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The first time it happened, it was funny.
Sarah Jane was on all fours, head buried in the down pillow, the Doctor’s long fingers framing her hips as he thrust into her. She was on fire; she bit her lip against the gasps and moans that wanted to burst forth as he leaned forward (oh god what that did to the pressure and the angle and the oh oh oh) and whispered all low and ragged (oh god the puffs of breath against her skin) the most deliciously filthy things in her ear…
Rap, rap, rap went a set of knuckles on the door. “I say, Sarah, are you in there? I’ve just discovered this amazing garden up by the—”
“Sorry, Harry!” the Doctor called out. “I’m afraid Sarah Jane is rather—” he thrust to underline his point—“occupied at the moment.”
She rolled her eyes. “‘Childish sometimes,’ indeed,” she grumbled into the pillow.
But she couldn’t help but giggle.
xxxxx
The next time, it was annoying. Especially since they were just getting started when the knuckles went rap, rap, rap on the bedroom door.
“Sarah Jane, old girl, have you seen my green socks? I could’ve sworn I put them in the laundry after that business with the slime swamps on Venus.”
“Terribly sorry, Harry!” the Doctor said, grinning widely as he tangled his fingers in her hair. “Sarah can’t talk at the moment, her mouth’s full.”
“I am going to kill you,” she muttered around his cock.
xxxxx
The third time. Well.
Rap, rap, rap. “I say, old thing, I hope I’m not bothering you—“
“Sorry, Harry—”
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.
But she could tell by the glee on the Doctor’s face that there was no stopping him. He had probably been waiting centuries to use this line. “You see, Sarah Jane is—“
“You are not getting shagged for a week.”
“—a bit tied up right now.”
She glared down at the Doctor, who was rolling around the floor in silent conniptions of mirth, and yanked at the scarf. Unfortunately, that only made the knots the Doctor had bound her to the headboard with tighten even further. “Make that a month.”
xxxxx
It was actually only four days before they ended back up in bed together, Sarah Jane straddling him and riding him hard, the Doctor bucking up into her, skin against sweat-slicked skin, rough and fast and so close so close so—
And then like clockwork, that carefully polite rapping upon the door. “Sarah Jane? I don’t suppose you fancy a game of cards, or—”
The Doctor opened his mouth, but Sarah Jane was off him and on her feet like lightning, grabbing a sheet and pulling it around herself. She stomped to the door and swung it open. “Harry, the Doctor and I are having sex. We’ll probably be at least twenty minutes. Please go away now.”
She slammed the door on Harry Sullivan’s gaping face, and turned just in time to see the Doctor—who had made no effort to cover himself up—cheerfully waving goodbye.
“Now that is how you get rid of unwanted interruptions,” she told him.
The Doctor tried to pout. Given that his face kept splitting into a grin, he was not very successful. “You’re no fun whatsoever.”
“Oh?” Sarah Jane gave a wicked smile. “We’ll just see about that, shall we?” Her gaze wandered from his mouth to the handkerchiefs spilling out of his coat pocket onto the carpet, and then of course there was the scarf…
Her smile grew wider. “And we’ll just see if I can’t find some way of keeping you quiet...”