Been thinking about fucking the Tardis recently.
If the control center was a massive erogenous zone and its many lights would gently pulse in undulating patterns to show its pleasure when an attentive top pressed her buttons and pulled her levers and turned her dials.
And the pulsing of the lights would hitch and hasten like a human's breath would as it neared climax, and the device in its pillar would raise and lower and the vworping of the landing would start and stop and sturter and the lights would suddenly shine steady and bright, flooding the console chamber with the light of its pleasure.
And when they dimmed they would pulse again, like it's breathing heavily in its inhuman way. Then the top would press a single kiss to the console in a gesture of love the Tardis could not understand and sit somewhere in the room and masturbate to the incontravertible truth that this eldritch machine, in its inconceivable brattish ways, is their lover, and that even if it couldn't fuck them in return, the pleasure is shared.
