Five Hundred Eyes


Turlough let out a gentle sigh of futility as he pulled up his trousers and put the dog-eared copy of Escort back under the mattress. This really wasn't good enough : three months on the Tardis, and not so much as a hint of getting his end away. Nyssa had seemed keen enough on him, but since she'd gone (the only woman on a ship of fifty-seven men ...) his luck hadn't really been in.

Indeed, his last non-solo experience (if you didn't count Ibbotson, who hardly warranted a notch on the bed-post) had been over five months ago at that cattle market organised by Brendon School with the neighbouring St Angelica's, and even she wasn't that much to look at. He might have got further were it not for the fact that earth girls seemed to be somewhat put off by the placing of his other Trion brand-marking.

The truth, if he was really honest with himself, was that he fancied that Australian bint like mad, but for some strange reason she would like nothing better than to see him suspended upside down from the ceiling by his balls with cheese wire. Mind you, if it was the only way to get her aroused ...

He'd been subtle, he'd been direct, he'd even had a bath, but to no avail. All she was interested in was that wet drip with the celery ("Is this some weird kind of fetish?" he asked himself), forever mooning after him with those big brown eyes of hers (oh, those eyes ...). All in vain, because he was still pining after Nyssa and her short 'fairy' skirt (oh, those knees ...).

All in all, he stood more chance of scoring with that bloody robot than he did with Tegan.


The robot.

*  *  *  *

Kamelion, it must be said, did take some persuading. "I do have a mind of my own," it protested.

"I don't want your bloody mind," muttered Turlough, "just your body. Now are you going to cooperate or do I have to tell the Doctor what you've been getting up to with K9 mark IV?"

The android turned a pale shade of silver and looked ashamedly at the ground. "There's nothing wrong with two robots ... interfacing ... It's natural and beautiful ..."

"It's fucking obscene, that's what it is, Kamelion! And you could have had the decency to have bent his tail back into position afterwards."

After that Kamelion seemed a little more cooperative.

*  *  *  *

The shimmering always unnerved him, but for once it wasn't the Doctor controlling the mechanoid but Turlough himself. So no more Atrian princesses or plump fifteen year-old boys in ill-fitting pyjamas, but, at last, the image of the ice-maiden of the Tardis, tempestuous Tegan. He just hoped that her fiery temper carried through into, ahem, other areas.

Turlough fidgetted uneasily with his buttons as Kamelion stabilised into its new form. The robot had, indeed, done a grand job, duplicating every last detail of the Trion's intended, from the pert turn-up of her nose to the finely sculpted curve of her ankle. And, seeing as it was Turlough's mind (and hence fantasies) that was controlling the operation, she was dressed in a short, delicate white nightdress that was almost, but not quite, transparent. Heaven on two legs. And soon, hoped Turlough, on her back.

The harsh antipodean voice soon cut through his dreams. "What the fuck do you think you're doing in my bedroom, you public school faggot?"

Turlough blinked. Surely it was the girl in front of him that had spoken, his Tegan. And his Tegan wouldn't speak to him like that, would she? Ah, but he'd been hoping for the fiery, passionate temperament. He'd just have to take the rough with the smooth. He went into automatic and switched on the charm. "But you invited me, my dear," he smarmed, wearing his most ingratiating smile. It never failed to work on the sixth-formers at Brendon. Some girls liked it as well.

"Keep away from me, you creep! And take your hand off ... really!" And she slapped his face hard.

Turlough reeled back in astonishment, which soon turned to indignation. "Kamelion - let's just forget the full Mike Yarwood bit and concentrate on the essentials, okay?" He closed his eyes and devoted all his attention to the submissive, pouting centrefold currently folded beneath his mattress.

When he opened his eyes, Tegan was lying on the bed facing him, legs slightly bent, the thin lace of her nightdress riding up her thigh. She blew him a kiss and motioned him towards her. "Okay big boy, give it all you've got," and she winked coyly.

Now we're motoring, thought Turlough, this is what we want. Frantically he fumbled with his trousers, almost tripping over them in his rush to get to the bed and her warm, moist ... (which is as far as we go in a family zine like this)

Tegan received him with open arms, and much more besides. He melted into her soft flesh, feeling her warmth envelope him. God it had been so long. He soon lost himself in the rythmic motions and the liquid depths of her luscious eyes. Which made it all the more painful when he felt his manhood slam against a wall of solid metal. With horror he opened his eyes and saw Tegan gently shimmering, her pale skin turning a fearful silver. A feeling of dread clutched at his stomach as something else entirely clutched at his crotch.

"For fuck's sake Kamelion, not now!"

"But sir, the Doctor's coming. I can feel his mind."

"I don't care, I'm about to ... uuuuh!"

"I'm sorry sir, but the Doctor's mind is so much stronger ... I cannot resist ..."

Before his eyes, Tegan's face blurred, her silver body thankfully transforming into a more normal pink. Turlough just closed his eyes and finished himself off as best he could, burying his face in Tegan's thick mop of hair. Thick mop of hair? What happened to her face?

As he opened his eyes the door burst open and he heard the Doctor's shocked voice shudder with horror :

"Turlough! What are you doing with ..." He paused to try and take in the full anatomical improbability.

"Adric ... where did you come from?"

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