Send “Mating Season” to catch my muse in a lustful state & needing release.
Koschei has been preoccupied with some new project in his workshop, so the Doctor is left to her own devices. Nevermind that she’s been aching all day, she hasn’t wanted to bother her husband.
So… she retires to their room. It can’t hurt to indulge her desires, so she relaxes, her hand trailing down her body. She can almost, almost pretend it’s him touching her. As her hand slips beneath the covers and between her legs, she exhales a soft, whimpering moan of the sort that Koschei absolutely adores. She’s so caught up that she doesn’t hear the footsteps outside.
Koschei peels off his t-shirt and rubs work-callused palms down his cheeks, scratching the dampness in his trim little beard, dampness that causes the silvery-blond hairs to gleam more on his head, his face, and his chest. He heaves a sigh and sheds his trousers, too, and then his boxer-briefs, padding toward the bedroom and the connected shower.
He hears that whimper, a noise his boisterous wife ordinarily only makes in the throes of their lovemaking. And he stops dead, and licks his lips, as his eyes darken.
He strides in with twice the confidence, but softly, climbs onto the bed and drapes himself across her, slipping his hand inside her trousers.
He says absolutely nothing, but smiles down at her, and presses his naked hips down on top of her, and kisses her with a hungry open mouth.
“Did you really think,” he half-gasps, through another kiss, “that I would have objected to you interrupting anything for this … ?”
Icarus 