

"But what else...?"

Her eyes drifted down his shirt to the waistband of his trousers.

"No," he said, his hands went to his snap.

"Pay up," she extended a hand to him, red fingernails beckoning.

The firelight gleamed in her eyes, it burnished her curls into a golden cloud, it rippled over flowing muscles, and glowed over soft, formfitting cotton.

He felt a flutter in his belly, and a warm flush on his skin.

He definitely didn't feel lonely any more.

With a sigh, he unclipped his braces, and handed them over.

—

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