So the plan was really simple, as long as Hatter stuck to basics and kept to the list everything would go perfectly. He had spent an inordinate amount of time planning and re-planning every minute detail now all that was needed was action and discipline, well theoretically anyway.
"Ah there's the rub."
Hatter had never played lawn bowls. Certainly He had watched the games development from a quite informal children's pastime, close enough to marbles to have the same basic rules, through the very wild Elizabethan times of Drake and Frobisher brawling on Plymouth Hoe to the present formal game of ends and whites and cream teas. The one constant was the rub, that piece of chance that appeared with no warning to kick the most fastidious of performers squarely in the seat of the pants at the most inauspicious moment. Shakespeare was the master of sublime natural irony and Hatter like Hamlet had learned with great disappointment that the universe was full of uneven ground ready to spoil any bowler's most well-conceived line.
"The list, just got to stick to the list."
First things first, pack the bag with everything on the sheet of clean crisp paper. This was going to be a doddle, just go down line by line and no possibility of a mistake. Ten items. Yes ten items definitely, numbered one to ten. Hatter counted the items just in case. Definitely ten. Three on the left and seven on the right, three and seven makes ten.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Hatter closed His eyes tight and breathed deeply. Allowing the alternate rhythm of His two hearts to focus His mind He cleared the numerically binding chains from His consciousness and slowly opened His eyes again.
"Don't count, everything is there."
Item by item went into the rucksack, the rope, check; the wrist straps, check; the ball-gag, check; the flogger, check; two riding crops, check; no wait TWO riding crops, that means eleven items and He had only counted ten. No, fuck, DON'T COUNT! Irritated Hatter shook the contents out of the bag and sorted them quickly into alphabetical order on the bed.
"Everything alright Sweetie?"
River could see things were anything but alright but decided to get a feel for the depths of the crisis before interfering.
"Yes River, everything is fucking wonderful. Getting to the point I can't pack a damned bag let alone save the Galaxy."
"We are Mister grumpy Timelord today aren't we."
River reached down and pinched Hatters ass hard. He jumped, He always jumped.
"Sweetie need a blowjob to calm His nerves?"
"Damn it River I don't always need a B.J., life does not revolve around fellatio. In fact it most definitely is not something that is at present at the front of My mind."
"Seems to be in the front of Your pants Dearie, Your sonic screwdriver is twitching."
Somehow River had managed to slide her right hand down the front of Hatters trousers and was squeezing the rapidly thickening shaft of His penis like a she was testing an avocado for ripeness.
"Feels like you need to investigate my black hole."
Hatter was starting to flush noticeably and was doing anything He could to avoid eye contact. One fixed carnal stare from River and He was sunk.
"Damn it River."
Her hand had slid further and she was now cupping His testicles like she was checking their weight.
"Got far too full a cargo for any time travelling Sweetie. Let me lighten Your payload a bit."
"Really there is no time."
"Please."
"No time."
"Pretty please."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Smiling so sweetly River withdrew her hand and slid both the candy striped suspender straps off His shoulders. With her left thumb and forefinger pinching His cheek she casually flipped open the waist band and unfastened the zipper. In consequence the Hatters rather dapper salt and pepper tweed trousers dropped to lie in a bunched heap around His ankles.
"Nice that you still go commando Sweetie."
Rivers right hand gripped His shaft tightly and started to pump slowly sliding His foreskin back and forth. Now their eyes met and Hatter swayed noticeably.
"Fuck River you're so damned hot."
