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Story: Innocence
Author: Love! Slash! Angst!![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loveslashangst
Characters: Ten, Martha Jones, Rose Tyler (implied)
Rated: R for some EXTREMELY suggestive banter and at least one scene that's not ready for primetime, though this is not -- strictly speaking -- a Ten/Martha fic
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, because if I did, there might be real science in Dr. Who instead of just the usual pseudo-science. (ophymirage adds: But Stephen Moffatt's welcome to steal the Universal Model Map any time. Because I want to see that on screen, dammit...)
Spoilers: AU, Sequel (kinda) to The Lady in the Fireplace.
Summary: Ten makes a decent proposal. Martha takes him up on it. Hilarity and adult-themed hijinks ensue. Not exactly a Martha/Ten, but more my love letter to her, hoping she finds what she's REALLY looking for.
Author's Note:
In which Martha finds out how the other half loves and Ten learns to be careful what HE asks for.
This chapter goes from very heated fluff to Whovian porn with femslashy overtones (and it’s probably more than a little crack too), but it’s still not what you think.
Beta's Addendum:
Since LSA and I both spent a large portion of last week being ill and exhausted, I didn't do a chapter posting last week. So she thought this week, with the delay on Faithful, that you guys definitely deserved a twofer post. So, a reward for your patience. :D
Martha snuggles closer to the Doctor, closes her eyes, and wishes it were enough.
The bed is insanely comfortable. It’s not that hers isn’t half nice, because it is, but his just cradles her whole body. And if that weren’t enough to lull her to sleep, the warmth in her stomach from those better-than-chocolate-chip cookies should put her under, but... but the truth is the warmth and the bed only remind her that she’s awake and lying down. Lying down wouldn’t be so bad if the bedclothes didn’t exude the heavenly scent of him.
And if he weren’t curled up at her back.
He. Him. The Doctor. The star of every sexual fantasy she’s had since he first winked at her in the hospital. (Well, there was the one with Will Shakespeare, but that doesn’t count.) The Doctor’s chest presses against her back. His groin cradles her bum. His arm drapes pleasantly at her waist. His body is cool in a very non-human way. (He can’t have a core temperature much over twenty degrees Celsius.) And she’s never been so aware of it because she’s never been so close to it.
Of course, it should help that he has such a beautiful rhythm to his breathing. In. Out. Deep. Slow. Trusting. Each breath sighs as if he hasn’t rested in months. (Which actually she knows he hasn’t.) She begins to count the breaths. They’re not sheep jumping a fence, but hopefully... the end result... will be... the same...
Warmth... Darkness... Safety... Flickers of dreams lurk at the edges... So relaxed... So sound... So not alone...
Not alone. A man is lost in the darkness. He wanders alone. Always alone. Looking. He’s looking for someone. She tries to call to him. Her voice doesn’t work. He passes her. Pulls her along as he moves. Draws her closer. Closer. Closer to him. Together, they call with his voice, “Rose?”
They hate this dream. They have it too often. Searching and never finding. Wanting and always waking to solitude. Rose is never here. Never with them. Rose is gone. Maybe gone for good. (Can’t think that way. She’ll never forgive them if they give up on her.) They call again with the sweet, male voice, “Rose?”
“Doctor?”
They turn. “Rose!” She’s there! Rose is really there! Her eyes shine. Her smile lights her up from the inside out. (They love that smile so much it almost hurts. Their hearts melt.) Beautiful. Sometimes they forget how beautiful she is. They hold out their arms and she runs to them. Warm and solid and real.
An armful of happiness with long blonde hair.
They hold her for a long time, uncaring that it’s a dream. Willing to pretend for a few happy moments that she’s with them again. She feels so real. So very real.
They’ve almost forgotten how soft, how sweet... They bury their face in her hair. Mint. The sweet scent of mint and home and the woman they love past reason. They kiss her. Deep, slow kisses the way Rose likes them. Deeper still with a little bite at the end. Rougher. More passionate. Rose responds as she always does. Meets them kiss for kiss. Touch for touch. She can always match them. (And oh how they’ve missed this!)
They fill their hands with her. Caress her back. Drift low over her backside and thighs. Pull her close. Strip off her t-shirt. (Always a t-shirt with that girl. Pink too; they can’t see that colour anymore without thinking of her.)
“Doctor...” Her murmur has that low note of wanting they’ve craved so much.
“Rose.” Her name is sweet on their tongue. Her mouth is hot on theirs. She rakes hungry nails down their back. Strips off their shirt with her usual forthright determination. Their body responds, a sweet tightening of desire that leaves them breathless.
And as is the way of dreams, a room forms around them. A bed appears beside them. Clothing disappears. Rose grinds against their body, hot and wanting. (Heaven is Rose’s scalding kiss!) She pulls them close. Runs her hands over the bare skin of their back. Grins into the kiss. “I know what you need.”
They breathe faster at the thought. Rose slides her hand down their chest. Over their abdomen. Across their hip. Down to tease their shaft. (Hard already! She does that to them every time.) They devour her mouth. Her hand slips lower. Sure fingers slip into that special place their ninth regeneration showed her during a shower tryst. She caresses just the right ridges. Teases just the right folds. Tunes her vital energy with theirs. Kisses them until they shake with desire and need.
(Oh, yes. Rose always knows just what they need.)
She pulls them onto the bed. Rolls them over so she’s on top. Presses their hands to the mattress. Slides their hands up above their head. (Oh, yes, PLEASE!) Soft ropes encircle their wrists. They sigh happily. Settle into their bonds. (No one tops them like Rose.) She grins with that devilish twinkle they love so much. They grin in reply.
She straddles their hips. Their breath catches. She hold their gaze in hers. Slides onto them. Ohhhhhhh. Sweet. Tight. Slick. Hot enough to burn in the best sense of the word. She fits them perfectly.
They call her name. Rose purrs theirs. Rocks onto them. (Oh yes, please! Just like that!) She reaches down again. Caresses them in just the right spot. Looks at them with eyes that go gold with echoes of the Time Vortex itself. Their other half. Their missing piece. Their beloved. Their...
Martha awakes with a start, hot and bothered and thoroughly confused. For one disoriented moment, she can’t remember what gender she is.
She runs her hands over her body. Curves. Heat. Female. Human. Her fingers brush her groin. Ohhhhhh. The Doctor sighs next to her. His breathing speeds to pants. Martha slips a guilty hand into her pyjamas. She’s as wet as Rose was. Hot, or maybe even hotter. She matches her strokes to the Doctor’s pants. Yes! Like that! So close! So... good...
And then she realizes...
What in the hell is she doing? Has she lost her mind? She can’t have him wake up and find her doing the kit-kat shuffle while thinking of how hot it is to be inside his girlfriend. (And she was NOT thinking how good Rose felt. Hot and soft and passionate and wanting and SHE IS SO NOT GOING THERE! Not! Not! Sodding NOT!)
Martha takes her very guilty hand out of her knickers and tries very hard to think innocent thoughts. Teddy bears. Milk and cookies. Sleepovers, yeah?
“Rose...” The Doctor lies on his back, cheeks flushed in the dim light of the room. Lips parted. Arms stretched above his head. Wrists together as if bound. Aroused. Dreaming. Exquisite. Martha could eat him alive in several small bites. (That is, if she weren’t trying to be his sodding teddy bear and HOW did she let herself get talked into this?)
She takes several deep breaths.
The Doctor gives several deep moans.
She was a man in her dreams. And not any man, but HIM. Her hands shake. Her body shakes. She draws a shaky breath. Her skin sizzles with the memory of that... energy?... rippling in and through her. Rose felt so good... so incredible... so perfect... She loved them with such intensity.
Martha stops her hand before it can slip back into her knickers. She is NOT GOING THERE!
“Please...” The Doctor moans.
Martha sorts through the jumble of emotions and sensations. Remembers that strange place Rose touched. The one that drove him (them?) mad with desire. No human male she knows of has anything like that in his basic anatomy. (And who the hell is the ninth regeneration? And what was he doing in the shower?)
She looks to the Doctor. He’s panting again, more lovely than ever. Tousled. Breathless. Unfinished. Wanting. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his chest.
He’s asleep, yeah? In the midst of one hell of a wet dream? (Damn, the man has impressive stamina.) If she...?
No. Bad thought. Go away. She should just curl up in this nice, comfy bed and wait him out. How much longer can he last anyway?
“Rose...” He’s almost begging. “Please...”
Damn him for begging.
And would it be so wrong just to touch and see? Just a little. Just for a second. A second couldn’t hurt. (And he’d barely notice, he’s so into it.) She’d just touch him long enough to see how much of the dream was real?
No. Bad thought. She shouldn’t. Who knows what might happen? But then again... but then again, this might be her only night with him. No telling what might happen tomorrow. No telling what might happen when he wakes.
“Please...” There’s an edge of plaintive desperation to the sigh.
Martha sets her hand on his chest. He sighs, smiling. “Yes...” She slides her hand down his belly. “Please...” He makes the word a prayer and a supplication at the same time. “Rose...”
She’s gone mad, but she just has to know. (Scientific curiosity, yeah?) She slips her fingers into the waistband of his pyjamas. Boxers. He wears boxers. (And she’s not going to look to see what colour.) Smooth muscles and soft skin stretch taut over his graceful hipbone. A fine dusting of hair. And...
Oh dear God! No wonder Rose loved him. There’s so much of him to love!
But that lovely length (she’s not about to get out a ruler) isn’t what she wants to know. She slips her fingers lower...
He cries out.
She freezes.
He sighs, a beatific smile on his face. “Yes... please...!”
Smiling, she slips her fingers into warm folds. Begins a rhythm. (Just to see what will happen. Scientific curiosity. Yeah. Purely for science.) Just for a moment. She’ll stop in a moment.
His breathing matches the movement of her hand. His hips move with her. She has him. Hoarse cries of raw need. She’s really doing this. Energy crackles around him. Sears through her. Sparkles in tendrils and wisps in the air, golden as Rose’s eyes just before...
Uh oh. What exactly happens when a Time Lord comes in one’s hand?
He’ll be pissed as hell because she took advantage of him while he dreamt of the woman he loves, that’s what.
Too far. This has gone too far. But before Martha can pull her hand away, the Doctor rolls them over. Kisses her. Deep and slow and oh God it’s soooooooo much better when he means it! His mouth tastes of eternity. Stars and galaxies and endless expanses of space and time.
Everything Rose has lost.
But she snogs him in spite of herself. Catches her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. Savours the slight weight of him between her legs. Presses her hips to his. (No! No! She has to stop this! It was never supposed to go this far!) She gives him one more little stroke. “Doctor...”
His eyes fly open. He pulls back. Stares. His mouth works, silent. She fumbles for words. Her face must have a matching look of horrified shock.
He stares at her, gobsmacked speechless for the first time since she met him.
She stares back, aroused and confused and humiliated as she remembers where her other hand is.
In the same breath, they both gasp, “I can explain.”
Link to All Previous Chapters
Author: Love! Slash! Angst!
loveslashangst Characters: Ten, Martha Jones, Rose Tyler (implied)
Rated: R for some EXTREMELY suggestive banter and at least one scene that's not ready for primetime, though this is not -- strictly speaking -- a Ten/Martha fic
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, because if I did, there might be real science in Dr. Who instead of just the usual pseudo-science. (
ophymirage adds: But Stephen Moffatt's welcome to steal the Universal Model Map any time. Because I want to see that on screen, dammit...) Spoilers: AU, Sequel (kinda) to The Lady in the Fireplace.
Summary: Ten makes a decent proposal. Martha takes him up on it. Hilarity and adult-themed hijinks ensue. Not exactly a Martha/Ten, but more my love letter to her, hoping she finds what she's REALLY looking for.
Author's Note:
In which Martha finds out how the other half loves and Ten learns to be careful what HE asks for.
This chapter goes from very heated fluff to Whovian porn with femslashy overtones (and it’s probably more than a little crack too), but it’s still not what you think.
Beta's Addendum:
Since LSA and I both spent a large portion of last week being ill and exhausted, I didn't do a chapter posting last week. So she thought this week, with the delay on Faithful, that you guys definitely deserved a twofer post. So, a reward for your patience. :D
Martha snuggles closer to the Doctor, closes her eyes, and wishes it were enough.
The bed is insanely comfortable. It’s not that hers isn’t half nice, because it is, but his just cradles her whole body. And if that weren’t enough to lull her to sleep, the warmth in her stomach from those better-than-chocolate-chip cookies should put her under, but... but the truth is the warmth and the bed only remind her that she’s awake and lying down. Lying down wouldn’t be so bad if the bedclothes didn’t exude the heavenly scent of him.
And if he weren’t curled up at her back.
He. Him. The Doctor. The star of every sexual fantasy she’s had since he first winked at her in the hospital. (Well, there was the one with Will Shakespeare, but that doesn’t count.) The Doctor’s chest presses against her back. His groin cradles her bum. His arm drapes pleasantly at her waist. His body is cool in a very non-human way. (He can’t have a core temperature much over twenty degrees Celsius.) And she’s never been so aware of it because she’s never been so close to it.
Of course, it should help that he has such a beautiful rhythm to his breathing. In. Out. Deep. Slow. Trusting. Each breath sighs as if he hasn’t rested in months. (Which actually she knows he hasn’t.) She begins to count the breaths. They’re not sheep jumping a fence, but hopefully... the end result... will be... the same...
Warmth... Darkness... Safety... Flickers of dreams lurk at the edges... So relaxed... So sound... So not alone...
Not alone. A man is lost in the darkness. He wanders alone. Always alone. Looking. He’s looking for someone. She tries to call to him. Her voice doesn’t work. He passes her. Pulls her along as he moves. Draws her closer. Closer. Closer to him. Together, they call with his voice, “Rose?”
They hate this dream. They have it too often. Searching and never finding. Wanting and always waking to solitude. Rose is never here. Never with them. Rose is gone. Maybe gone for good. (Can’t think that way. She’ll never forgive them if they give up on her.) They call again with the sweet, male voice, “Rose?”
“Doctor?”
They turn. “Rose!” She’s there! Rose is really there! Her eyes shine. Her smile lights her up from the inside out. (They love that smile so much it almost hurts. Their hearts melt.) Beautiful. Sometimes they forget how beautiful she is. They hold out their arms and she runs to them. Warm and solid and real.
An armful of happiness with long blonde hair.
They hold her for a long time, uncaring that it’s a dream. Willing to pretend for a few happy moments that she’s with them again. She feels so real. So very real.
They’ve almost forgotten how soft, how sweet... They bury their face in her hair. Mint. The sweet scent of mint and home and the woman they love past reason. They kiss her. Deep, slow kisses the way Rose likes them. Deeper still with a little bite at the end. Rougher. More passionate. Rose responds as she always does. Meets them kiss for kiss. Touch for touch. She can always match them. (And oh how they’ve missed this!)
They fill their hands with her. Caress her back. Drift low over her backside and thighs. Pull her close. Strip off her t-shirt. (Always a t-shirt with that girl. Pink too; they can’t see that colour anymore without thinking of her.)
“Doctor...” Her murmur has that low note of wanting they’ve craved so much.
“Rose.” Her name is sweet on their tongue. Her mouth is hot on theirs. She rakes hungry nails down their back. Strips off their shirt with her usual forthright determination. Their body responds, a sweet tightening of desire that leaves them breathless.
And as is the way of dreams, a room forms around them. A bed appears beside them. Clothing disappears. Rose grinds against their body, hot and wanting. (Heaven is Rose’s scalding kiss!) She pulls them close. Runs her hands over the bare skin of their back. Grins into the kiss. “I know what you need.”
They breathe faster at the thought. Rose slides her hand down their chest. Over their abdomen. Across their hip. Down to tease their shaft. (Hard already! She does that to them every time.) They devour her mouth. Her hand slips lower. Sure fingers slip into that special place their ninth regeneration showed her during a shower tryst. She caresses just the right ridges. Teases just the right folds. Tunes her vital energy with theirs. Kisses them until they shake with desire and need.
(Oh, yes. Rose always knows just what they need.)
She pulls them onto the bed. Rolls them over so she’s on top. Presses their hands to the mattress. Slides their hands up above their head. (Oh, yes, PLEASE!) Soft ropes encircle their wrists. They sigh happily. Settle into their bonds. (No one tops them like Rose.) She grins with that devilish twinkle they love so much. They grin in reply.
She straddles their hips. Their breath catches. She hold their gaze in hers. Slides onto them. Ohhhhhhh. Sweet. Tight. Slick. Hot enough to burn in the best sense of the word. She fits them perfectly.
They call her name. Rose purrs theirs. Rocks onto them. (Oh yes, please! Just like that!) She reaches down again. Caresses them in just the right spot. Looks at them with eyes that go gold with echoes of the Time Vortex itself. Their other half. Their missing piece. Their beloved. Their...
Martha awakes with a start, hot and bothered and thoroughly confused. For one disoriented moment, she can’t remember what gender she is.
She runs her hands over her body. Curves. Heat. Female. Human. Her fingers brush her groin. Ohhhhhh. The Doctor sighs next to her. His breathing speeds to pants. Martha slips a guilty hand into her pyjamas. She’s as wet as Rose was. Hot, or maybe even hotter. She matches her strokes to the Doctor’s pants. Yes! Like that! So close! So... good...
And then she realizes...
What in the hell is she doing? Has she lost her mind? She can’t have him wake up and find her doing the kit-kat shuffle while thinking of how hot it is to be inside his girlfriend. (And she was NOT thinking how good Rose felt. Hot and soft and passionate and wanting and SHE IS SO NOT GOING THERE! Not! Not! Sodding NOT!)
Martha takes her very guilty hand out of her knickers and tries very hard to think innocent thoughts. Teddy bears. Milk and cookies. Sleepovers, yeah?
“Rose...” The Doctor lies on his back, cheeks flushed in the dim light of the room. Lips parted. Arms stretched above his head. Wrists together as if bound. Aroused. Dreaming. Exquisite. Martha could eat him alive in several small bites. (That is, if she weren’t trying to be his sodding teddy bear and HOW did she let herself get talked into this?)
She takes several deep breaths.
The Doctor gives several deep moans.
She was a man in her dreams. And not any man, but HIM. Her hands shake. Her body shakes. She draws a shaky breath. Her skin sizzles with the memory of that... energy?... rippling in and through her. Rose felt so good... so incredible... so perfect... She loved them with such intensity.
Martha stops her hand before it can slip back into her knickers. She is NOT GOING THERE!
“Please...” The Doctor moans.
Martha sorts through the jumble of emotions and sensations. Remembers that strange place Rose touched. The one that drove him (them?) mad with desire. No human male she knows of has anything like that in his basic anatomy. (And who the hell is the ninth regeneration? And what was he doing in the shower?)
She looks to the Doctor. He’s panting again, more lovely than ever. Tousled. Breathless. Unfinished. Wanting. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his chest.
He’s asleep, yeah? In the midst of one hell of a wet dream? (Damn, the man has impressive stamina.) If she...?
No. Bad thought. Go away. She should just curl up in this nice, comfy bed and wait him out. How much longer can he last anyway?
“Rose...” He’s almost begging. “Please...”
Damn him for begging.
And would it be so wrong just to touch and see? Just a little. Just for a second. A second couldn’t hurt. (And he’d barely notice, he’s so into it.) She’d just touch him long enough to see how much of the dream was real?
No. Bad thought. She shouldn’t. Who knows what might happen? But then again... but then again, this might be her only night with him. No telling what might happen tomorrow. No telling what might happen when he wakes.
“Please...” There’s an edge of plaintive desperation to the sigh.
Martha sets her hand on his chest. He sighs, smiling. “Yes...” She slides her hand down his belly. “Please...” He makes the word a prayer and a supplication at the same time. “Rose...”
She’s gone mad, but she just has to know. (Scientific curiosity, yeah?) She slips her fingers into the waistband of his pyjamas. Boxers. He wears boxers. (And she’s not going to look to see what colour.) Smooth muscles and soft skin stretch taut over his graceful hipbone. A fine dusting of hair. And...
Oh dear God! No wonder Rose loved him. There’s so much of him to love!
But that lovely length (she’s not about to get out a ruler) isn’t what she wants to know. She slips her fingers lower...
He cries out.
She freezes.
He sighs, a beatific smile on his face. “Yes... please...!”
Smiling, she slips her fingers into warm folds. Begins a rhythm. (Just to see what will happen. Scientific curiosity. Yeah. Purely for science.) Just for a moment. She’ll stop in a moment.
His breathing matches the movement of her hand. His hips move with her. She has him. Hoarse cries of raw need. She’s really doing this. Energy crackles around him. Sears through her. Sparkles in tendrils and wisps in the air, golden as Rose’s eyes just before...
Uh oh. What exactly happens when a Time Lord comes in one’s hand?
He’ll be pissed as hell because she took advantage of him while he dreamt of the woman he loves, that’s what.
Too far. This has gone too far. But before Martha can pull her hand away, the Doctor rolls them over. Kisses her. Deep and slow and oh God it’s soooooooo much better when he means it! His mouth tastes of eternity. Stars and galaxies and endless expanses of space and time.
Everything Rose has lost.
But she snogs him in spite of herself. Catches her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. Savours the slight weight of him between her legs. Presses her hips to his. (No! No! She has to stop this! It was never supposed to go this far!) She gives him one more little stroke. “Doctor...”
His eyes fly open. He pulls back. Stares. His mouth works, silent. She fumbles for words. Her face must have a matching look of horrified shock.
He stares at her, gobsmacked speechless for the first time since she met him.
She stares back, aroused and confused and humiliated as she remembers where her other hand is.
In the same breath, they both gasp, “I can explain.”
Link to All Previous Chapters
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