![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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:
Because waking up is so hard to do. Poor Martha. At least she has the last word.
Beta's Addendum:
Miss LSA is on vacation this week and next, so she's turned the reins over to me for posting. FOOLISH MORTAL, NOW I HAVE THE POWER!! MOO HA HA HA!!
Er. Sorry. Here's Chapter 7 of Innocence: more treats coming along shortly!
In the same breath, the Doctor and Martha both gasp, “I can explain.”
A flood of words follow.
“I’m sorry--” he says.
“I’m so sorry--” she says.
“It’s just that I was dreaming--”
“It started when you were dreaming--”
“--And I thought you were--”
“--And I felt you with Rose--”
“-- Because I would certainly never--”
“--I mean I shouldn’t have because it all got--”
“--And things just got--”
“--A little out of hand,” they say in the same breath.
The Doctor gives her a long and slightly puzzled look.
“Talking of hands,” he says slowly, “Where is your other han-n-n-n-n-” (Dammit, her fingers twitched!) “n-nevermind,” his eyes roll closed in pleasure, “I think I know.”
Martha wishes it were possible to actually die of embarrassment. “Doctor, I am so sorry.” And her stupid hand, which is cramping from being pinned between them, twitches again.
He shivers in a way that under different circumstance would be lovely. As it is, she just wishes to find a nice corner to curl up in and become completely invisible. He looks at her, another realization dawning. “That was you?”
“So sorry...” It’s such a lame excuse, but she can’t quite find the words.
“Well.” He goes very calm and inscrutable. (Bad sign.) Raises himself up so his body no longer presses against hers. (And damn her if she doesn’t miss him the minute he’s gone.) Martha obediently removes her very guilty hand from whatever you call that part of him.
He gives one last shiver. Takes a moment to recover his breath. “I have to award you points for creativity, Martha Jones.” He looks down at her with an odd kind of amusement. “Even after all the years I’ve lived, this is a new one.”
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, mortified.
“I know,” he says. “So am I.” He gets up. Heads away from the bed.
“Are you all right?” The only thing that could possibly make this worse is if she’s somehow bruised or hurt him.
“I’m always all right.” But the smile looks a little strained. “Back in a sec.”
As soon as the bathroom door closes, Martha pulls the duvet over her head. She could just die right here, right now. Has ANYONE ever done something so stupid? She should be glad he didn’t just toss her out on her advantage-taking, wandering-handed ass.
The room trembles like there’s been an explosion in some distant part of the TARDIS. The tools and implements on the wall rattle. Martha peeks her head out from under the duvet in time to see tendrils of golden light seep under the door and dissipate.
Best not to speculate about what the Doctor might be doing in there.
Water runs. The door opens. The Doctor, looking slightly more cheerful, returns. Sits on the edge of the bed.
“Psychic link,” he says, confident.
Okay, she has to ask. “What were you doing in there?”
“Clearing my head.” He sobers. “This is my fault, Martha. Well, except for the your hand down my pants part, but I’m willing to be you wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t seen...” He colours a little. “Um... Stuff?”
“By ‘stuff’...” Oh thank God. She’s got her clinical voice back. She can discuss the most ragingly embarrassing things in the clinical voice. (She IS a doctor, after all.) “I assume you mean you and Rose practicing passionate BDSM?”
It’s his turn to look mortified. “I am really sorry about that. See, I’ve heard that a link like that was possible, but it’s never actually happened to me.”
She blinks. “You’re psychic?”
He shrugs dismissively. “Just a bit.”
“Just a bit?” Shrill. Oh God, her clinical voice is going shrill. “I woke up and couldn’t remember if I was a bloke or not.”
“Really?”
She glares at him for being interested at such an inappropriate time.
“Oh come off it,” he says. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe you’re not fascinated by the possibilities. You’re as much of a scientist as I am. I mean, mainstream Western civilization won’t embrace psychic potential for another hundred to two hundred years at least.” (She’s actually kind of relieved to hear the babble; must mean he’s feeling better.) “Think about it; you got to ride shotgun in someone else’s mind. How cool is that?” He pauses. “Although, I’d imagine you would’ve rather seen something other than my...”
“Nocturnal emissions?” she says, scathing.
He raises an eyebrow. “At least I didn’t have my hand down YOUR knickers.”
“No,” she says, “you had your tongue down my throat.”
He blushes. “Okay, you’ve got me there, but STILL! They warned us about the psychic link at the Academy, but they were so doom and gloom about everything that I thought they were just having us on. Supposedly, dream-sharing was one of the biggest reasons for the separate bedroom policy. Personally,” his tone turns confidential, “I thought it was just another way to keep us from shagging lower life forms. Not that Time Lords and Ladies didn’t.”
“Is that all I am to you?” How can one man be so adorable and infuriating at the same time? “A lower life form?”
“Well, yes,” he backpedals, “I mean not in a bad way; you’re a very nice person. It’s just that you’re...”
If she let herself, Martha could still feel the way Rose’s golden energy ran through and around her when she was him. “Not Her.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks like he might mean it. He frowns again, puzzled. “But Rose slept with me for weeks. Months.” He thinks a moment, calculating. “Eight months. Eight months, four days. Eight months, four days, and half an hour. And she never wandered into any of my dreams.” He gives a slightly goofy grin. “Wish she had. Could’ve been fun.”
Martha crosses her arms. “Does the word ‘oversharing’ mean anything to you?”
He at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”
Uh oh. That look means he’s had an idea. “Hold still,” he says.
She eyes him, suspicious. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing untoward,” he says in his most reassuring tone. “You have my word.” He cups her face between his hands, his touch as perfectly gentle and impartial as any doctor. He closes his eyes. Focuses. She feels something shift in and around her.
“What are you...?”
“Insurance,” he says, eyes still closed. “I won’t pretend to speak for you, Miss Jones, but I require more than two hours’ sleep to function adequately.”
Her heart beats faster with hope. “You mean... You want me to stay?”
“I promise not to snog you if you promise not to frig me.” He peeks his eyes open long enough for a wink and a smile.
He makes it sound so simple. Then Martha realizes what she’s actually done. “Oh my God.”
He gently releases her. “Martha?”
She needs to go boil her hand off. “Oh my god, I... sexual assault.”
He stares as if she’s grown another head. “What?”
She is not going to throw up. “If you’d come into A&E and told me what happened... especially if you were a girl...”
He chuckles. “I’m not the one with gender confusion.”
“I’m serious!” Her stomach contracts. “They’d have me up on charges for sexual assault. And they’d be right.”
“Martha.”
“What kind of person-- how can you even stand to--”
“Martha.” He cups her face in his hands. “Stop it. I need you sane and calm, all right?” His face softens into a slightly cheeky grin. “Besides, I think I could take you in a fair fight.”
“How can you--?” God, is he joking?
“Shall we find out?” He gives her a daring look. “Smith versus Jones, mano e mano?”
“You shouldn’t trust me.”
He shrugs it away. “You probably shouldn’t trust me either. But do you?”
With her life. Even if he doesn’t tell her key things like that he’s psychic and his girlfriend wasn’t really human. Martha nods, swallowing against a mouth that’s gone dry.
She’d be kidding herself if she didn’t see a little bit of wariness around the edges of that smile, but it seems more or less genuine. “Then I propose we give this sleepover thing another go, this time without the kinky mind sex stuff.”
She tries not to smile. “I liked the kinky mind sex stuff.”
“I’m sure you did.” He kisses her forehead. “Tomorrow. I’ll give you a proper explanation tomorrow. Once we’ve both had some real sleep. The shielding should stop anything leaking from my head into yours. You should be all right. If you trust me.”
“I trust you.” If only he’d smile that relaxed smile, then she’d know she was really all right. “I’m sorry,” she says.
There. That’s almost it. “So am I,” he says. “Double fault. Double bad judgment.” He gives her a hopeful look. “Double forgiveness?”
She nods. More tension drains away between them. He lays down beside her. She scoots over to make room.
After a moment, his hand slips into hers. She looks at him. He’s smiling. She smiles back.
After a few more minutes, she can’t stand being this far away from him. She slides over. Carefully pillows her head on his shoulder. He relaxes. She lays her arm across his chest. He wraps an arm around her.
“Teddy bear?” she says.
“Teddy bear,” he agrees.
“I still can’t believe,” she says around a yawn, “you had a wank in the loo.”
“Goodnight, Martha.”
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:
Because waking up is so hard to do. Poor Martha. At least she has the last word.
Beta's Addendum:
Miss LSA is on vacation this week and next, so she's turned the reins over to me for posting. FOOLISH MORTAL, NOW I HAVE THE POWER!! MOO HA HA HA!!
Er. Sorry. Here's Chapter 7 of Innocence: more treats coming along shortly!
In the same breath, the Doctor and Martha both gasp, “I can explain.”
A flood of words follow.
“I’m sorry--” he says.
“I’m so sorry--” she says.
“It’s just that I was dreaming--”
“It started when you were dreaming--”
“--And I thought you were--”
“--And I felt you with Rose--”
“-- Because I would certainly never--”
“--I mean I shouldn’t have because it all got--”
“--And things just got--”
“--A little out of hand,” they say in the same breath.
The Doctor gives her a long and slightly puzzled look.
“Talking of hands,” he says slowly, “Where is your other han-n-n-n-n-” (Dammit, her fingers twitched!) “n-nevermind,” his eyes roll closed in pleasure, “I think I know.”
Martha wishes it were possible to actually die of embarrassment. “Doctor, I am so sorry.” And her stupid hand, which is cramping from being pinned between them, twitches again.
He shivers in a way that under different circumstance would be lovely. As it is, she just wishes to find a nice corner to curl up in and become completely invisible. He looks at her, another realization dawning. “That was you?”
“So sorry...” It’s such a lame excuse, but she can’t quite find the words.
“Well.” He goes very calm and inscrutable. (Bad sign.) Raises himself up so his body no longer presses against hers. (And damn her if she doesn’t miss him the minute he’s gone.) Martha obediently removes her very guilty hand from whatever you call that part of him.
He gives one last shiver. Takes a moment to recover his breath. “I have to award you points for creativity, Martha Jones.” He looks down at her with an odd kind of amusement. “Even after all the years I’ve lived, this is a new one.”
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, mortified.
“I know,” he says. “So am I.” He gets up. Heads away from the bed.
“Are you all right?” The only thing that could possibly make this worse is if she’s somehow bruised or hurt him.
“I’m always all right.” But the smile looks a little strained. “Back in a sec.”
As soon as the bathroom door closes, Martha pulls the duvet over her head. She could just die right here, right now. Has ANYONE ever done something so stupid? She should be glad he didn’t just toss her out on her advantage-taking, wandering-handed ass.
The room trembles like there’s been an explosion in some distant part of the TARDIS. The tools and implements on the wall rattle. Martha peeks her head out from under the duvet in time to see tendrils of golden light seep under the door and dissipate.
Best not to speculate about what the Doctor might be doing in there.
Water runs. The door opens. The Doctor, looking slightly more cheerful, returns. Sits on the edge of the bed.
“Psychic link,” he says, confident.
Okay, she has to ask. “What were you doing in there?”
“Clearing my head.” He sobers. “This is my fault, Martha. Well, except for the your hand down my pants part, but I’m willing to be you wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t seen...” He colours a little. “Um... Stuff?”
“By ‘stuff’...” Oh thank God. She’s got her clinical voice back. She can discuss the most ragingly embarrassing things in the clinical voice. (She IS a doctor, after all.) “I assume you mean you and Rose practicing passionate BDSM?”
It’s his turn to look mortified. “I am really sorry about that. See, I’ve heard that a link like that was possible, but it’s never actually happened to me.”
She blinks. “You’re psychic?”
He shrugs dismissively. “Just a bit.”
“Just a bit?” Shrill. Oh God, her clinical voice is going shrill. “I woke up and couldn’t remember if I was a bloke or not.”
“Really?”
She glares at him for being interested at such an inappropriate time.
“Oh come off it,” he says. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe you’re not fascinated by the possibilities. You’re as much of a scientist as I am. I mean, mainstream Western civilization won’t embrace psychic potential for another hundred to two hundred years at least.” (She’s actually kind of relieved to hear the babble; must mean he’s feeling better.) “Think about it; you got to ride shotgun in someone else’s mind. How cool is that?” He pauses. “Although, I’d imagine you would’ve rather seen something other than my...”
“Nocturnal emissions?” she says, scathing.
He raises an eyebrow. “At least I didn’t have my hand down YOUR knickers.”
“No,” she says, “you had your tongue down my throat.”
He blushes. “Okay, you’ve got me there, but STILL! They warned us about the psychic link at the Academy, but they were so doom and gloom about everything that I thought they were just having us on. Supposedly, dream-sharing was one of the biggest reasons for the separate bedroom policy. Personally,” his tone turns confidential, “I thought it was just another way to keep us from shagging lower life forms. Not that Time Lords and Ladies didn’t.”
“Is that all I am to you?” How can one man be so adorable and infuriating at the same time? “A lower life form?”
“Well, yes,” he backpedals, “I mean not in a bad way; you’re a very nice person. It’s just that you’re...”
If she let herself, Martha could still feel the way Rose’s golden energy ran through and around her when she was him. “Not Her.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks like he might mean it. He frowns again, puzzled. “But Rose slept with me for weeks. Months.” He thinks a moment, calculating. “Eight months. Eight months, four days. Eight months, four days, and half an hour. And she never wandered into any of my dreams.” He gives a slightly goofy grin. “Wish she had. Could’ve been fun.”
Martha crosses her arms. “Does the word ‘oversharing’ mean anything to you?”
He at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”
Uh oh. That look means he’s had an idea. “Hold still,” he says.
She eyes him, suspicious. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing untoward,” he says in his most reassuring tone. “You have my word.” He cups her face between his hands, his touch as perfectly gentle and impartial as any doctor. He closes his eyes. Focuses. She feels something shift in and around her.
“What are you...?”
“Insurance,” he says, eyes still closed. “I won’t pretend to speak for you, Miss Jones, but I require more than two hours’ sleep to function adequately.”
Her heart beats faster with hope. “You mean... You want me to stay?”
“I promise not to snog you if you promise not to frig me.” He peeks his eyes open long enough for a wink and a smile.
He makes it sound so simple. Then Martha realizes what she’s actually done. “Oh my God.”
He gently releases her. “Martha?”
She needs to go boil her hand off. “Oh my god, I... sexual assault.”
He stares as if she’s grown another head. “What?”
She is not going to throw up. “If you’d come into A&E and told me what happened... especially if you were a girl...”
He chuckles. “I’m not the one with gender confusion.”
“I’m serious!” Her stomach contracts. “They’d have me up on charges for sexual assault. And they’d be right.”
“Martha.”
“What kind of person-- how can you even stand to--”
“Martha.” He cups her face in his hands. “Stop it. I need you sane and calm, all right?” His face softens into a slightly cheeky grin. “Besides, I think I could take you in a fair fight.”
“How can you--?” God, is he joking?
“Shall we find out?” He gives her a daring look. “Smith versus Jones, mano e mano?”
“You shouldn’t trust me.”
He shrugs it away. “You probably shouldn’t trust me either. But do you?”
With her life. Even if he doesn’t tell her key things like that he’s psychic and his girlfriend wasn’t really human. Martha nods, swallowing against a mouth that’s gone dry.
She’d be kidding herself if she didn’t see a little bit of wariness around the edges of that smile, but it seems more or less genuine. “Then I propose we give this sleepover thing another go, this time without the kinky mind sex stuff.”
She tries not to smile. “I liked the kinky mind sex stuff.”
“I’m sure you did.” He kisses her forehead. “Tomorrow. I’ll give you a proper explanation tomorrow. Once we’ve both had some real sleep. The shielding should stop anything leaking from my head into yours. You should be all right. If you trust me.”
“I trust you.” If only he’d smile that relaxed smile, then she’d know she was really all right. “I’m sorry,” she says.
There. That’s almost it. “So am I,” he says. “Double fault. Double bad judgment.” He gives her a hopeful look. “Double forgiveness?”
She nods. More tension drains away between them. He lays down beside her. She scoots over to make room.
After a moment, his hand slips into hers. She looks at him. He’s smiling. She smiles back.
After a few more minutes, she can’t stand being this far away from him. She slides over. Carefully pillows her head on his shoulder. He relaxes. She lays her arm across his chest. He wraps an arm around her.
“Teddy bear?” she says.
“Teddy bear,” he agrees.
“I still can’t believe,” she says around a yawn, “you had a wank in the loo.”
“Goodnight, Martha.”
Link to All Previous Chapters
Tags: