THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.

[mechromantic]

Just share the bed with me.


For whatever reason, the floor is unacceptable as a place to sleep. It's messy, the dog is there, THE FLOOR IS LAVA, or maybe there's flooding. Who cares why it's not acceptable, it just isn't! Normally, that's not an issue, but tonight you have a friend over. Maybe it's the safest place, maybe it's hurricane season and your house is the only one out of the path of the storm. Stop trying to figure out the details, just get over it and share the bed with that person! Sexy times are not required. Intimacy is not required. Just share the damn bed already.


Do you need options? Here! Have some options!

1. It's late. You're tired. Too tired to drive and THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
2. It's late. You're drunk. Too drunk. Honestly, how did you drink that much and not die? Should we take you to the hospital? Here, just stay in this bed with me. No, you can't sleep on the floor. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
3. It's early. You thought you'd just come by and visit but you can barely function. The bed seems inviting. Guess what, you're invited into the bed! Yes. The bed. Not the floor. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
4. DO YOU LIKE TO CUDDLE? CUDDLING IS OKAY. And yes, the floor is lava.
5. WILDCARD. Just figure out a reason why you need to share the bed. But don't forget: the floor is lava!
6. The Crack Fun Insane Option - Actually Play the Floor is Lava Game!! Move about the room without touching the floor... because the floor is lava.

Comments

[regeneriot]

[offer accepted with grabby hands. Smut probably not likely with this bloke right off the bat, but feel free to try and watch him flail awkwardly to everyone's amusement. I'll go ahead and start something!]

It's very rare that alcohol catches the Doctor off guard. Generally he can pick apart the compounds and ingredients at work and ingest accordingly.

Last night, if his pounding headache and spotty memory are any indication, he had clearly missed something. No, better yet, someone had drugged him. Must be. One minute, he'd been attempting to win his TARDIS back in a game of cards— Bloody cheats. You can't steal a man's property and then make him win it back. That's got to be a rule somewhere. —The next minute? Well... he wasn't sure. Drugging, clearly.

He moves to rub his eyes and realizes there's something heavy pinning down one of his arms. It takes him another hazy moment to realize that something is a half-dressed life-form of the seemingly female persuasion. "Oh, titbugger."

Also, he's no idea where most of his clothes have got off too.

[barkingmad]

Ari groans and stretches, arms reaching overhead, toes pointed, back arched. It's the back cracking, shivering, kind of full body stretch that leaves her relaxed and boneless. Her head is still fuzzy, her mouth full of fur, and her stomach growls a minor complaint.

And then he speaks.

She opens her eyes to thin slits and peers at him. "Oh it's you," she says, a wicked little grin on her lips. She chuckles under her breath,  her voice rich and low.

One hand fumbles in the bedclothes, scratch that, her duster, looking for a pocket. A moment later, she's pulled out a silver case and matching lighter. She puts a thin, brown cigarillo between her lips, and sparks up, sighing as she blows smoke at the ceiling. "Well?"

[regeneriot]

The Doctor wrests his arm free with a disgruntled, if muzzy and still vaguely confused, glare. "What's that supposed to mean? 'Oh it's you'. I'm the Doctor."

He adjusts the covers around him so they're covering any and all important bits and pieces. "Are you—?" He sits up more firmly. "You can't smoke in here. No. Shit on a dalek, absolutely not."

[barkingmad]

Her eyes go wide in a silent expression of Fine, Mother Mary, and she stubs the cigarillo out on the side of the lighter before filing it back away in its case.

"You. The one who lost your big blue box. Who came to me looking for backing at the tables. Who took my coin and proceeded to win back his box, my bar, and my contract for the next seven years. You really shouldn't drink Icaran dust wine on an empty stomach, you know."

She stuffs the smokes and lighter back in the pocket and stretches again, seemingly completely unconcerned that all she's wearing is a thin silk chemise and a pair of bloomers that have seen better days.

[regeneriot]

"Oh, I was good, wasn't it?" He preens distractedly as memories of tables drift back. He had wiped so satisfyingly everyone clean.

"I swear all I wanted was the box. The rest is all yours." He scratches both of his hands through his fluff of gray hair before looking around to make sure he hasn't lost his sonic. He finds it on the beside table and flicks it on to be sure. "Fantastic, at least there's that. Why have you got no trousers on?"

[barkingmad]

She gives him an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised. She hates not being able to smoke. It gives her nothing to do with her hands, so she runs them through her hair, pulling it back from her face.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

[regeneriot]

That is really not his problem. There's just no smoking in the TARDIS. He'd never get the smell out. He adjusts the sheets more tightly around himself. "Of course I do." Which is to say: No. Not at all.

[barkingmad]

She laughs, the sound low and rich, bubbling up from her toes. "Oh, this is rich. You won me in a card game, threw me over your shoulder and brought me back here with wild promises to show me the night of my life, only to pass out cold the moment you got me in your bed. St. Dade on a pogostick, I do believe want my money back."