Doctor Who: Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke
Title: Vanilla and Aldesian Smoke
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Doctor/Donna
Summary: No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And definitely no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.
Category: Humour
Word Count: 1660
Prompt: #14 - patient [from the weekly Travellers' Tales challenge at doctor_donna ]
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC. The Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster is copyright Zaphod Beeblebrox Douglas Adams, as well as the entire line about the effect the drink has on the drinker.
Author's Note: Oh yeah, it's another story about accidentally-ingested alien aphrodisiacs. No actual smut though; sorry to disappoint. And a huge 'thank you' to caz963 for looking it over for me.
Warnings: Drunkenness and slightly lewd conduct. Maybe a very slight dub-con warning just to be on the safe side, but nothing actually happens. And I don't know that he's that bothered about it, to be honest...
He had warned her against the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He’d even been sure to mention the bit about drinking one being like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.
They were nasty things, Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. The nastiest in the universe, to be precise. Or the best. Depended who you asked, really.
But Donna Noble... Well, she hadn’t asked, no-but he’d warned her anyway. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.
He was surprised she was still conscious, to be honest. But that was Donna all over-full of surprises.
It shouldn’t have made her act like this, though, he thought, as he twisted his head and her sloppy kiss landed somewhere along his jaw.
As she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, he managed to free one of his hands and slip it into his pocket, fishing out his sonic screwdriver. Flicking it on, he gave her a quick bio-scan.
Ah. He’d thought something like this might have been the case. There were traces of a very powerful Veluusian aphrodisiac in her system. Someone must have slipped it to her; probably in her drink. The one he’d warned her not to drink.
He was willing to bet it had been that slimy Ratagarian who’d had his eye on Donna (and who had been slimy literally, of course, because all Ratagarians were physically-but also had been slimy metaphorically, in this particular situation, for having tried to take advantage of Donna).
She’d accepted his offer to buy her a drink, after he’d approached her with some line about how he knew she must be a goddess, because he’d always heard that the goddesses of Rynnerykker 4 were lovely, graceful, benevolent beings with hair that shone like the fires of the Yuiltan sun (which, as the Doctor knew, was a load of utter rubbish-Rynnerykker 4 was a completely patriarchal society whose religion didn’t even include goddesses-but he’d kept his mouth shut). No? Well she certainly was beautiful enough to pass for a goddess, and don’t worry, he wouldn’t tell anyone she wasn’t.
She hadn’t looked overly impressed with his opening line-she was too smart to fall for that, his Donna-but she’d said that yeah, he could buy her a drink, why not.
He should have stopped her drinking it. He should have put his foot down, no matter what she’d said about being a grown woman who could make her own decisions, and she wasn’t some lightweight, anyway, thank you very much, she could handle one little drink.
So she’d drunk it, of course.
Ten minutes later she’d been running her hand up the Ratagarian’s thigh and flicking her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward so her breasts brushed against the top of his arm and gave the Doctor a really very nice view of-
Aaand that was about the point the he’d thought it was time to go.
She’d moaned and carried on about the Doctor scaring off that good-looking green bloke, and insisted that no, she didn’t want to head back to the TARDIS, what she wanted was a man, and oh, what about that one there, and why did he always need to poke his nose in, anyway, while she was trying to get off with someone-until she’d apparently realised that the Doctor was, in fact, also a man.
She’d probably come to this conclusion about the same time that the Doctor was pulling the door of the TARDIS to behind them, because she’d wasted no time in pinning him up against the wooden surface with her warm body and attempting to grope every last bit of him she could reach.
Slipping the sonic back into his pocket, he grasped her clumsy hands and pulled them away from the front of his shirt. She’d only managed to undo three of the buttons, being so inebriated as she was.
“Come on, Donna, let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
“Finally,” she groaned as he wrapped an arm around her waist to urge her across the console room. “It’s about bloody time.”
He half-led, half-dragged her through the corridors to her bedroom. The trip took three times as long as it normally would have done, because she kept stopping to try and get him to kiss her, or to try and slip a hand down the front of his trousers.
When he got her to the bed she clambered onto it enthusiastically, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at him through lids hooded by desire. “Coming to bed, Spaceman?” Her voice was low and husky.
He swallowed, desperately trying to work out the best way to deal with this situation.
It was clear that she wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. Even as he was standing there thinking, she was pushing herself up with the obvious intention of coming to him.
He thought furiously. There were sedatives in the medbay. That’d do the trick. He wouldn’t bother giving her anything to counteract the aphrodisiac compound; it would wear off within a couple of hours. He’d just give her a sedative and she could sleep off the alcohol.
He began to back toward the door, and when she moaned her protest, he told her, “You just stay put; I’m gonna go grab something and then I’ll be right back, all right, Donna?”
“Mm, all right, but hurry back,” she conceded breathily, settling back and stretching herself out across the bed.
“I will,” he assured her-completely untruthfully.
He took his time in retrieving the sedative, hoping that she’d pass out on her own while he was gone. But it was not to be; when he returned he found that she had not passed out, but had managed to remove her shirt and one of the legs of her trousers-how she’d managed that without removing the other was beyond him.
“Oh, no, no, no! Donna!” He raced over and, setting the sedative on the bedside table, he stopped her unclasping her bra just in time.
Ooh, she’d kill him in the morning if she woke up naked.
“Oh, you wanted to under-undress me?” she asked playfully. “Sorry. I just thought it would save time.”
Her trousers were in a curious and uncomfortable-looking jumble, and were not doing much of anything at the moment to serve their function and preserve their wearer’s modesty, so he slid them off the rest of the way and set them on a nearby chair.
He held out the small plastic cup of the liquid sedative he’d brought from the medbay. He figured it would be easier to get her to drink something than to give her a pill, or to convince her to let him give her an injection. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”
She snorted softly, tossing her head and running a hand down her neck, across the top of her chest. “Feel pretty good already, thanks.”
“Donna,” he said sternly, “it’s medicine, and I need you to drink it.”
Her lips curled in a sly smile. “Mhmm, I get you. ‘Medicine’.” She took the little cup and knocked it back with a wink at him. Swallowing, she banged the cup down on the bedside table. “What, you gonna be my doctor, Doctor?” She leaned forward on her hands, grasping his tie before he could stop her. “Am I your patient? Are you gonna fix me up, cure what ails me?” Her breath was hot against his face and he realised she was going to try to kiss him again. He twisted sharply and instead of his mouth, her lips found his neck.
“Donna!” he yelped as she ran her tongue across his jugular. Her hair smelled of vanilla and Aldesian smoke.
Bracing one hand on her bare shoulder, he tried with the other to disentangle his tie from her surprisingly powerful grip.
The sedative he’d given her was the fastest-acting one that he had, but as her fingers brushed dangerously close to his groin, he couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t fast enough. Her body was pressed against his and she was warm and soft and he could smell her arousal and her want and her need, her lips and tongue hot against his neck and her breasts pushed against his chest; and then she was whispering in his ear and her fingers were brushing against the back of his neck and-
Finally, finally, the sedative kicked in and she slumped forward, her body going limp against him. He uttered some choice swear words in Gallifreyan and laid her carefully back on the bed.
Loosening his tie, he scrubbed a hand across his face and back through his already-dishevelled hair.
Thank Rassilon.
He debated whether to tuck her under the covers in the semi-nude state she was currently in, or to try and re-dress her. He decided he was going to get a slap in the morning no matter what he did, so he looked through her chest of drawers and found a pair of her pyjamas.
After he’d got her into them, he shifted her body so that her head was on the pillow and pulled the covers over her.
Brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes, he sat on the edge of the bed for a minute with his hand resting over hers, watching her face as she slept and wondering how much truth there’d been behind her whispered admission that she’d dreamt about doing this with him.
“Oh, Donna... What am I going to do with you, hmm?”
He stood up with a final pat to her hand and moved across to the door, where he paused to look back at her sleeping form.
No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And definitely no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.
He turned out the light and pulled the door to behind him.
Best not to tell her that he-
Well, never mind.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Doctor/Donna
Summary: No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And definitely no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.
Category: Humour
Word Count: 1660
Prompt: #14 - patient [from the weekly Travellers' Tales challenge at doctor_donna ]
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC. The Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster is copyright Zaphod Beeblebrox Douglas Adams, as well as the entire line about the effect the drink has on the drinker.
Author's Note: Oh yeah, it's another story about accidentally-ingested alien aphrodisiacs. No actual smut though; sorry to disappoint. And a huge 'thank you' to caz963 for looking it over for me.
Warnings: Drunkenness and slightly lewd conduct. Maybe a very slight dub-con warning just to be on the safe side, but nothing actually happens. And I don't know that he's that bothered about it, to be honest...
He had warned her against the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He’d even been sure to mention the bit about drinking one being like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.
They were nasty things, Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. The nastiest in the universe, to be precise. Or the best. Depended who you asked, really.
But Donna Noble... Well, she hadn’t asked, no-but he’d warned her anyway. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.
He was surprised she was still conscious, to be honest. But that was Donna all over-full of surprises.
It shouldn’t have made her act like this, though, he thought, as he twisted his head and her sloppy kiss landed somewhere along his jaw.
As she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, he managed to free one of his hands and slip it into his pocket, fishing out his sonic screwdriver. Flicking it on, he gave her a quick bio-scan.
Ah. He’d thought something like this might have been the case. There were traces of a very powerful Veluusian aphrodisiac in her system. Someone must have slipped it to her; probably in her drink. The one he’d warned her not to drink.
He was willing to bet it had been that slimy Ratagarian who’d had his eye on Donna (and who had been slimy literally, of course, because all Ratagarians were physically-but also had been slimy metaphorically, in this particular situation, for having tried to take advantage of Donna).
She’d accepted his offer to buy her a drink, after he’d approached her with some line about how he knew she must be a goddess, because he’d always heard that the goddesses of Rynnerykker 4 were lovely, graceful, benevolent beings with hair that shone like the fires of the Yuiltan sun (which, as the Doctor knew, was a load of utter rubbish-Rynnerykker 4 was a completely patriarchal society whose religion didn’t even include goddesses-but he’d kept his mouth shut). No? Well she certainly was beautiful enough to pass for a goddess, and don’t worry, he wouldn’t tell anyone she wasn’t.
She hadn’t looked overly impressed with his opening line-she was too smart to fall for that, his Donna-but she’d said that yeah, he could buy her a drink, why not.
He should have stopped her drinking it. He should have put his foot down, no matter what she’d said about being a grown woman who could make her own decisions, and she wasn’t some lightweight, anyway, thank you very much, she could handle one little drink.
So she’d drunk it, of course.
Ten minutes later she’d been running her hand up the Ratagarian’s thigh and flicking her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward so her breasts brushed against the top of his arm and gave the Doctor a really very nice view of-
Aaand that was about the point the he’d thought it was time to go.
She’d moaned and carried on about the Doctor scaring off that good-looking green bloke, and insisted that no, she didn’t want to head back to the TARDIS, what she wanted was a man, and oh, what about that one there, and why did he always need to poke his nose in, anyway, while she was trying to get off with someone-until she’d apparently realised that the Doctor was, in fact, also a man.
She’d probably come to this conclusion about the same time that the Doctor was pulling the door of the TARDIS to behind them, because she’d wasted no time in pinning him up against the wooden surface with her warm body and attempting to grope every last bit of him she could reach.
Slipping the sonic back into his pocket, he grasped her clumsy hands and pulled them away from the front of his shirt. She’d only managed to undo three of the buttons, being so inebriated as she was.
“Come on, Donna, let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
“Finally,” she groaned as he wrapped an arm around her waist to urge her across the console room. “It’s about bloody time.”
He half-led, half-dragged her through the corridors to her bedroom. The trip took three times as long as it normally would have done, because she kept stopping to try and get him to kiss her, or to try and slip a hand down the front of his trousers.
When he got her to the bed she clambered onto it enthusiastically, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at him through lids hooded by desire. “Coming to bed, Spaceman?” Her voice was low and husky.
He swallowed, desperately trying to work out the best way to deal with this situation.
It was clear that she wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. Even as he was standing there thinking, she was pushing herself up with the obvious intention of coming to him.
He thought furiously. There were sedatives in the medbay. That’d do the trick. He wouldn’t bother giving her anything to counteract the aphrodisiac compound; it would wear off within a couple of hours. He’d just give her a sedative and she could sleep off the alcohol.
He began to back toward the door, and when she moaned her protest, he told her, “You just stay put; I’m gonna go grab something and then I’ll be right back, all right, Donna?”
“Mm, all right, but hurry back,” she conceded breathily, settling back and stretching herself out across the bed.
“I will,” he assured her-completely untruthfully.
He took his time in retrieving the sedative, hoping that she’d pass out on her own while he was gone. But it was not to be; when he returned he found that she had not passed out, but had managed to remove her shirt and one of the legs of her trousers-how she’d managed that without removing the other was beyond him.
“Oh, no, no, no! Donna!” He raced over and, setting the sedative on the bedside table, he stopped her unclasping her bra just in time.
Ooh, she’d kill him in the morning if she woke up naked.
“Oh, you wanted to under-undress me?” she asked playfully. “Sorry. I just thought it would save time.”
Her trousers were in a curious and uncomfortable-looking jumble, and were not doing much of anything at the moment to serve their function and preserve their wearer’s modesty, so he slid them off the rest of the way and set them on a nearby chair.
He held out the small plastic cup of the liquid sedative he’d brought from the medbay. He figured it would be easier to get her to drink something than to give her a pill, or to convince her to let him give her an injection. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”
She snorted softly, tossing her head and running a hand down her neck, across the top of her chest. “Feel pretty good already, thanks.”
“Donna,” he said sternly, “it’s medicine, and I need you to drink it.”
Her lips curled in a sly smile. “Mhmm, I get you. ‘Medicine’.” She took the little cup and knocked it back with a wink at him. Swallowing, she banged the cup down on the bedside table. “What, you gonna be my doctor, Doctor?” She leaned forward on her hands, grasping his tie before he could stop her. “Am I your patient? Are you gonna fix me up, cure what ails me?” Her breath was hot against his face and he realised she was going to try to kiss him again. He twisted sharply and instead of his mouth, her lips found his neck.
“Donna!” he yelped as she ran her tongue across his jugular. Her hair smelled of vanilla and Aldesian smoke.
Bracing one hand on her bare shoulder, he tried with the other to disentangle his tie from her surprisingly powerful grip.
The sedative he’d given her was the fastest-acting one that he had, but as her fingers brushed dangerously close to his groin, he couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t fast enough. Her body was pressed against his and she was warm and soft and he could smell her arousal and her want and her need, her lips and tongue hot against his neck and her breasts pushed against his chest; and then she was whispering in his ear and her fingers were brushing against the back of his neck and-
Finally, finally, the sedative kicked in and she slumped forward, her body going limp against him. He uttered some choice swear words in Gallifreyan and laid her carefully back on the bed.
Loosening his tie, he scrubbed a hand across his face and back through his already-dishevelled hair.
Thank Rassilon.
He debated whether to tuck her under the covers in the semi-nude state she was currently in, or to try and re-dress her. He decided he was going to get a slap in the morning no matter what he did, so he looked through her chest of drawers and found a pair of her pyjamas.
After he’d got her into them, he shifted her body so that her head was on the pillow and pulled the covers over her.
Brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes, he sat on the edge of the bed for a minute with his hand resting over hers, watching her face as she slept and wondering how much truth there’d been behind her whispered admission that she’d dreamt about doing this with him.
“Oh, Donna... What am I going to do with you, hmm?”
He stood up with a final pat to her hand and moved across to the door, where he paused to look back at her sleeping form.
No more Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And definitely no more Veluusian aphrodisiacs.
He turned out the light and pulled the door to behind him.
Best not to tell her that he-
Well, never mind.