a secret code carved

With emotions already running high, Martha’s natural reaction was to dive headfirst into an abysmal slag heap of rumination… (unhelpfully) concerning worst-case scenarios. 

Specifically, the worst-case scenario.

The one in which the Doctor really wished they hadn’t done that. 

The thought alone made her sick to her stomach, as the implications were bleak at best. Not to mention, could have been avoided entirely, had she simply kept her sodding mouth shut.

(Seriously, though — she couldn’t have checked in with him once? Not even a fleeting little, ‘You’re sure?’ before he’d gotten her trousers off, crawled between her legs and let instinct knock him into overdrive?)

Lying there beneath the most brilliant man in the universe, all boxed in by his forearms with her knees drawn up at his sides, Martha found that she was speechless. 

Her brain had already set to work self-sabotaging, anxiety’s spiny tendrils reaching for any and everything that might validate her greatest fears; dig another trench of regret through her. As such, it wasn’t long before her mind found what it was searching for, and an image flashed vibrant behind her eyes: the thought of how he’d looked at her right before any penetration had taken place. 

There’d been a wariness about him — wariness which, at the time, she’d dared to interpret as concern for her. 

Now, she couldn't help wondering if he'd merely been afraid of what it meant for him.

But there was no undoing it. Time machine or not, they’d crossed a line. Had sex. Visceral, spur-of-the-moment, just short of grueling sex.

And that was that.

The Doctor might say nothing else as he pushed off of her, turning to tuck himself back into the rumpled, open V of his pinstriped trousers. Was only fitting that the pair of them would then go on to dress beneath a cloud of awkward avoidance, shuffling back to the TARDIS with a distance between them that most certainly hadn’t been present on their way down. 

She imagined that once they were standing there, posts taken up reluctantly at opposite ends of the central column, there was a fair chance he might cobble together enough resolve to tell her they’d made a terrible mistake. That he could not, in good conscience, continue allowing her to travel with him — not anymore.

I’m sorry, Martha, he’d probably say, just to round out the heart-splitting gloom of it all: I’m so sorry. But you had to have known…?

A feeling not unlike being crushed from within stomped through her.

The most distressing bit of all wasn’t the embarrassment, though; it wasn’t even the rejection. 

Over and above all else, it was how — apart from his beloved timeship — Martha knew full well she was all the Doctor had. 

He’d resisted her at first, of course… until he hadn’t, and now, they’d gone and formed a bond. A bond bursting with films and whims and laughing and dancing; with dress-up and day trips and frequent visits to the Moon landing.

An entire universe and all of time to explore at each other’s side. All sorts of ways to distract him from the darkness without putting undue stress on their friendship, yet instead, she’d just — politely coerced him into a shag?

Oh, gold star. Straight to the top of the class.

She didn’t know how she would bear whatever happened next.

But — 

Okay. 

Yes, fine — she’d given him a risky offer. 

And she’d kissed him first, sure.

But the Doctor would have had no qualms with ending it there, had he wanted to — right? The man was not shy about turning people down, were the situation to call for it. She’d learned that the first time she’d stepped aboard the TARDIS.

Instead, he’d kissed her back. No — properly snogged her, multiple times. Put her down and nearly had her off through rolling hips and friction; shoved a hand down her knickers and groaned at the wet heat; played with her clit until she lost control of her breathing.

The man had demonstrated precise awareness of the location of her G-spot, for god’s sake.

Bad idea or not, he’d done all of that on purpose, and with zero direction. There’d hardly been a pretense of hesitation on his end, once he got going. 

Could he have gone through with something so significant with her if he thought for even a moment that it would spell the end of their friendship, the last thing they ever did together? 

Good god, Martha was out of sorts. Even worse than after that first fumble of a kiss!

Realizing it’d been a bit since she’d taken a full breath, she let her lungs expand, pulling in a rush of cool air. Whether stalling or steeling herself, it didn’t matter much: she knew it was time to make some attempt to address things, even if it killed her.

It’d not been long since the Doctor said her name, though it seemed universes had formed and swelled; great civilizations had been built and revolted and collapsed all within that span of time. If she were feeling that way, she imagined he wasn’t far behind her.

…Yet as she exhaled, she could have wept. Bloody near to moaning as a sudden sense of peace welled forth within her, sprawling outward from her chest, coasting effervescent through trembly limbs. It was like a gentle wave breaking over bare feet in the sand, snatching up her worries, gathering them with all the little grains before sweeping them back out to sea.

Blimey. Martha reckoned they ought to start pumping positive ions into the air of central London. Would certainly cut crime (and smoking) by at least seventy-five percent.

As the fog began clearing out of her mind, she heard a fraught, quiet sigh outside of her ear. It was a barely-there sound, one nearly drowned out by a sharp gust of wind cutting across the fields — but given the circumstances, it was almost deafening. 

A reminder that she likely wasn’t the only one coming to blows with her internal monologue.

Though she felt significantly more prepared to move forward now that she was thinking with some degree of clarity, the same instant she parted her lips to respond, to finally say his name, the Doctor shifted above her. 

Again, Martha held her breath.

Elbows sliding back, he pushed his hands into the ground, arms straightening as he lifted himself high above her.

For the first time in what felt like ages, she saw his face; saw his whiskey-brown eyes and scattered freckles and that luscious lower lip, and it left her vulnerable and terrified all over again. 

His breaths were labored, wobbly at best — his gaze no longer laden with the trials of the universe, but with genuine, unspoken apologies.

Especially as he caught sight of her still-drying tears.

She so wanted to beg him to stop that: Please, don’t you dare look contrite. Regret was the foremost emotion she’d prayed wouldn't make an appearance after all was said and done, regardless of context — but this was the Doctor, after all. His penchant for self-flagellation could wear the most seasoned masochist down to dust.

That shadowy stare drifted away to look her over slowly, and from that point, it didn’t take long for all of that darkness and uncertainty to morph into a look of concern. 

Martha pushed her lips together, watching dimples crease the Doctor’s cheeks as his jaw clenched, some part of him seeming to crumble as he studied the marks he’d left on her. 

She hadn’t a clue what her battle scars looked like just yet, but she could feel the bigger one all the same: dull but constant with a slight sting, like the wound she’d nursed that time she leaned too far over the flat-iron.

It was natural that he’d feel remorse, but she refused to let him fixate — not while they were still this close. 

Comfort now, brood later. 

Without giving herself time to overthink yet another thing, Martha slipped her arms from around his neck and gathered his face in her hands, gently but firmly directing his gaze back to hers. 

“Now, don’t,” she said as he regarded her with a strange, perplexed stare. “Doctor, it’s alright, yeah? Barely anything, that.”

His shoulders sank with another long-drawn-out sigh, those wary eyes returning to what she assumed was the larger of the two marks, where they fixated. “Martha.” His voice was quiet, but hoarse; teeming, once again, with regret. “I… didn’t — I really didn’t mean —"

“Shh, hey — I know.” Once more guiding his attention back to her, she smiled, tracing his cheekbones with the tips of her thumbs before moving her hands to his shoulders. “And… you didn’t hurt me.” She paused, reconsidering. “Not, like, irreparably, or anything.”

The Doctor cocked his jaw, brows winching over tired eyes. The message was obvious, as it often was on that expressive face — ‘Come off it’ — but before she could summon up the riposte, his focus inched lower, once more returning to that space where he’d brought her skin to blemish.

Transferring his weight to one arm, he brought a hand to her chest, deep grooves forming at the corners of his eyes as he ran a pair of fingertips over the tender spot.

Unprepared for such a careful touch gliding over where her nerves had gone threadbare, Martha’s muscles grew taut, only tightening further when the Doctor’s gaze shot to hers. 

She hadn’t expected it; certainly hadn’t intended it — but as he leveled that full, unwavering eye contact, something inside of her went off like a powder train. 

A flash of heat sparked low in her belly as the memory of everything that led up to that mark played over in her mind… Everything from the desperate pashing to the steady, focused grinding to the brief, but inspired round of finger-fucking, and — 

Oh.

Due to a good amount of adrenaline-induced numbness, her body adjusting, and the inevitable physical consequence of a man having crossed the carnal finishing line, she’d somehow become anesthetized to the fact that he was still inside of her, at least until — without any conscious effort on her part — she felt that involuntary contraction; the utter seizing of her pelvic floor, muscles gripping tight around his cock.

Floored with a very sudden, very all-over tremor, Martha watched in stunned fascination as his mouth fell open with a muted gasp, his arm nearly buckling — and god, she could feel him now; feel the strong, answering throb indicating he’d never fully softened to begin with.

The experience of those few seconds would never leave her: every sight, sound, and sensation wrapped up in his body responding automatically to hers.

Bloody hell. 

When the Doctor — all dark and dazed; likely a touch gobsmacked — went on to find her eyes again, her face felt so warm beneath his scrutiny that she was certain he must see the flush. 

“I, err…” Tongue gliding swiftly across her lips, she smiled, slightly sheepish. “I didn’t exactly mind, case that wasn’t obvious.”

For a moment, his curiosity mounted as he regarded her, observing a side of her that was likely still rather alien to him — but then the intrigue melted right away, and something new passed over his face. 

His focus moved to neck, then her arm, then the ground... anywhere but at her. 

Right then, Martha realized that she too was seeing a side she’d never observed before — not in the entire time she’d known him. 

The Doctor, the almighty Oncoming Storm… 

looked shy.

“But–” He swallowed so roughly that she saw his Adam’s apple stutter in his throat. “You didn’t — …”

When it appeared he couldn’t find a way to say it that didn’t jeopardize his high-born Gallifreyan propriety, he sought her gaze tentatively, his eyes wide and pleading.

Martha had a pretty good idea of what he was trying to say, of course; her jaw fairly threatened to drop at the realization, but she stifled the urge, merely stunned that he’d allude to that at all. Her smile softened, eyes gleaming, growing warmer. 

“That’s really not important,” she said plainly, not a hint of judgment or malice. “It wasn’t about me.”

It was difficult to imagine what he might have expected her response to be, but apparently, it had not been that. 

As comprehension came grinding into place, she watched him process her words with what she could only describe as incredulity, perhaps a bit of awe — sliding quickly into what she almost dared to interpret as shame.

He seemed to check out for a moment, shutting his eyes. His hand on her chest moved to curl into a tight fist, resting in the space between both marks as he lay his clammy forehead on hers. 

Context was everything, but that moment managed to feel more personal, infinitely more intimate than their whole first shag — for better or worse. Martha felt dizzy as the wind poured in around them, painting waves through the tall grasses, and she had to bite back a shiver, wondering what was going to happen. Whether (rather: when) he was going to put an end to this; withdraw from her body and face the consequences of their actions.

Instead, as the Doctor drew such a deep breath that she felt his entire body move with it, he pulled back to look at her, and… something had changed. 

Whatever Martha saw there now was new, peering heavy and penetrative, yet still laced with uncertainty. The look dug sharp little hooks into her as she gazed right back at him, her head swimming, trying to puzzle him out.

Without looking away, the Doctor lifted his hand off of her, only his fingertips remaining on her chest as he drew them lightly down to the second (significantly smaller, duller) bruise. His touch danced over the mark, drawing one circle, then another — 

And, rather without ceremony, he lowered his palm; unequivocally — as in, ‘there does not exist a way for this to be interpreted as anything but’ — cupping her breast beneath it.

Lips parting with a quiet “Oh,” Martha felt herself arch into his hand as he pressed it against her. She moved without conscious thought into his touch as though she’d been starved for it, her insides quivering around him, encouraging wordlessly.

The sensation had him hissing through clenched teeth, the tendons in his neck protruding as his cock throbbed against her walls, hardening further. Clutching her over her bra, he groaned as he pressed his body down on hers, rocking forward, sliding deeper into her. 

At the full, blunt pressure, a whimper strained to a whine in Martha’s throat, reminding her once more of the size of him. Long, but not so long that he couldn’t fit — it was just that, well — he was proper thick, and still hardening up, and — 

Mmm.

God.

(Fuck.)

What she found most astounding was that it didn’t hurt. He might’ve softened a bit before, but it’d been a gradual thing, giving her plenty of time to adjust. As such, any pain she might’ve expected was overwritten by the feeling of being snugly filled — such a divine fit that she had to swallow a moan as his hips pushed at her thighs.

Is that what he wanted her to feel?

For that matter, what did he want? 

(What were they doing, exactly?)

As he’d grown still again, Martha decided she ought to try pushing the boundary further — her move, as they say. 

Sliding her calves around the backs of his thighs, she pulled him even closer, working from the inside to give him a slow, deliberate squeeze. 

The Doctor grit his teeth and swore beneath his breath, abandoning her breast to move his hand to her hip, clutching as though desperate for a tether. He did this for several moments before moving his hand again, this time tracing the curve of her waist, bunching the fabric of her top beneath his palm, then smoothing it back down. 

Though the ‘clinging to control’ reaction delighted Martha immensely, she — for her part — wasn’t much better off, yet she wasn’t nearly as tactile about it. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to touch him everywhere, of course. Run her hands all over him, et cetera. Certainly not, but…

She still knew him. 

There was still more than enough opportunity for him to flee. It was just his nature, and even if he hopped off of her right then and there, it wouldn’t come with half a semblance of shock. 

Which made it all the more blindsiding when, instead of pulling away, the Doctor moved in closer.

Of course, as he bent down to incline his head toward hers, there was a moment where Martha imagined he might kiss her — but he passed her mouth by centimeters, delicately trailing the tip of his nose along her cheek. She held her breath as he lowered his mouth to her ear, and then — so softly that it made her shiver — he spoke to her, murmuring as his lips just grazed the tender shell:

“Martha,” he said, but then his breath cut off, hitching halfway.

She said nothing. Couldn’t, really. She just lay there trembling, not even daring to hope, and gave him the room.

She heard him take a breath, then the wet slide of his tongue across his lips. 

“We… could try again,” he said, his voice impossibly quiet, near to shaking. “If you wanted to.”

There was an instant where Martha thought she might have separated from her physical body, thoroughly unprepared to cope with the weight of every emotion tumbling over and onto and through her. 

As though the closeness wasn’t enough already.

Try again.

Hyper-aware of her own heartbeat, she slid her hands around to his nape, her nails skimming his hairline along the way. Holding him in place, she turned her face toward his, and all she could even half-hope to manage was one syllable, hushed and needy, uttered just outside his ear:

“Please.”

The Doctor drew back, peering into her eyes as though searching for doubt (he would be searching for a good while). His lids grew heavy as he lowered his face until their mouths nearly touched, lingering there, sharing the same breath. 

“Sure?” he said, lips skating over hers.

Martha nodded as another shiver — deeper, even more violent — ran through her, and he tipped his head softly, capturing her mouth with his.

It was unbelievable just how swiftly her previous worries dissolved, then.

Eager to indicate that the gesture was a welcome one (not that he needed much by way of reassurance, she reckoned), she returned the pressure without hesitation. He made a low, lovely sound as his lips loosened with each press, slowly claiming, capturing, over and over — anything but chaste. 

Though they’d kissed before, nothing could prepare her; in no world could she have imagined just how attentively, how earnestly it would happen this time. His undemanding, drugging kisses were incredibly arousing, and Martha could tell they were finally in sync — what with the way he pulsed inside of her again, coaxing her to tug at him in answer.

If he’d had regrets at the beginning, they seemed absent as he finally drew his length out of her, nearly all the way — pausing before thrusting steadily back inside.

Martha barely broke away from their kiss, unleashing a full-bodied, breathless moan right against his mouth, and the Doctor matched it. He hummed as he pressed his weight down on her, filling her out until he couldn’t go any deeper. 

Oh, it sounded wet; caught her off-guard with the rawness of it, bringing reality into crystal clarity. This is actually the Doctor, and this is actually happening, intentionally. She kept one arm around his neck while sliding her opposite hand back to thread into his hair, clutching the thick strands. “Doct —"

But he was quick to smother that second syllable, parting her lips with his own, his tongue gliding between them. Martha welcomed it, finding that without the wild rush about them, they harmonized with exceptional ease — and blimey, he’s good at that… Bloody brilliant; far more than she’d have known from the aggression of before. They shared an ‘mmm’ at the supple, sinuous delight of it; a sound that radiated from her throat to her chest to the space between her legs.

It was some time before the Doctor shifted again, creating just enough space to work a hand between them. While his teeth found purchase in her lower lip, he placed his palm upside-down on her solar plexus, beginning to walk his fingers lightly downward: tap, tap, tap. 

At once, Martha’s neurons were firing with the awareness that these were teasing, tension-stirring touches: they broke the mold of everything they’d been getting up to before.

Plying her mouth with kisses between steady, sensuous sweeps of his tongue, the Doctor grazed her navel with a single fingertip, drawing a faint circle before continuing downward. He left a trail of little firecrackers everywhere he touched, skimming feathery-light over goosebump-riddled skin, drifting lower, lower…

In defiance of the cool air, Martha could feel herself burning all over; so keyed up, so hopelessly hot for him that she thought she might lift off the ground like a rocket once he touched her properly. 

Building suspense a centimeter at a time, he finally found a thatch of soft curls, trailing two fingers down. When at last, he breached her cleft to press right up on her clit, she was halfway through a gasp when his hand stilled.

Evidently, exposure to the air (in addition to a sizable appendage not only keeping her spread open, but blocking new moisture from seeping out and up) meant she wasn’t very well lubricated up top anymore. The Doctor seemed to have figured it out instantly. With a parting peck, he brought his fingers to her mouth, trailing the slightest bit of stickiness along her lower lip. 

Clarification was entirely unnecessary.

Watching him closely, Martha slipped her tongue beneath the pads of his fingers and lured them boldly into her mouth; a place where his saliva had more than intermingled with hers. Closing her lips, she sucked them wetly, licking with indulgence as she hollowed her cheeks, eyes half-glazed over. 

Flames smoldered behind the Doctor’s eyes as he reveled in her little show, his gaze sinking to her mouth as he throbbed with life inside of her, and oooh-kay, it was all getting rather hot, wasn’t it? 

Though she was beginning to think she might achieve orgasm simply from the experience of those few glittering seconds, the Doctor — with reluctance — made it clear that he had other plans. With a tortured sound, he tugged his fingers almost forcefully from her mouth, shoving his hand right back between her legs. 

All of the build-up and utterly debilitating eye contact had brought Martha to full heat, so when those warm, wet fingertips returned to dote on her clit, she had to bite the tip of her tongue to keep from breaking apart in seconds. 

Studying her reactions as he touched her, the Doctor withdrew a couple of inches and gave another full, unhurried thrust, gliding firm into her center, pushing until he’d claimed every quivering, pliable inch of her.

“Ooh — my god,” Martha whined quietly, unevenly, frantic undertones cracking through her voice as though giving warning. Before, she’d been right on the edge, and in short order — in no time whatsoever — he’d hiked her right back up to it. Her eyes squeezed shut as he slid out and pressed her open again, this time even slower, his fingertips kneading circles right above. 

Sweat had begun breaking out across her brow, around her neck, from the dip of her clavicle down along her sternum. A wicked storm of energy gathered and swelled between her legs, sending static charges and tremors through her thighs that spread to her calves, her abdominal muscles seizing up. “Aahhh…”

Almost as though it’d happened in slow motion, the Doctor’s fingers stilled, along with his hips — halting her tragically right at the edge of climax. 

A prize wheel ticking to a stop… one notch away from the all-expenses-paid trip to paradise.

A harsh, broken breath huffed from Martha’s lungs, her lids tightening, brows pinched. “N-... No,” she whispered, feeling the edge retreating slightly, then more so as she remembered the hollowed-out feeling of losing her orgasm the first time. 

What sort of punishment was he inflicting on her? 

What sort of mate could bring himself to torture his friend like this?

As she opened her eyes, however, she found that she was breathless, stunned (nearly completely) out of frustration. 

Hovering over her, the Doctor appeared to be just this side of enthralled, his pale skin radiant with a flush, pinning her with his full focus. And he wasn’t looking at her like she was a companion, nor as an object to alleviate pain or exert his power over…

She almost dared to think he was looking at her like a lover. 

It was a weighted reminder to try to keep her eyes open, even if she wanted nothing more than to strangle him presently.

“Doctor,” Martha urged, though her fight was all but gone; his name came out as a feeble, flagging thing.

He held her that way, still as stone, tongue resting against his top teeth. And his clever eyes delved, searching — fiercely focused. There was an air of challenge about him as, very, very carefully, he resumed, this time moving his fingers from side to side, drawing tiny zigzags up and down over her clit.

“Yessss.” Martha moved her hips beneath him, working in uncoordinated swivels that countered the path of his fingers, helping him coax her right back up. “Yes. God. Don’t stop… Please, don’t stop, ah, don’t…”

Fuck, he had her anguished. Had her begging. She was lost, and they both knew it.

“Shhh,” he whispered just loud enough to hear, and she knew that he wasn’t really expecting compliance — it was entirely rhetorical. Making a show of soothing the ache he knew he was stirring within her. 

At the sound of her mewling, he eased his cock into her again, fastidious hips ensuring she felt every inch he gave her. Each second had her grazing the edge of a critical point, provoking her thighs into trembling, squeezing helplessly at his sides. 

Oh, it wasn’t just night and day — this was a proper universe away from whatever their previous shag had been. He was watching her, touching her, fucking her as though his previous performance were the result of being possessed by some other entity; one he now sought to erase the memory of.

She supposed that might be the trade-off. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. You let me take you like a lifeless rag doll, I’ll make you the center of attention and have you off with more than your body and mind can fathom what to do with.

How she was meant to survive this was beyond her. It was one thing to be taken mindlessly… It was another to have the Doctor moving indolently, every touch deliberate, eyes digging into hers as he worked her ever closer.

And she was there again, right there on the edge, dangling by her fingertips. No more than a breath, a tap of the hips, a half a thrust away from going to pieces, and she watched him see it. 

But then he stopped again.

Martha wasn’t proud of the sound that her disappointment tore out of her. Especially didn’t care for her own pouty petulance when the corner of his mouth perked up in a smirk, his left eyebrow elevating as though to say, ‘Oh, that was important, was it?’

“Please,” she just barely succeeded in eking out, feeling like she was staring directly into the sun just by looking back at him. “Doctor...”

But in place of carrying on in any predictable fashion, he sought an alternate route, withdrawing his hand — followed by his hips.

All the oxygen escaped her as the Doctor slipped from her sex with a bit more haste than she’d have liked, leaving her empty and woefully unsated. Such woes were amplified as cool air rushed to where she’d been kept hot and wanting, where she’d become so accustomed to his touch. 

Before Martha could panic or stage much of a protest, however, he began crawling backward on hands and knees, moving slowly down her body. 

She tried to catch her breath as he went, soft puffs of air hitching in her throat each time he paused to warm his mouth against her skin, beginning with the bruises he’d left. Feathery-light barely-kisses were brushed on each before he shifted to the space between her breasts — directly on the edge of her scooped neckline. His lips lingered there as though enjoying the feeling; her heart all mad and thumping and hammering away — then proceeded further down, stopping at the first glance of bare skin where her top had ridden up.

It took that long — took her lower abdominal muscles twitching beneath his lips; took the first glance of his tongue where her waistband had once been — for Martha to figure out what seemed to be happening, and weak though she was, she managed to snap her head upright from the sheer incredulity of it. 

And, of course, the visual impact alone could have triggered a cardiac event.

Their surroundings formed an almost cinematic backdrop as the Doctor, eyes black and racked with desire, settled in between her legs — his porcelain skin standing out in contrast between two silky, golden-brown thighs. She could hardly believe how well they framed his face (his wonderfully striking, familiar face) as it hovered there, only inches above her sex. 

A scene pulled straight from her guiltiest fantasies.

Still, the part of her brain that’d been reinforced by selfish, shoddy exes felt hard-wired to provide an out. Particularly as she clenched unconsciously, feeling the warmth of their combined sex seeping out, adding to the cold patch beneath her arse. 

One she was now vastly aware of.

“D-Doctor, you haven’t got —"

His eyebrows shot up expectantly, stilling her thoughts, shutting her up.

Well, alright, then.

Looking up the length of her body, he seemed keen on making sure her gaze remained fixed on his as he lowered his head, nuzzling the crevice of her thigh. The moment his warm breath grazed her curls, however, sideburn rasping against her skin, Martha couldn’t bear to look anymore. With a shaking breath, she let herself relax into the blanket, eyes lost against the pale, clouded sky.

The Doctor didn’t stop. He dragged his lips up along the opposite side of her mons, brushing sensitive skin until she mewled again, and he hummed, seemingly pleased by the effect he was having on her. Had been having on her. She was lost for him, and with her pretenses now stripped away along with her knickers, he could have found her number with his hands behind his back.

For a few seconds, he backed off, making her wonder if he’d changed his mind… But then a new sensation came into play: The tip of his tongue, light and delicate, probing a line up the seam of her sex. Martha shut her eyes and let go of a drawn-out whimper, hips writhing, heat swelling and twisting and simmering low in her belly. 

It was hardly anything — just a whisper of touch, not even enough pressure to find the bit that throbbed and ached for more of his attention — but it didn’t matter. The Doctor was between her legs, playing her nerve endings with promise, giving tiny previews of what he intended to do to her.

Her muscles pulled taut and thrummed with tension, senses reeling, body languishing to thrust forward and get his tongue right there — right where she needed it. It must have been obvious, as he then trailed his fingertips around the outside of her thigh, sliding an arm across her abdomen and securing her hips to the ground.

Opening his mouth against her, the Doctor let go of a shuddering breath that had her shaking in kind, nerves flooding with anticipation. She worried she might just break apart, the three most sensitive points of her body standing at full and aching attention. Then, without warning, he licked into all of that slippery-wet heat, raking the flat of his tongue long and slow and warm over the bead of her clit.

Martha nearly split into atoms. She cursed, she jerked, she grabbed, firm and aggressive at his hair as though she’d gone a bit feral, and then he moaned — he bloody moaned against her, right between the lips of her cunt, his entire mouth buzzing with it. Intoxicated, she let her head and her eyes roll back, relinquishing control of her muscles, her voice, her manners as his soft, wet tongue began a fluttering procession of tap-tap-tap-tap — 

“Oh, god. Ooh, oh, my god. Oooh, oh that — th-that feels so good, oh, Doctor —"

“Mmmm,” he said, so indulgent, repeating the sentiment a few seconds later as he slipped his free hand under her shirt and over her breast. Tugging at the first cup he reached, he found her nipple with his fingertips, flitting gently across the stiff point.

Even with her sanity hanging by frayed threads, Martha couldn’t remember anything feeling half as lovely as she did right then — especially when the Doctor closed his lips around her, suckling in soft pulses. She swore and pleaded as he flicked his tongue lazily against her, teasing the spot directly above her clit, all of his mouth’s wet little noises hitting her ears in surround sound.

She thought her heart might give out, single syllables tumbling out of her in frenzied spurts. On either side of his head, her thighs were properly aquiver, hypersensitive nerves leaving her muscles jumping in tandem with each swipe of his tongue. 

Already — he already had her like this, sensation collecting all over, goosebumps prickling across every square centimeter. Almost more power than one body ought to be able to contain, resting on a hair-trigger.

And it was the Doctor doing this to her.

“Fuck. You’re gonna — I’m…” Martha raked her fingers through his hair, nails taking root in his scalp, everything grabbing, scratching, pulling. 

He hummed again: deep, rough, encouraging. Ready for it.

“God, Doctor, I-I-I’m —"

And then, with a suddenness that took her breath away, she felt herself coming so hard, so violently, that her legs went rigid and her toes pointed straight down, forcing into her feet. All of the life went out of her eyes as her soul opted to take a celestial detour, her cry piercing the air while rhythmic, white-hot bursts of pleasure broke over her. She felt herself lurch up off the blanket, breath straining on a gasp like she’d bloody well had the wind knocked out of her. 

Clutching her hip, the Doctor was there to guide her through every second of her powerhouse orgasm, holding her steady even as she fought to buck and contort beneath him. His encouraging moans never stopped as he worked to sort her out, absolutely lavishing attention, fingers up her shirt, teasing those little firecracker sparks while his soft mouth stroked the sweet spot between her legs.

Martha’s upper body had twisted into some mad, crooked arc, and as she returned to herself, she simply let the ground have her — panting, bleary, and trembling all over. 

“Oooh,” she whispered as she slipped her fingers from their iron grip on his hair, unable to hear herself. It was like a metallic transmission crackling at the lowest volume, muddled with white noise and other interference, her hearing replaced by ringing and a distorted heartbeat. “Oh,” she might have said; might have only mouthed, “wow… Oh, wow.”

Something cold against her skin gave her a jolt, and she somehow summoned the strength to push herself up by the elbows and look down again, her breath catching at the sight of the Doctor resting his cheek on her inner thigh. 

The wind crept in, and as his fringe brushed and tickled her knee, she couldn’t be bothered to notice — too busy being blissfully unaware of anything apart from the way he gazed back at her. 

His expression was open, it was rapt; it made Martha feel more nervous and exposed than anything else that’d happened up until that point.

It looked almost as though he was seeing her for the very first time.

“Th-thank you,” she said meekly, not exactly sure what else to say (and certain she’d never blushed so overtly in her life). 

Truthfully, she had no idea what was customary in the aftermath of having experienced the most soul-shattering orgasm of her existence on her best mate’s tongue — nor where they were supposed to go from there. The last thing she expected was for him to do — that.

Enthusiastically, even.

“Don’t mention it,” the Doctor answered, lips all shiny-red, his right thumb moving back and forth over her pelvic crest as he carefully extricated his hand from beneath her top. Martha shook just a bit as she let her head fall back, exposing the length of her throat, the entirety of her nervous system alight with ultra-sensitivity. 

Were she a different sort of woman, she might’ve lit up a fag right about then. 

Just as a smirk began to form at the visual, she felt some shuffling and rustling near her knees. She maybe could’ve used another minute or two to pull herself together before the next development, but then, she wasn’t a Time Lord, was she? 

In the interest of investigation, Martha craned her neck forward to find herself now looking up at the Doctor, who’d moved to kneel at her feet. His gaze was roving all over her body, lingering between her legs as he flicked open his suit jacket.

A feeling that was both warm and cool moved through her as she watched him slip the garment down his arms, her eyes wide and disbelieving, passion and confusion having it out with one another.

“Doctor?” Her eyes followed his hands as they moved to the top button of his Oxford, popping it open easily. “What…?”

“Come on,” he urged in that light, Doctorish sort of way, continuing to work the buttons one-handed as he extended the other arm toward her, wiggling his fingers. 

With slight trepidation, Martha reached — but hesitated, teeth finding her lip as she looked from his face to his hand. 

Doing all of this lying down was one thing, but vertically?

Daft of a thought as it was, somehow that felt like a whole different universe. Felt more lucid, more real; less like something they’d been doing (they were old pros with the whole ‘on the ground’ bit by then, weren’t they) and more like something they’d not even started yet.

But then the Doctor spoke again, his voice calm and quiet:

“It’s alright.”

He must have taken notice of her apprehension, and it was only two words — simple ones, at that — but somehow, it was all she needed to hear; all the reassurance to make her prior thoughts feel like nonsense. 

Martha placed her hand in his, and he pulled her right up, helping her onto her knees. She nearly toppled over at first, still adjusting to reality — but he grabbed her around the waist to keep her steady, never breaking eye contact.

At least, not until he bent toward her, moving a hand to her lower back as he pressed his mouth to hers.

It was impossible to keep from melting into the heady, unslakable intensity of his kisses — this privilege that, only an hour ago, had been a pipe dream. Martha fought the urge to swoon as he coaxed her lips apart, dipping his tongue into her mouth a bit at a time, letting her taste herself on him.

Oh, god. 

She teetered on delirium as her hands leapt to clumsily replace his own on his buttons, working to get the last few free as his fingers pushed up beneath the hem of her shirt. Her muscles jumped when those cool hands met an expanse of bare skin, but he warmed them quickly as he traced a path down her spine, sliding further, then taking two firm handfuls of her arse.

Keeping one hand (rather possessively, she might add) on her backside, he slipped the other inward, creeping between her legs until she felt two fingertips stroking up and down over coarse, damp hair. When he finally divided the slick, swollen flesh, he groaned at how wet she was for him, finding her clit and circling it slowly.

“God,” Martha broke away to cry, but the Doctor chased her lips — soundly reclaiming them. Her thighs were such a soaking mess that the wind chilled as it tunneled between them, and she knew he could not only feel — but hear every tiny shift of his fingers against her, just as she could. 

Though parts of her still felt self-conscious about the physical obviousness of her wanting, the Doctor seemed anything but bothered. Over and over, he took unnecessary, entirely self-indulgent detours to her entrance, collecting the moisture on his fingertips, then drawing it forward to tease her within an inch of her life. 

It was devastatingly erotic, the way he seemed keen to satisfy every one of his senses this time around — and she really shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew him to be remarkably sense-driven; his species seemed deeply connected to that aspect of their biology — so of course that would apply to sex, once given the freedom to explore every detail. 

Make no mistake: there were parts that Martha wanted to explore as well; parts she yearned to touch and caress and learn the taste and texture of — but her hands, as they stood currently, were of no practical use. With them, she couldn’t do much but cling helplessly to the open ends of his Oxford, clutching so tightly that she could feel her nails pressing her palms through the linen.

The Doctor didn’t let her climb too far; those light, playful touches kept her in a sort of sexual stasis for some time, which only made it slightly less traumatic when he suddenly withdrew both hands, switching to grasp her tank top by the hem. 

Martha lifted her arms in a daze so he could draw the garment up over her head, his knuckles brushing her skin in a way that felt deliberate, leaving damp little trails of sex she could feel catching the breeze. 

Once her top hit the ground, he looked at her body with a single rough exhalation: an uncontrolled reaction that, for the first time, made her wonder if she had more power over him than she thought.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d been looking.

Maybe — and she could immediately recognize the danger of the thought — he’d only acted oblivious to her attraction. Not out of disdain, but because on some deep, buried level, he returned it.

His two hearts might not be ready to bear the weight of a third, but…

Let the record show that the man wasn’t blind.

Before she could breathe any more life into that thought, the Doctor’s cool lips returned to hers, and his hands sought refuge everywhere else: her neck, her breasts, her hips, the small of her back. His touches were needy and seeking and desperate, his mouth growing insatiable, and spring seemed to turn to summer; the chill of the air turned to relief as her body heated to the brink of impending combustion.

Clothes, thought Martha as she let him take and take from her lips, his fingers finding their way beneath her right bra strap. The cup it supported was still disordered from before (as in, when he brought her off with his mouth), but he guided the bit of satin down her arm anyway, nipping at her lip. When she whimpered in response, she felt him exhale heavily through his nose, grabbing and tugging the entire cup out of his way.

The tenderness with which he handled her breast surprised her: it totally belied his hungry kisses and consequent undressing. Sliding his palm over to touch her, he cradled the soft mound with great care; traced her areola with his thumb and flick-flick-flicked the pad across her nipple until all manner of tattered little sounds issued from her throat.

Even as his mouth demanded ‘now’, he was taking his time with his hands — but the Doctor was a complex man; certainly more of an enigma than anyone she’d ever met. She imagined he could spend a hundred years tapping his foot, provided he knew that bliss was certain at the end of the queue. 

He wanted to have sex with her again (not much of a secret, that), but he didn’t seem to want to rush the act itself, only the obstacles. Let’s get your bleeding kit off so we can go about this the proper way — that’s how she decided to read it.

His spike of reverence was exemplary; it was something to behold, but as time passes and I grow ever more infirm and weary, Mr. Smith… Martha wasn’t quite as patient. She had to feel more of him. Had to memorize as much as she could while she had the chance, and she intended to start before he got his cock in her. 

With a flood of arousal-induced confidence, she interrupted his efforts and set to work on his shirt, pulling the tails free with every bit as much urgency as was required of the task — which, given her state, was a tremendous amount indeed. 

Tearing his lips off hers in a way that suggested her message was well-received, the Doctor pulled back, fixing her with a gaze that hovered somewhere just above sweltering. At the same time, Martha inched forward, knees kneading into the blended blue cotton until there wasn’t room for much apart from her hands and breasts and his erection between them. 

She had no doubt: she knew her eyes matched his fire as she laid her palms flat against his chest, fingers fanning out over long-hidden, well-smattered hair; over both beating hearts. A moan passed, faint and soft, between them as she forged two paths beneath his shirt, savoring the journey from pectorals to deltoids with two exceptionally greedy hands. 

Involuntary ripples moved through planes of strong, lean musculature as she gathered fabric up with her wrists, his follicles extending with the emergence of a million itty-bitty bumps beneath her fingers: additional tactile assurances that, through some miracle, he was just as affected as she was. 

It also told her — as she began pushing the linen down his arms, her eyes dropping to trace every freckled inch of skin she revealed — that he really was so much like a bloke, even if he’d never concede to it. 

It seemed the Doctor was just about vibrating with restraint again as the sleeves bunched at his wrists, and he took initiative to tug his hands free, tossing his shirt down beside the blanket.

Martha understood why fairly quickly, as the instant they were able to do so, those hands went straight around her back, finding the clasp of her bra and flicking it open. Almost faster than she could imagine, the padded purple garment was removed from her body, joining the rest of the pile in the grass.

Just like that, she was fully, mystifyingly naked in front of the Doctor. It was beyond surreal — but if any part of her had felt insecure about what the moment might feel like once it came, the look on his face made sure to vanquish every last bit of apprehension; the way his eyes skipped right past the love marks to linger shamelessly on her chest.

As well as the way his cock properly jumped in her lower periphery.

A cock which was still withdrawn from his trousers... trousers he desperately needed to be rid of.

Reaching for where his waistband somehow still clung to those slender hips, Martha stifled the urge to wrap her hands around that turgid length and give him a proper stroking, knowing that once she started, she simply wouldn’t be able to stop…

But the Doctor had no such hang-ups. 

His long fingers were back between her legs in a hurry, edging in from the front this time, tracing her slit from top to bottom before pressing to feel the slick flesh more intimately. 

Breathing in thin, broken gasps, Martha struggled to relieve him of his remaining clothing as he first gathered lubrication, then drew those silken fingertips up to her clit, rolling round and round and oh fuck, oh god, yes. A moan shook through her, both hands trembling near the point of excess, her eyes briefly rolling back behind fluttery lids. 

No man had ever brought her to such a point; had ever put in the effort to coax the secrets of her sensuality out of her. It was such an all-encompassing high that it took her several seconds to realize her progress had stalled in favor of moving her hips, riding the motions of his hand.

Looking up from her failed attempts to strip him down, Martha found the Doctor grinning smugly at her, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, and oh my god — maybe they were going to be just fine. 

Perhaps she’d not been irrational at all, thinking a pair of mates could get away with this sort of fun; reach into the carnal cookie jar and nick a bit of magic for themselves just this once. 

If their relationship were a diet (not her best comparison, but… the higher functions of her brain had stepped out for a bit), sex would be the sweetest, most forbidden of decadent desserts.

But they’d been so good. 

They deserved a treat, didn’t they? 

In seconds, though, the playful glimpse was gone from the Doctor’s eyes. It dissolved right along with his smile, revealing that thing that’d been lurking there all along, driving him — driving both of them — likely since the moment she’d sucked his fingers into her mouth. 

Whisking her hand away from his waistband, he caught her around the shoulders, holding her close as he moved in to touch her again. And Martha — mmm, god — she couldn’t move; she could only yield as his strong grip and scalding stare kept her pinned. 

An expletive flew, sharp and sudden, from her lips as he once again took to stroking her where she was fully engorged, so ready to be touched — and this time, he did so with intent. His eyes seared into hers as he worked her clit with those clever, careful fingers, testing its resistance, his breaths coming every bit as ragged and ruined as hers.

Never had Martha been keen on eye contact during sex — always found it unnerving, as it made her quite self-conscious — but this was an entirely different thing. She couldn’t get enough of the Doctor drinking her in; she wanted him to reach into her soul and become soldered to it.

He wasn’t human. He’d seen and experienced things she couldn’t in twenty lifetimes, had suffered in ways she could never comprehend... As such, she could never hold him to the same human standard of romance that she once did, back in the beginning. But he was still everything to her.

Yes, they were only mates — she didn’t imagine that would change — but she’d be damned if she’d ever felt a connection even half as immense with another; if she’d ever been a fraction as eager to remove both clothing and inhibitions, and just lose herself in another person.

So she let him look. Was over the moon to let him look, and in turn, she looked right back.

And of course, the Doctor touched her masterfully, two fingers painting pretty little spells against that upraised bit of flesh, and Martha didn’t speak; didn’t really moan so much as she slurred out broken sounds in a blissful stupor, her eyes lidding. She fought to keep them open so she could see his face, see the genuine need peeking through all of that hunger; that infinite, molten sea of lust. 

Noises seemed ever more amplified, slick and pornographic, at the pinnacle of her thighs; the space where he drew those same slow, focused zigzags. His gaze was hypnotizing: gleaming pitch and blackest black, so vast that she could see her own stunned expression reflected within them. 

Before long, he was slipping down to press and prod where he’d already fucked her; where she all but dripped with the evidence of it, taking only seconds to tease before driving both fingers deep inside of her.

Martha whined through some torn-up iteration of his name, balance evading her, throwing her arms around his waist to keep from falling over as he pressed his palm against her clit. Her decorum faltered by the second, whines and pleas tumbling off her tongue that hardly registered as actual words, as she was climbing — and quickly.

The pulselike pressure was unlike anything she’d ever felt, his fingers never withdrawing more than a couple of centimeters or so. He moved his hand in slow, churning motions that stroked her walls from one side to the next, his palm massaging her clit with every press. 

“Right there,” he murmured, low and rough, his breath warm on her face. “That’s it, I can feel you…”

Fuck.

She was gone.

Every part of her, every inch through every limb, quivered with desperation, her attempted breaths puffing in small fits and starts as her hips chased his fingers with a neediness that was entirely, shamelessly automatic; involuntary in every sense of the word. Martha fucked herself on his hand and he let her, seemed to relish the letting, drawing back to watch her with a level of greed that only made her hotter, driving her to crumble even faster. 

She was making noises she’d never made in bed before — and she was not quiet about it.

“Breathe, Martha.”

At the hushed command, she sucked in a breath as though it was her last, letting it go in a series of soft cries as he started curling his fingers to strike her frontal wall. 

“Mm, there we go...” The Doctor tipped his head slightly, planting his lips right against her temple. “That’s just gonna do you in, isn’t it?”

With him goading her along, there was no fighting it. Martha’s mouth fell open, every muscle in her body tensing, bracing as she tipped into her second orgasm of the day. 

It was an onslaught; a cycle of flooding and receding, flooding and receding — and the Doctor slowed his fingers to match her cadent, tugging spasms, coaxing bright bursts of rapture through her body until she thought she might be on the brink of going blind. 

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, sliding his arm down from her shoulders to hold her around the waist. “Good, that’s it…”

Martha barely made a sound as she shook right apart, hands grabbing, hips jerking. She couldn’t remember ever coming quite so melodramatically before, but the Doctor seemed no less thrilled for it, drawing her release out until she finally collapsed — panting — against the warmth of his chest. 

For a moment, he simply held her that way, fingers easing in and out as her spasms faded off with the tide. He likes that, she thought distantly. Another little sensory treat: tangible echoes of a release that he had brought her.

Eventually, she could feel his face right in front of hers, and with no small effort, Martha pried her eyes open.

What she found had her forcing down a swallow.

The way the Doctor looked at her right then would haunt her, she realized; it would follow her into bed with any other man who ever had her, then straight down into the Earth as her body returned to it. 

Just as she wondered if his gaze might literally bore holes into hers, his focus then drifted down to his hand, watching with vested interest as he slipped his long fingers from inside of her. He did this without any regard for haste, and Martha felt that familiar flush coming over her, riveted to the utter fascination in his eyes.

She lacked the capacity to worry about what to say right then, which was just as well — as the instant his sex-soaked digits left her body, he brought them straight to his mouth for a taste.

Even wrung-out as she was, Martha felt her eyes grow round as they’d ever been. “Ahm,” was all she managed as he sucked her (and, well, him) off of his skin, his eyes shut, a sound so low and rumbly humming out of him that it hardly made it to her ears.

Withdrawing both fingers with a pop a moment later, his dark eyes returned to hers as he resumed finishing the job on his trousers. Shoving everything down with his pants, he made short, only marginally awkward work of kicking them off behind him, and now — finally completely, exquisitely bare — he grabbed and pulled her so, so close, nudging his hips forward to tease her with the head of his cock.

By then, Martha had no composure left whatsoever, still fumbling her way back to reality, almost unbearably sensitive. Merely allowed him to be the only thing holding her upright as he glided delicately against her, seemingly solicitous in his effort to keep from putting much pressure on her clit. He quite literally sluiced his way through the result of his fucking; the well-earned work of his cock and his tongue and fingers. 

Martha found, rather remarkably, that she felt lovely for it — felt wanted and attractive and needier than she’d ever felt with another. 

Leaning in, the Doctor tipped his head to press his mouth over hers, sending red-hot, liquid shockwaves down her spine that clenched in her core, turning her knees to rubber. He gently thrust against her a few more times, getting himself as slippery as she was as he lapped his way into her mouth, swallowing her next moan before breaking away altogether.

When Martha blinked her eyes open, she saw that he’d lowered himself to sit on his heels, knees slightly parted, his cock full and heavy — glistening in the space between them.

God. 

It was the first time she allowed herself a proper look, and it was a spellbinding sight; still throbbing, still wanting. And it was her that it wanted — that he wanted. 

They simply had to fuck again and there was nothing for it. 

The anticipation had her at sixes and sevens as the Doctor reached out and let his hands encompass her waist, his long fingers spreading slowly, shallow depressions pooling ghosts of shadows on her skin. Without letting go, he slid his legs forward one at a time until he was sitting cross-legged, no longer looking down at her — but up.

Afraid of losing balance, Martha placed her hands on his shoulders while he traced the contours of her sides, coasting downward from her ribs, thumbing the iliac crests of her hips. The sweeping caress was enough to tease a whimper out of her as the Doctor stared intently up at her. 

She wondered, then — rather mortifyingly — what she was meant to do next.

She’d simply not had enough sex to know. They weren’t exactly flicking through a little book of sex tips on Jared’s mum’s sectional; certainly weren’t poring over the Kama Sutra on David’s hand-me-down mattress, where the dryer-shrunken sheets never stopped popping up in the corners. 

Creative positions? Alien concept.

So how did she go about asking this alien what the next move was without sounding like a total dunce, wrecking the mood in the process?

The Doctor's voice caught her attention, drawing her out of her own head.

"You trust me, don’t you?”

Even as she went off like kindling, nerves and soul alike crackling in his crosshairs, she felt a wave of tenderness come over her. “Of course I do.”

His eyes shone with virility, with fire, and as the darkness crept back in around the edges of his stare, his grip tightened at her hips.

“Then, I suppose...” His voice was so quiet now, so heated that it seemed to purr out of him: “Up you get, Martha Jones.”

Hearing her name leave his mouth in such a devastating timbre was nearly enough to put her on the ground all over again, but by the skin of her teeth, Martha managed to hold it together. Glancing down, she nibbled her lower lip, curious as to how she might execute this little maneuver.

Incidentally, her focus centered… in a particular area, and she raised her eyes quickly on instinct — but not quickly enough for him to have missed it, if his smirk was anything to go on. 

Cheeky git.

… Anyway, beside the point.

Up you get, and all that.

At first, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to pull off whatever the hell it was he thought he was aiming at. She’d been on top, yes… once — er, two years ago — with a half-arsed lover — but like this? Not even close to the same thing. 

She couldn’t even work out where her legs were meant to go.

Pushing on his shoulders for extra support, she felt the Doctor draw her in by the hips as she tentatively worked to climb into (onto?) his lap. To her relief, she wasn’t given a whole lot of time to overthink it, as — having clearly been waiting for her to make the move — the Doctor began stretching his legs out beneath her, unfolding them one at a time as she lifted her thighs over his.

It took only a moment of adjustment before his stance mirrored that of a Sunday beachgoer, all propped up on his hands with his legs spread out in front of him. The only major difference was that, any time they’d been to the beach together in the past (and they had been, several times), it never involved him being saddled up with a lapful of Martha Jones.

And she was properly straddling him now, her shins lying flat beside his thighs, hands resting on his shoulders. 

This position, although still new to her, felt more familiar, more manageable. Less Kama Sutra — ergo, less daunting. It simply looked as though they’d been enjoying a bit of cowgirl and he’d decided to sit up in the middle of it, that’s all. 

(Certainly still a test for her sexual competency, but she’d never been more grateful for the cardio-intensive reality of traveling with a Time Lord.)

No longer fearing some strange balancing act to keep from tumbling off of him, Martha settled against the tops of his thighs, her arms circling his neck as she took a moment to ground herself. Naturally, she found her eyes pulled downward again, landing squarely between them — but this time, she did not look away.

Leaning back as the Doctor was, she got quite a view of his erection, which now rested from his lower abdomen to his navel. With this proper, unabashed assessment, she could see that he really was indistinguishable from a human: his smooth skin was pulled, taut and vascular, over flesh that was solid with tension, the centermost ridge forming a firm, lickable line all the way up his shaft. 

Even his shape was attractive to her. From base to tip, he had just enough of an upward curve, slightly thicker in the center — something that her body wasn’t prepared for on their first try, but now wept in anticipation of. 

In terms of female pleasure, it was as though he were tailor-made; a heavy appendage designed to stroke inside of her in all of the best ways. 

It was also the first time she noticed the Doctor was slick from more than just rubbing against her. Clear fluid had been collecting in a little pool, already spilling over that singular shallow divot — the exact spot he would soon press against somewhere even slicker; somewhere pliable and yielding.

While seeing him hard for her was all-powerful in its own glorious right, there was something visceral about this additional physical cue; the visual assurance that her body wasn’t the only one avid to accommodate their coupling.

Soon, he would penetrate her — and if Martha had to wager, he would likely meet very little resistance as he did so.

The thought had her muscles clamp down in anticipation, gripping firmly around nothing.

With great effort, she raised her hazy eyes to find the Doctor staring intently up at her, lips licked wet, hair swept this way and that, his freckles standing out against the pink-pale flush of his skin. There was nothing vainglorious about the way he leaned off one of his supporting arms, moving a hand behind her, cupping her bum and hauling her closer. 

Martha sighed at the drag of his leg hair along the smooth skin of her inner thighs, letting him pull her in until their bodies were a handful of inches apart.

On a given day, he was always so tall, towering above — but this was different. Now, she was the one who was closer to the sky; to the heavens and the universe beyond. Silly as the idea might’ve been, she wondered if it might’ve been intentional on his part. 

His eyes, in all of their ancient depth, seemed to sparkle in a way she’d never seen in all the time she’d known him, and it left her speechless, her lips opening and closing around words she’d never be able to bring herself to say. 

(That she shouldn’t say, besides.)

The Doctor let her have this for a long and scorching moment; let her bask in it with him — this special thing that was just for them. 

Martha took her fill.

All that mattered anymore was the enormity of how much she needed him. To have him; to share in him, as he shared (and shared, and shared) in her. That connection they’d both been searching for, perhaps for different reasons, but which they could only find with each other.

He wasn’t hers. It wasn’t going to last forever. But she was his, and for a moment — just a blip in his lonely, ever-winding existence — it seemed he had every intention of letting her have him. Wanted her to, even. 

In what she was swiftly beginning to realize was an astronomically intimate sex position, mind.

Right when she thought she might float right out of consciousness at the raw intensity passing between them, the Doctor leaned in, lifting his head to press his lips to hers. 

Martha hummed into the kiss, immediately changing the angle, pushing with her knees to raise herself higher and bring her body even closer. Before she could get too keen about it, though, he dragged his mouth down and away, moving to her clavicle. 

Warm lips and a delicate tongue found the first bruise he’d created, mouthing until she didn’t think she could bear it much longer. She felt his hand on her rear traveling inward, moving just as it’d done earlier — skating further beneath her, right between her splayed thighs.

His mouth already had her in such a spiral that, when he pushed two fingers up through her dripping center, Martha dropped her head back — no longer capable of bearing its weight. A sort of feeble, reedy little wail tore through her, constricted by her elongated neck, muscles down below clamping eagerly around the welcome intrusion.

“Easy,” the Doctor soothed, bringing his lips to her ear, mumbling into it as he started pumping steadily in and out. “Bit at a time, there you go.”

Martha couldn’t stop writhing, pleading nonsense as he stroked her from the inside, her arms abandoning his neck to cinch around the strong, sinewy ridges of his shoulders. “Mmf… aahh,” she breathed, so worked up that she was wholly prepared to bear down and attempt to ride his hand again — but he only kept up the teasing for a moment before slipping his fingers free.

As she tamped down the urge to whinge at the loss, the Doctor turned his gaze southward, eyes sinking towards the space that her eyes had struggled to keep from straying from. His tongue passed across his lips as he brought a hand to her chest, stroking down the front of her body with his fingertips. 

Martha’s head was spinning by the time he reached her curls, his name leaving her in a whisper. It spiked on the second syllable when his knuckles brushed her inner thigh, and then she felt it: the blunt press of his cock; right there, slicking down over her clit before notching her entrance. 

Time slowed as he leaned back to see her again, pupils wide and still blooming, softened by a hint of vulnerability.

The exact look she’d glimpsed earlier.

It was tempting to kiss him, then: his parted lips, his nose, each of his high-boned cheeks. But something told her that he needed more concrete reassurance than simple physical affection, or even a silent nod… given what’d happened before.

So, instead, she flicked her tongue across her lips, her eyebrows piquing as she told him, rather irrefutably: 

“I want it.”

Her command turned his expression serious, his gaze clutching at hers, sharp enough to cleave her in two. 

“Come here,” he said, his hand gliding around to the small of her back, where he pressed softly.

The command sent a fiery frisson along every nerve, throwing little tremors through four highly precarious limbs. Mindful of keeping them lined up, Martha glanced down as she lifted her hips, angling towards him.

Only once she found his eyes again did the Doctor begin to coax her down, pressing her just there, gravity colluding with need until the resistance gave way.

And this time, as he finally pushed his cock into her, it felt nothing like the first time. 

Martha felt a surge of affection in that moment, savoring the picture he made as pleasure drew out across his face, playing on every feature. Most of all, she reveled in the way his eyes sparked wide, as though disbelieving — then began to glaze over, lids growing heavier with every buried inch.

The visual was as inebriating as the slow glide of him pressing her open, and she held onto his shoulders, gripping to keep from trembling right off. The sound he made was a mirror of her own, caught in some special place between a groan and a growl — deliciously primal. 

There was no pain that time… Well — maybe a touch; even with how hard he’d worked her before (and lingered after), it was still a tight fit getting all of that inside of her, but nothing unbearable. Besides, with the electric thrum of bliss buzzing along her spinal column, endorphins still running wild in her veins, she knew she’d adjust quickly. 

Was already well on her way to doing so, at that.

As soon as the Doctor was there, all fully enveloped and snug within her warmth, he flashed a grin — this lazy, lovely, absolutely wicked grin that Martha could feel from her chest to deep in her belly.

She realized then that she was staring down at him with what she (belatedly) imagined must have been pure astonishment. She couldn’t have schooled it even if she wanted to. 

She knew that he knew what she was about; she was only grateful that, at least for today, he wouldn’t dare to wind her up for a bit of healthy marveling.

Plus, the time for levity had come to pass, anyway.

Tightening her arms around his neck, Martha let her hips roll back in his lap, feeling (and, again: hearing) the wet slide as he withdrew bit by bit. She pulled her lip between her teeth as she calculated her next move, then slowly, tentatively thrust forward.

It was a clumsy, less than perfect angle — one which hadn’t even managed to get all of him back inside of her, bollocks — and she tried again, her second attempt meeting the same ill-angled fate of the first.

Before she had a chance to giggle at herself, maybe make some lighthearted jab about whose idea that position had been in the first place, the Doctor moved in, leaning off of his supporting arm to devote both hands to gripping her backside. Their center of gravity shifted with the adjustment, but he handled it without a measure of effort, pressing his fingers into her glutes as he found her gaze again.

Though Martha feared she might be glowing red, utterly overwhelmed beneath the blazing, hungry heat radiating out of him, she clung to his encouragement like a rope off the edge of a ship. Hips sliding back, she tried again — only this time, he helped guide her next move, tilting her pelvis skyward as she rocked against him. 

She heard herself cry out, her voice soft, caught by surprise as he ground into the perfect spot on the first try. “Ahhh —"

A lopsided smile briefly swept across the Doctor’s face, and the joy was unmistakable — she knew it was important to him that he wasn’t the only one getting anything out of this, not this time. He pressed her closer with his hands, letting her feel him even deeper, muttering up at her through his teeth:

“Yeah?”

Fucking hell, did he even know what that gravelly, barely-audible husk was doing to her? 

‘Nothing like the first time’ indeed. Not a single second of it.

Martha did not attempt to stifle the shudder that went through her, giving two short bobs of her head. She slid back again, feeling his thumbs pressing at her skin, coaxing her to tilt them the opposite direction on the withdrawal. It made just a bit more of him slip out of her… adding that much more of a punch as he angled her hips and tugged her in tight. 

They both let out a hum as he glided into her that time, the Doctor digging his fingers into muscle as she did the same with his shoulders. 

“Yes,” she sighed, a dreamy little wisp, and he hummed in agreement. With his guidance, she repeated the action again, then again, hips beginning to mimic ocean waves, picking up confidence with every push-pull motion — down, back, up. 

It didn’t take long for Martha to find a good rhythm all on her own, working her way towards riding him in earnest, sweat beading up across her chest and the tops of her thighs. She’d never felt anything like it, gliding up and down on his hard cock until they were both panting; until the Doctor placed his hand back on the ground behind him and used the leverage to begin meeting her thrusts with his own.

She grew ever more vocal, just as he did; listened to his voice and his breathing and the filthy, wet sounds of the Doctor fucking her. Through pleading gasps, she grabbed his hair, his neck, his shoulders; then he pressed a hand up over her breast, capturing her nipple between his fingers.

“Good…” His soft voice merged with the heat of his hand as he lightly pressed his fingers together, teasing the stiff point. Each careful pinch knocked tiny jolts of sensation straight to her clit, and god, Martha was inconsolable — nearly lost it, but…

She needed more.

Relying entirely on the Doctor to keep them upright, she loosely draped her arms around his shoulders, leaning closer. With the slightest tilt of her hips, she felt exactly the sort of pressure she’d been needing between her legs, mewling as she ground herself against him.

It certainly didn’t hurt that it was even more intimate that way. 

He was nothing if not amenable to this adjustment, leaning forward to wrap both arms around her lower back, drawing her body flush with his. They shared a gasp at the feel of it, sweat-sheened skin meeting skin as he hilted even further into her warmth.

And there was no awkward working out of angles; no pause to check in that time — they simply started to rock languidly together, following one another’s lead.

While they no longer had the freedom of movement for thrusting, so much stimuli came in to pick up the slack. Martha felt, for the first time, the full press of his naked body against hers; felt the deep, gorgeous penetration from below. Felt the coarse hair over his pubic bone, softened by their combined slick, providing a constant, textural sensation against her clit.

She lifted her head to look down at him, and the Doctor just stared, point-blank, into her eyes, his jaw hanging slack. He was letting her see him — really see him, once again. He was fully present with her, and she with him. 

He looked incredible; pleasure softening his face, darkening his eyes beneath thick, long lashes; drawing out his moans. He was beautiful and vulnerable; too perfect for this world. For any world. 

How could this really be her life?

Her body wanted, it was primed and hungry for it, and of course the Doctor knew — she could see that he knew — that he was the only one who could see this through for her. So he took his time with her, keeping her gaze as though it burned to look away, letting them just have this.

And it was gradual. It was exhaustive. It was so, so good. 

What Martha would have given to see them from the outside. Like a scene straight out of some fairy tale romance: the two of them bare and clutching; stuttering through consonants on the misty hillside, wind blowing their hair about. She couldn’t have dreamt it up; couldn’t have sneaked into a museum and pulled it from the most luxurious erotic painting.

It had no business feeling so lovely — so right — to have him fully sheathed inside of her, moving together as though they were made for it, all slow plunges and sliding skin. They fit so well together.

“You’re so strong, aren’t you,” the Doctor lilted as she rested her forehead against his, and even as she strained a whimper in answer, she knew he meant it so much greater than a literal sense. 

“You,” the syllable whined out of her. “Y-You’re, so… Oo-oh, god.”

“Shhh.” He carried on guiding the trajectory of her hips as her shaking went increasingly erratic, her grinding becoming more singular; more focused. “Take what you need. You just take whatever you need...”

It was a longer climb that time, but not too long before Martha felt the telltale tingles beginning to charge up, sparking in her calves and radiating up through her core. She rested her cheek near the Doctor’s temple and let each sensation build, loving the hot, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to her jaw and neck; the way his moans grew lower and longer — ravishing her to the point of madness.

She fancied she was drifting through some higher plane of existence, her world centering around foggy awareness of words like wet and thick and hot and deep, her voice drifting off into nothing. The Doctor pampered her through every second of it, placing his lips beside her ear as he moved his hands to her arse, pulling her closer. 

“Go on,” he said as she went completely quiet, sitting at a razor’s edge. “Just… let it happen, that’s it…”

It was like a trip wire: an immediate trigger. Arms suffocatingly taut around his shoulders, Martha felt every muscle in her body seize up as her release came shivering through her, blaring and contracting in waves. She arched hard into him, her mouth hanging open in silence, little more than soft bursts of air managing to escape.

The whole time, the Doctor was there whispering to her, breathing hot and heavy against her neck. “Mm, go on,” he said thickly, groaning as her insides shuddered and contracted around him, taking long, rippling tugs around his cock. “Good girl, just like that…”

His voice was like heroin, flooding her with intoxicant, making her feel warm all over. She truly hadn’t known that he could be a talker in bed, especially after his silent display before — an incident that, by that point, felt like glimpsing a grim alternate reality. But that hadn’t been about want, hadn’t been about pleasure. 

Now, there he was murmuring encouragement, clearly ignoring the fact that she was scarcely maintaining consciousness. No fantasy could have prepared her for it; could have even begun to illustrate the reality of making love to the Doctor intentionally. 

The comedown was almost ethereal. Panting together, they slowed, but never grew completely still — the Doctor re-enfolding her in his arms as hers went limp around his neck. He continued to rock her in his lap, moving with such languor that she could feel him with every nerve ending, and he seemed innately aware of it. He kept this up for a long moment, helping her back from space while somehow managing to keep the fire going at the same time. 

Against all odds, Martha wanted it. She had stars in her eyes. They’d gone from sharing tea to an awkward kiss to shagging one another thoroughly, and her legs were weak because of it. Her inner thighs were coated with wet because of it. Her feminine muscles fluttered with aftershocks because of it. 

There would be no forgetting this. It was too seismic; too phenomenal an event for her to ever hope to let go of entirely. The Doctor had let her in this way, she’d opened up her body and mind, and the colors were well and truly mixed now.

But that was alright.

She didn’t want to forget.

“Okay?” she heard him ask after some time, and she hummed, hoping that her sluggish attempt passed for some degree of approval. She wasn’t certain she could be trusted to speak in her state — not with her bones having all gone to liquid, her sense of hearing still just a few notches above ‘underwater’ clarity.

It made it all the more disorienting when the Doctor suddenly pulled her tight against him, one hand on her backside and the other between her shoulder blades, then rolled her gently and effortlessly down onto the blanket.

Emitting a small squeak, Martha felt all of the blood rush to her head, blinking rapidly to clear the spots as the Doctor pushed himself up above her.

Behind him, the sky was all gray-white cloud cover, highlighting the right, sexy mess that’d become of his hair. His pupils eclipsed his irises as he let her look deeply as she liked, gazing right back as he slid out from her warmth, resting just the head against her entrance. 

Raw masculine energy seemed to pour off of him then, and even at that one spot of pressure between her thighs, he was still just solid marble; thick and so, so ready for her. 

He searched her eyes. “Is this — ?” 

Still adjusting to being horizontal once more, Martha nodded, floored that he'd even felt the need to ask.

“God, yes.”

The tiniest smirk played on his lips, and she was fairly certain her love for him went supernova... Especially when he sank every inch of that perfect cock inside of her.

By then, there was no more need for adjustment — just pure, spine-bending bliss as the Doctor slipped in to the hilt, dragging a moan out of both of them. 

“Fuck.” Martha wrapped a leg around his lower back, dragging her foot down to his calf. “Oh, my god.”

As he withdrew, he hooked a hand beneath her thigh, pushing her leg up and open before driving harder into her.

“Oh,” he said when that thrust pulled her highest, shakiest cry of all. “Right there, was it?”

Martha buried her nails in his shoulders and bobbed her head again. A frantic breath escaped her, her hips and thighs quaking at his sides as he shoved the head of his cock against that same spot inside of her, then did it again, and again, hard and slow, and ahhh fuck oh god, he was good; so good.

The Doctor’s mouth quirked up with amusement, and she realized she’d expressed at least part of that sentiment out loud. There’d just been so much intensity coursing through her bloodstream that she’d hardly had the capacity for thought, let alone tempering her reactions.

To his credit, he didn’t seem to mind one bit. Keeping her leg pressed open, he lowered his body to hers and commenced with a proper fucking, bringing with it all of the voracity he’d likely been taming until then. 

Sensation rushed into Martha with each soaking plunge; the maddening-wet smack of skin. It seemed to flood the air around them, so all-consuming that she had to dig her nails into his back to cope with the high voltage ripping through her. Her mantra became a duet of strangled cries and expletives; she couldn’t even piece together a cogent thought anymore. 

It was magnificent.

At the fear that she might start tearing away bits of his smooth, soft skin, she found herself throwing a hand over her head to grab a fistful of blanket, dragging at it, pulling it down as every muscle and tendon strained in her body. Her vision set to blurring out around the edges as she attempted to meet his rhythm, growing so hot that even the cool wind was no match. 

Their first time had been too much. It’d been painfully one-sided until it was nearly over; far too rough, nowhere near enough foreplay to ready her... But that’d been alright. As she told him before: It wasn’t meant to be about her.

This time and the last, however, it clearly was.

He was endowed, but he’d taken care to make her malleable for it. He was a bit rough, but he kept her angled to receive it. The power position was his, but he didn’t exploit it. 

And god — the fit of him had the nerves in her legs jumping like mad; his rich, focused thrusts knocking into the perfect spot until she could feel him reverberating everywhere; could feel the Doctor fucking her in every part of her body.

It was the single most extraordinary moment of her life, Martha thought as she felt his hand roving down her thigh to grip her arse, his fingers digging into muscle as he tilted her hips deeper against his. There was an air of fierce sensuality about him; a quiet urgency behind his eyes as he began to grind into her at the end of each stroke, never looking away from her face. Laying himself bare in every sense of the word. 

Though it’d felt virtually impossible before — though she’d doubted she had anything left to give, no reserves left to tap into — she was stunned when she felt herself climbing for the fourth time. 

The Doctor had to have known she was close, and she prayed he was, as well, because there was no way in hell she would survive another round. The sounds she was making were beginning to crack apart with each breath, withered little gasps and bits of nonsense, all interlaced with (what she would generously refer to as) valiant attempts to say his name. 

Through bleary eyes, she watched him cataloguing every second of her ascent, teeth bared and eyes black, hair all wrecked by her hands. She could see so clearly that it was working him up good and proper, the full package of it — he was just bloody reveling in what he was doing to her. 

Then, when she least expected it, he lowered his mouth to hers, and he kissed her.

It was a mess of a snog; all broken apart by groans and gasps and tongues uncoordinated by a good, hard fuck, but it was spectacular nonetheless; it was exactly what she wanted. And she was there, right there, she just… needed… 

“Martha,” the Doctor said against her lips, drawing back to find her eyes. “Please —"

And in that moment, she saw — and felt — him lose the fight, slipping right over the edge.

It really was too much, then.

Martha watched his jaw unhinge as his strokes lost all fluidity and finesse, his short nails digging into her arse cheek. In a moment of glorious intensity, he let her watch him come; watch him shatter above her.

Even depleted as she was, she felt a slow ripple of pleasure overtake her at the sight, chasing the sheer magnitude of what came over him, feeling every spasm of his cock inside of her. Hips pressing firm, she looked into his eyes as they came together, her orgasm milking the remainder of his in deep, fluttery pulses. 

After several moments of increasingly leaden thrusting, having ridden it out as long as they could, they were beyond spent. So well-wrung-out that, as the Doctor finally withdrew from her warmth another moment later, he collapsed right down on the blanket at her side.

(Just like a bloke, honestly.)

Even the wind seemed to abate as they caught their breath, lying shoulder to shoulder on the ground. All of the exertion had left Martha sweaty and practically burning from their collective workout, so when the first gust of wind hit them in the aftermath, she wasn’t expecting the shiver that would overtake her.

Ever the man to be prompted into action by humans in peril, the Doctor threw his arm out to the opposite side, swiftly dragging the smaller blanket into reach and spreading it out over them. The material felt strange and slightly uncomfortable against her clammy skin, but she was warmer — which was all that really mattered.

“Ta,” she said between breaths.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor give a subtle nod, his chest still rising and falling with effort.

As they lay there, a little frown tugged at Martha’s lips as she realized there was something of a situation beneath her: a spot under her bum that’d grown so cold and wet that she was afraid to stand and face it. She almost unconsciously pushed her legs together, though she could still feel the slickness leaving her, falling victim to gravity and the lesser-romanticized aspects of two people giving themselves over to desire.

She decided she would take it upon herself to break the ice, but not with words. 

Taking the last hour of her life into account — all they’d done together; all they’d seen and provoked of each other — Martha found that she didn’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious anymore. She flicked the blanket down and sat up, completely starkers, adjusting to sit on her knees as she reached for the nearby backpack. 

Though unintentional on her part, she knew that if the Doctor was looking, he was surely getting quite an eyeful of every bit of her body he’d not yet seen. Though tempting, she resisted the urge to do any unnecessary swaying as she tugged the bag onto the blanket, digging around inside.

It didn’t take long for her to find the bigger-on-the-inside disposal pouch, plus her emergency overnight bag.

Inside the latter were numerous items she’d thrown together after first being invited on board: a biodegradable shampoo bar, a few tampons, hand sanitizer, makeup remover wipes, paracetamol, antacids, a tiny Vaseline, a blue bonnet, body lotion, a bar of soap, a silk pillow case, and so forth. 

One of the items was a travel-sized package of baby wipes. In a billion years (and with ten billion guesses), she’d never have thought this was what she’d be using them for, yet there she was: two wipes plucked from the package, making short work of cleanup between her thighs.

Tucking the spent wipes into the disposal pouch a few moments later, Martha was just about to put everything away before she remembered the Doctor might also be a bit worse for wear. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows sliding up her forehead when she discovered he was not only looking, but staring at her bum.

When, upon blinking, he snapped out of it enough to raise his gaze to hers, Martha couldn’t resist the urge to smirk — though she didn’t push it. Holding up the package of wipes, she gave an enticing shake.

“Oh. Em, don’t worry about me, thanks.” He was still flushed, though the sweat had dried up, save for his hair. He looked well-rumpled and freshly-shagged; just delectable. “I’ll just grab a shower back on the TARDIS.”

With a nod, Martha returned both packages to the bag, deciding to commence with the rest of her tasks while she was at it.

As much as she’d have loved to crawl right beneath the covers and snuggle up to the Doctor’s naked body, it felt uncouth to try and prise any more intimacy out of him. He’d just bloody well made her dreams come true, hadn’t he? The least she could do was be nonchalant about it, pretending her heart and soul hadn’t cracked open a portal to Heaven, angel’s choirs ringing out from her chest (and other notable places).

She dressed at a normal pace, beginning with her uncomfortably damp knickers from before, then her jeans, then bra. Her top was last, which she tugged on after replacing the cap for the tea — an item that’d been hiding underneath all of the discarded clothing. 

Her bun was a disaster, so she took it down and tried to fix it as best she could, realizing during her third loop around the ponytail that the Doctor still hadn’t moved. Since he didn’t seem to be in much of a rush to leave, she figured she’d hold off on her boots and socks, instead letting herself drop back down at his side. 

“Are you quite finished?”

The mumbling inquiry had Martha turning her head to see that the Doctor was looking right at her, his pupils shrunken back to their regular size. It made her heart swell, seeing those soft brown irises again, remembering how very different they’d looked only ten minutes prior.

She flashed a bemused smile. “What?”

“I said, ‘are you quite finished’?”

She looked over at her boots, then rolled her head back toward him. “For now, yeah. 'Til you're ready."

“Good,” said the Doctor. Reaching across his chest, he grabbed the hand she’d been resting on her belly, dragging her directly into a cuddle.

Though Martha yelped at first, her heart felt almost unbearably full as she settled in against him, her head on one of his hearts. He was still beneath the blanket, which she figured was by design until he tugged it out from beneath her, haphazardly throwing it over her lower body before draping his arm around her. 

At some point, the endorphins and the oxytocin were just too much to bear with all of those positive ions flying about, and she drifted off. She woke up at one point to find the Doctor sleeping peacefully beneath her, chest rising and falling slowly and evenly, overwhelming her with affection. He must’ve really needed a shag. 

Not wanting to break the moment, she carefully placed her head back on his chest, shutting her eyes.

The next time she woke, it was to the sound of a zipper. 

It took Martha a second to realize (with a hint of disappointment) that she was no longer resting on the Doctor’s chest, but on his balled-up coat. She eyed the old, brown lump with disapproval.

“Why, Martha — lovely of you to join us,” came a stunningly chipper voice from over her shoulder, and she looked back, wincing at the slight kink in her neck.

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged in the grass, his suit neatly in place. His hair had been swept up into its usual style, his specs balanced on his nose; and for some reason, he was holding a copy of The Silmarillion, his fingers pinched around the tassel of a bookmark wedged about two-thirds in.

“Wasn’t sure how long you’d be out, so I thought I’d do a bit of light reading.” He held the book up, waving it in a small circle.

“Sorry… Light reading?” Martha looked at the book as though it were a moldy plate of biscuits. “How long were you expecting me to be asleep – two weeks?”

He cracked a smile at that, leaning over to slip the book inside of the backpack. “I could read it for you sometime,” he said as he tucked it inside of some pocket in the wide, abstract space, then drew the zipper back along its teeth, “if you like.”

The thought made her chest feel warm and light, imagining his voice curling around Elvish words and mythological marvels while she stretched out beside him on the sofa. It was a dangerously pleasant thought, and she had to turn to grab her boots to hide the delight that might’ve radiated off of her.

“Erm, that’d be nice.” She tugged the socks out from the heels, slipping them on one at a time. “Can’t make any promises, but maybe if you’re the one reading it, I’ll be less likely to want to chuck it into the Vortex after three paragraphs.”

“Oi, it’s not impossible. Bit of perspective — you are a medical student.” He slid her jacket onto the blanket beside her. “I’ll help. And, Martha Jones, provided you can spare the effort, I might even take you there one day.”

There was a half-second where she froze as she zipped up her left boot, realizing the implications of his words. 

He wanted to do more things with her. 

Wanted to take her to more places. 

They hadn’t ruined everything. 

By the sound of it, hadn’t ruined anything.

Then another implication crept in.

“Hold on. Did you just —" She looked back, brows knit tightly in the center. “Sorry, take me where? To… Middle-earth?”

“Sure.” The Doctor blinked. “Why not?”

“Middle-earth is real?" 

“Arda is a real planet. Middle-earth is simply a continent within it. What, you think old Johnny just dreamt all that up?” He stood up, finally, dusting himself off before grabbing the smaller blanket. “No one’s that brilliant, and that’s coming from me.”

They spent the next few minutes working together to fold up the blankets, once more exchanging blows with the wind — though it was all a great deal more lighthearted than the first time. 

Martha listened in awe as the Doctor told her of the mountainous moors above the forest of Dorthonion, imagining they might one day explore those forests together. Not a word about the Time War, either — though more than a word or two about the Wars of Beleriand.

Their conversations never ceased as they made their way back through hills and mist, arriving at the TARDIS in nearly half the time they’d taken to get down. 

They only grew quiet once he paused to fish his key out, unlocking the door and letting Martha in ahead of him. 

It was the first time her anxiety caught up with her.

Now, she'd be finding out if all of the light, easy air between them had been the product of positive ions and distraction; if this was where the other shoe was due to drop, and clamorously.

Martha walked up the ramp unhurriedly, fingers trailing along the metal as they usually never did anymore. The Doctor wasn’t far behind her, arriving at the controls and beginning the dematerialization process, still without a word uttered inside the ship.

It was only once the Time Rotor began to groan and wheeze to life that he caught her eyes across the console, and she felt her heart stop.

“I’ll likely be working on repairs for the next few hours,” he said. “Can’t put off that re-magnetization processor much longer, especially if we’re going to be headed as far as Arda.”

Martha smiled, giving in to the nervous urge to push a few loose strands behind her ear. "‘Course. Erm, any ideas what you’d like later? To eat?”

The Doctor tipped his head back as he considered this, eyes seeming to roam over the glowing roundels above. “Hmm.” A long, deep breath through his nose. “Let me think about it. Or,” he looked at her again, smiling in a way that made her insides feel like syrup, “surprise me.”

“Good day for surprises,” she said without thinking about it, then felt the immediate, cast-iron weight of an urge to press her face down on the controls. An especially knobby, stabby, awful bit, just for good measure.

The Doctor, thank god, took it in stride. 

“Quite right, too.”

Remembering to breathe, Martha gave a final nod and turned around, preparing to flee back to the corridors. Her face felt as though it might start dripping off like candle wax. How was it that she was the one acting weird?

“Martha.”

Her heel hit the grating with a thud, and she spun around to find the Doctor rounding the controls. He stopped just a few feet away, his hand resting against the edge, eyes warmer than she’d ever seen them.

“Thank you,” he said, eyeing her fondly.

The joy that surged through her came bloody near to eradicating her propriety. She wanted desperately to throw her arms around him, but she held back, not wanting to spook him.

“Don’t mention it," she said instead.

For a moment, they beamed at each other, though the Doctor was the first to turn away that time. Martha watched as he quickly dropped to the grating, tugged up a section, and hopped into the hole beneath in a series of unnaturally fluid, simple motions.

“Something with pineapple,” he called up from below.

“What?”

“For dinner,” he answered. “No pineapples in Middle-earth.”