#annasassi

“See that planet there? The white one?” The Doctor points out the enormous observatory skylight in the TARDIS library.

“Yeah.” Donna follows his finger across the multitude of stars to a planet that shone like a pearl.

“That’s Amara, the primary of a binary planetary system that revolves around a white star. Its sister planet is called Karrissa, and both are named for goddesses of the local faith.” He moves his finger to the right and down, and in the distance there is a planet as red as Mars.

“Flora? Fauna? If there’s a local faith there’s at least one sentient species,” Donna says, and the Doctor laughs.

“Are you trying to impress me, Donna Noble?” he asks, grinning knowingly.

“Not hardly,” Donna says, giving him a look from under her lashes. “I just think it’s appropriate to ask what I’m getting myself into.”

“I see.” The Doctor points to Amara again. “Well, that one’s ruled by a queen named Heli, and it’s her birthday week. And she’s basically a female Charles II.”

“And we’re going,” Donna says, catching his drift. “Let’s go, Spaceman.”

They circle around the TARDIS console, working in tandem, the Doctor expounding on the wonders of Amara, a planet where it rained only at night and only once a week. “You never saw such flowers,” he says.

They land with a thump and the Doctor goes to the door. “Lead the way,” he says to Donna, who opens the door onto a vast courtyard made of sandstone. There are high, high walls on every side and the sky arches over, bluer than blue above their heads. The air is alive with the sound of birds and bugs, and the floor below them is laid in intricate, geometric patterns.

There is the sound of footsteps and two enormous men dressed in light metal armor come striding up. They are seven feet tall at least, but their faces are beaming happily.

“Doctor!” one of them greets, and, upon seeing Donna, executes a quick obeisance of respect. The Doctor grins a little at that and Donna is puzzled. “Welcome again to Amara!”

“Her High Majesty will be most pleased to welcome you back,” says the other guard. He also makes a gesture of respect to Donna, who nods hesitantly back to both the guards. “Follow us.”

The two men lead the Doctor and Donna down the length of the courtyard to the splendid bronze gates, at whose base grows a mosaic of colorful flowers, set with precious stones and bright bricks, a path to the palace. “So that all who enter Amara may walk among flowers,” the Doctor recites to Donna. She smiles and they enter into an arched atrium with a glass dome ceiling and a bustle of similarly tall men and women. The men are dressed in elegant tunics and trousers, and the women are uniformly bare-breasted, in flowing skirts of myriad bright colors and patterns.

At the end of the atrium is a short hallway that leads upwards and they emerge onto a massive throne room, with the queen lounging on an enormous throne at the far end. The guards lead the Doctor and Donna up the plush patterned carpet to the Libertine Queen, Heli of Amara.

Heli is queenly and majestic, at least a thousand pounds and easily seven and a half feet tall. Beside her lounges a naked male concubine, drinking from a huge golden goblet. Donna does her best to not look at his really large penis.

The Doctor is unfazed.

“Doctor!” Heli says delightedly. “I welcome you back to the Women’s House of Amara. I see you have remembered my birth week, as usual.”

The Doctor grins. “I have.”

“And what have you brought me this year?” Heli asks.

The Doctor rummages in his inside coat pocket, exploring the depths inside, and draws out a big blue stone. “A sapphire from the cliffs of Juno’s Tears in the Medusa Cascade. Most rare, Your Grace.”

“Ah!” Heli smiles and a servant girl accepts the stone. “And have you brought me a religious lesson too?” she inquires, looking at Donna. She makes a small gesture of respect and Donna is even more puzzled.

“Not a religious,” the Doctor answers. “Nor a lesson. She is Donna Noble and she flies the TARDIS with me."

"Happy birth… week, Your Majesty,” Donna says. “My congratulations.”

“You must be quite clever to fly a machine like the TARDIS,” Heli says. “Are you a nun?”

Donna looks even more confused. “No, Your Majesty.” She looks to the Doctor. “Does everyone think I’m a nun?”

“Only nuns cover their breasts on Amara,” comes a voice from behind the throne.

Heli smiles. “Allow me to present to you my daughters.”

Three girls, all of a height (of at least six and a half feet), all of different coloring, emerge from behind and beside the huge golden bed-throne. “My eldest daughter, Melya,” Heli says. The middle girl, with golden skin and a green-and-red skirt, absolutely loaded with gold bangles and anklets, makes a bow. Her hair is a profusion of blonde spirals and her eyes are pale green. “Melya is the foremost exponent of theatre, dance and music on Amara and the daughter of the King of Karissa. She will marry his eldest son in the harvest season.”

Next Heli introduces her middle daughter, a dark-skinned girl with rings through her ears and a diamond in her nose, dressed in all white. “Bettnett, the daughter of the High Priest of Amara, my successor in the temple.” Bettnett has sacred symbols tattooed on her skin and very short hair. “She will take my place as the goddess idol in the yearly harvest celebrations and perform her sister’s marriage.”

The last daughter is the tallest, a bright girl with long brown hair and grey eyes. Her skin is the color of sand, and she is wearing a gold torque shaped like a hammer between her breasts. Her skirt is slit to the hip and made of rich purple fabric. “My youngest daughter Ari, daughter of the half-man king of Mori. She is the foremost legal mind on Amara. She sits for me at the high council and she will inherit my throne.”

The Doctor and Donna bow to the girls in return and Ari says, “So glad you aren’t a nun, nuns are such dull company.” She surveys Donna. “All the same, you’re hardly dressed for a party and it’s the first night of Mother’s birth week celebrations, so you’d better come with us.”

Donna looks to the Doctor. He shrugs and smiles. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Come,” says Melya. “We have dresses.”

So Donna lets herself be borne away by the three princesses, all talking between themselves. They are joined by a retinue of female servants as they go, and they usher Donna into a huge set of apartments. The servant girls stand against the wall, ready for orders.

“She’s shorter than us, and smaller,” Bettnett is saying. “We’ll have to go find some of our adolescent gowns.”

“You cover your body so modestly!” Melya says, inspecting Donna critically. “Surely you don’t want anything on you in this heat?”

Donna looks from face to face. “Er… I won’t go naked.”

“No, no,” Ari says, gesturing to the servant girls. “We have dresses.”

And that is absolutely true. A few minutes later three girls return with their arms laden with a riot of colorful fabrics. Donna steps back in awe as they display skirt after skirt, until Ari says, “That one.”

She plucks a scarlet skirt from the mix, the waist embroidered with gold threads in a kind of starburst pattern. They divest Donna of her clothing until she protests at her near-nakedness.

“I have to wear a top,” she says, crossing her arms over her breasts. “There’ll be hundreds of people there.”

“All the more reason to show them off!” Melya insists, pulling her arms away gently. “They’re so round!”

Donna doesn’t answer. The three sisters exchange looks and Ari goes back into the closet. “Here,” she says a moment later, withdrawing the sheerest, most insubstantial piece of material Donna has ever seen, woven in white.

“This is useless!” she protests. “The whole point—“

“The whole point, Donna, is that no one dresses like that here,” Melya says impatiently. “And we’re princesses. We definitely don’t dress like nuns. It’s our job to be alluring. We have to be ahead of the fashions, we set them. So it’s this or nothing.”

Donna looks down at the wisp of cloth. She sighs. “Never mind.” She hands it back to Ari.

Melya plants her hands on her hips. “Donna, I don’t know or care who taught you to be so embarrassed of being female but I am issuing you a royal directive this instant: stop it. You’re being very tedious and I dislike that in a woman.” Melya adjusts her own necklace to better display her breasts between the gold strands. Donna nods and looks away, and Melya smiles to show she isn’t angry. “Come, you’re on Amara now. We are women, we are beautiful, and we are celebrating.”

“Now,” Bettnett says as the servant girls go to work. “How do you know someone as revered as the Doctor?”

Donna has long since given up her reticence, and she tells the princesses the story of her Christmas miracle.

“He took you away from your wedding?” Ari asks, bright with interest. “How romantic!”

“It wasn’t. It was terrifying,” Donna starts, but they aren’t listening.

“But he meant you no harm, he was rescuing you!” Melya says. “And all in your bridal gown, how very romantic!” The three princesses swoon in imaginary emotions. “Did he kiss you?”

“No,” Donna says, shaking her head. “I was too hurt and scared for that.”

“But he kissed you later,” Ari says. “I can tell you’re having sex with him.”

Donna blushes scarlet and says nothing.

“Ooh!” Betnett grins and goes back to adjusting the sash at Donna’s waist. “The lady is reticent!”

“Come on,” Melya presses. “You’re the wife of a very important man—“

“I’m not his wife,” Donna interjects.

“All right,” Melya says skeptically. “In any case, you’re with a very important man, and you surely aren’t ashamed of it, are you?” Off Donna’s look, she continues, “It’s natural, it’s sex! That’s what we exist to do, when you get right down to it.”

“Our mother says the Doctor’s a madman,” Ari says.

Donna laughs a little. “He’s a little mad, maybe.”

“How does he fuck?” Melya asks. “Is he good?”

“I don’t—“ Donna starts, and the princesses all object at once.

“Your shame is irrelevant here. Our mother could order you and the Doctor to make love before all the court and you would have to obey,” Melya says dismissively. “We’re clothing you, we’re hosting you, we deserve to know!”

Donna is quiet for a long moment and the three sisters start to look impatient. “All right, all right,” Donna says finally. “I s’pose if you’ve got me with my tits out you won’t stop until you can watch us yourselves.”

They look expectant. Donna takes a deep breath. “He’s got experience, I’m sure,” Ari says.

“And?” This is from Melya.

“He’s really good.”

“That’s it?” Ari starts to laugh. “Just really good? Do you come?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

“One word answers are boring,” Bettnet says. “Does he lick you out?”

“Yes. And I come. A lot.” Donna shifts. “Is there really no top to this dress?”

“No,” Betnett repeats.

“That dress is priceless,” Melya says. “You can’t find silk that color anywhere else but in this palace. So enjoy it. You look like a princess. Go look.“

The servant girls part and Donna is presented with an enormous mirror.

Donna looks at herself in the mirror and stops. The first thing she notices is that she’s topless and that hasn’t changed. “This is me?” she asks, trying to take in her entire reflection at once and failing. Slung low around her hips and swathed around her waist by a transparent silk wrap, a skirt of semi-sheer silk cascades to the floor, belted with rows of gold ornaments. It’s a royal red woven with expensive gold thread in designs around the hips. They have loaded her with gold jewelry, more than she would have liked, and the girls were indignant she’d refused the enormous gold collar necklace they’d wanted to put on her. What they’d substituted was equally as ostentatious, a row of huge pearls with cascades of smaller pearl strands that fall between her breasts. She’d allowed them six bangles on each wrist until they’d talked her into twelve. She has two anklets on each foot. Everything is purest gold. There are no flaws anywhere in the construction of her jewelry or her garment.

The servants had lined Donna’s eyes with something black and opaque and dusted her eyelids with coppery shadow, and whatever they’d used on her lashes made them long and lush and dark. Donna’s lips are plump and slick with gloss, brushed on with a silky brush by a servant girl who worked with an expert efficiency on all four women. Donna’s hair is curled and half-tied-up, falling down her back.

The princesses pronounce themselves satisfied and sweep Donna into the center of their entourage. They sweep her back to the throne room for inspection. Donna stands nervously, hyper-aware of her bare skin and attempting to ignore her self-consciousness. The Doctor is nowhere in sight, and in her absence long tables have been set up, cushions strewn everywhere, and food is piled high. Musicians are walking around.

"Certainly not a nun!” Heli says as the group approaches. “Well done, daughters!”

Donna makes another bow, unsure if she should curtsey. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Your Doctor is sitting by the dais,” Heli says. “You may go."

Donna turns to scan the room for the Doctor, who she finally spots standing by a low table on a raised platform to the right of the throne. He is looking at her and she waves tentatively. She starts towards him.

“I look like a parade float,” she says as she approaches, but he is staring at her openly.

“No, you don’t,” he says in awe. “I have… you look…” He’s openmouthed but trying to hide it.

“They wouldn’t give me a top,” Donna says.

“No,” he says, admiring her toplessness. “You look stunning. They did an excellent job.” He indicates the plush cushions at their feet. “Let’s sit. I’m sure there’s some kind of concert or something about to start.”

Servants bring them plates and cups of the proper size and leave two gallon-sized jugs of the Queen’s Nectar wine with them. It isn’t a concert but a comedy that starts next, a wild story of a soldier who got sold as a slave and fucked his way to freedom across a vast distance to come home and strike gold on his first day of work, and who died a rich old man with six wives who all wore gold necklaces and earrings. The wives are played by slave girls, mostly-naked and swathed in sheer silks.

Donna and the Doctor laugh uproariously along with the crowds, and start in on their wine. There are musicians next, and then jugglers and dancers and even magicians, while endless amounts of food and drink are served.

In the middle of Donna’s third plate of food, Bettnett approaches them and pulls Donna onto the floor, pressing her among the crowd of ladies lining up, and says, “Watch and learn and dance with us.” Then she’s gone, Donna looking after her in puzzlement. The Doctor only grins at her from his seat and shrugs.

A moment later the musicians strike up a beat that reminds Donna of calypso music, and to her delight Melya is playing a guitar-like instrument at the front of the group. The women on the dance floor start to move, and Bettnett gestures for Donna to follow. For a few moments Donna is lost, attempting to do what the other girls are doing, and then suddenly it clicks and she swings round into step with the circle of women. Donna Noble, faithful bedroom-mirror-and-iPod dancer, finds that her years of solitary practice are serving her well. Bettnett and Ari, side-by-side in the circle, give her approving nods. The wine helps, and Donna is smiling.

After two songs, though, she huffs to a stop and pulls away from the princesses for a glass of wine. The Doctor offers it to her with a million-watt smile and she collapses on the heaped cushions beside him. He offers her a bowl of berries. Donna shakes her head and scoots closer to him. “Don’t you dance?” she inquires.

“Not unless provoked,” he jokes, eating a berry. “You did a good job, though.”

Donna toasts him. “Cheers, Spaceman.” She looks around the enormous room. “What time does this get done, then?”

“Oh, the party doesn’t actually end,” the Doctor says. “We just leave and come back as we like. Heli herself leaves and comes back.”

Donna nods approvingly. “I like it.” She regards her friend. “So what d'you think, d'you like it?”

“You want to know my opinion?” the Doctor asks, leaning over to speak in her ear. “You’ve got the best tits in the house.”

Donna laughs. “That’s only because they’re your size and not enormous.”

The Doctor shrugs. “Or because yours look like they taste good.”

“Shut up,” Donna says, beaming. “Drink more wine, maybe they’ll turn into pork pies.”

“Oh, no, they’re fine as they are,” the Doctor says, refilling their glasses. “I much prefer tits.”

Donna leans back against her plush cushions and smiles at him, a million watts. She looks very content and very comfortable. “How exactly does one provoke a Time Lord to dance?” she asks.

“I’ll tell you one how,” he says. He signals a passing server who is holding a tray, and says, “Would you bring us Karissian shots?”

The server nods and returns with a tall, slender bottle filled to the brim with a pale green liquid. “It looks like absinthe,” Donna says.

“It’s better,” the Doctor tells her. “All right!” He sets up two glasses and says, “This is how you get a Time Lord to dance. Shot for shot.”

Donna sits up and takes a glass. “Say the word.”

They tap the glasses as the doctor counts, “Three, two, one, go.”

Donna throws back the shot and winces. “Oh, fuck, that's vile.”

The Doctor laughs. “Here, have some water. Water activates it.”

“Activates it?” Donna asks. She accepts the water and drinks it to rinse her mouth. Then euphoria spreads through her veins, and she feels warmth start at her head and ooze down to her toes. She makes a noise of delight and flops back on the cushions.

“Activates it,” the Doctor says, draining his own glass of water. Then he seems to light up.

“Again,” Donna says. The Doctor sets up two more shots.

“Three, two, one, go!” he says, and they chase their shots with water a second time.

“Ah, fuck, it’s so disgusting but it’s so good,” Donna says, her eyes screwed shut. She laughs and blows air out between her lips.

“Let’s dance,” the Doctor says, unfolding to his feet and pulling her up with him. Donna lets him lead her onto the floor and within moments they are knotted up like two teenagers.

“The nuns at my school would tell us to leave room for the Holy Ghost,” Donna jokes.

“Fuck that,” the Doctor answers, and yanks her closer. They last only a few minutes before hands start to wander, and the Doctor leans down to talk in her ear so she can hear him over the music. “Come with me.”

They make their way off the floor among a dense crowd of dancers who are all intoxicated and euphoric. Heli herself is watching her male concubine as he dances naked for her.

Outside the throne room there are more people in the halls and corridors, some of the dancing, some of them eating and drinking and talking and laughing, and others of them having sex in plain view.

The Doctor pulls Donna off the hallway into an alcove with a window seat and a tall stained-glass pane.

“I picked it because it’s the right height,” he says, grinning. “Sit.”

Donna perches herself on the sill and pulls her skirt up her thighs. The Doctor hooks his hands under her knees and pulls her hips close. He undoes his button and zip and they do it quick and hard and laughing right in the little alcove. The music from the party continues in the background but all the Doctor can hear is Donna’s sighs, her giggles, her little words. It doesn’t take but five minutes, and they both finish breathless and shuddery and smiling.

Donna feels loose like water, lit up and happy, her smile stretching from ear to ear. The Doctor, beaming just like her, says, “What d'you fancy? More party?”

Donna shakes her head. “I’m going to go outside and have a look.” She points out the window. “There are three moons. And at least a trillion stars.” And she takes off down the hallway and out into the courtyard. The Doctor follows, and Donna stands with her arms outspread, her head tilted to the sky.

“Glorious,” she says to the Doctor, who agrees wholeheartedly, but not about the stars. Donna stands very still for a long moment. Then she breathes deeply in and out, and says, “This is happiness, eh? A sky full of stars.”

Her eloquence makes him give her that soft, tender smile he does that makes her blush. “I think so,” he says.

Donna yawns suddenly, and says, “Oh, I must be coming down from that liquor.” She rolls her shoulders. “Have they got beds here or are we expected to sleep anywhere?”

“There are thousands of rooms.” The Doctor hails a servant girl and asks her name and if she will lead them to a room in which they can sleep. The girl, dressed in a bright yellow skirt to her knees, directs them to a giant door in a hallway across the courtyard.

The chamber is huge, painted with vivid patterns, with a giant circular impression in its center that turns out to be the bed, lined with plush cushions and strewn with silky coverlets. Two servants bring them a gallon-sized jug of the sweet fruit wine from the feast, and put a platter of savory foods and breads on a tray at the lip of the bed. They bow out of the room and the Doctor looks at Donna. They are both deliciously drunk, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m so tired,” Donna says, and drops into the bed, burrowing among the pillows and blankets. She emerges with her hair in disarray, her eyes low and hooded. “Come on, then,” she says. “It’s like laying on a cloud.”

He sits down on the edge and slides in, landing on top of the pillows. “Oh, it is good,” he says, stretching out. He rolls over onto his stomach and regards his companion. “You look so hot.”

Donna pulls him forward by his shirt and kisses him, something she does only in private. “Thank you,” she says.

“Anything for you,” the Doctor says, and he means it. “Wanna stay the week?”

“Yes,” Donna says, her face muffled by pillows. “But I’m going to sleep now.”

“You do that.” The Doctor stretches out beside her. “I may join you if the fancy takes me. Sweet dreams.”