Any relationship expert would tell you that it's not normal for your boyfriend to scream his own name during sex.

It's even odder when it's not only his name, but his name in a language that is darker than black holes and more ancient then time itself. In a language that entire empires would beg to have scribbled on their city walls.

But River Song is used to not-normal things, so she takes in it the stride she normally does. She runs a hand down The Doctor's back, feeling the nubs of his spine beneath as they contort with each thrust. His skin is dotted with sweat and gunpowder (a pacifist into gunplay, that's a new one) and his lips are sucking on the edges of her neck with fierce instinct.

Maybe, when morning comes and the dark animal in both of them has faded, she'll ask him about his name. But for now, River Song is content. And as she traces her name over and over in Gallifreyan on his skin, using the touch of a gentle nail stained with gunpowder, she wonders whether she'll be the only one asking in the morning.