Sidebar: I'll Meet You On the Other Side: The Still of the Night
Title: I’ll Meet You on the Other Side (10.5)
Characters: alt!Doctor, alt!Martha
Word Count:
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: S4 through Journey’s End
A/N: A special interlude (set in the middle of Chapter 10) for voicegrl ’s birthday! Unbeta’d-all mistakes are mine, but thank you persiflage_1 for the beta-on-the-fly!
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Whoniverse.
Index Post
The Still of the Night
This was definitely new. Not the sex-he and Rose had certainly explored that area of human relations in their brief time together-but the feeling of being seen as you are, not as you were. As Martha slept in his arms, John thought about their earlier conversation about the Doctor; she had listened, but hadn’t been affected, not as he’d feared she would, by his existence. Once he’d started telling her the story, she hadn’t looked at his face on the screen-not once-and he realized that she’d closed the laptop, like closing the book on that chapter of his life, without hesitation.
He was going to have to tell her all, though, and he felt a bit guilty, as though he’d seduced her under false pretenses. He believes she wouldn’t have slept with him so readily, if ever, had she known about the Doctor and that other Martha. But she chose me, not him, he insists to himself, because she wants to see me, to know me.
John stroked her hair, and she nestled closer to him in the duvet that enfolded them. His hands moved lower on her body, to the soft skin of her shoulder, then down her back. When his hand curved at her side to cup her breast, she let out a slow moan and began to stir against him. They’d wrapped themselves so tightly in the bedding there was scarcely room to move. They concentrated on the parts of bodies they could reach; he caressed her breast and tugged at the nipple, eliciting her hot breath against his neck as she gasped from the pleasure and pain. She stroked his side, alternating between the gentle touch of her skin and the insistent pressure of her nails; the combination of these sensations produced the effect she’d desired, her forearm registering the increasing tension in his groin as she brushed against his cock on her trips up and down his torso.
He rolled them, bedding and all, so that she now lay beneath him. He managed to rest on his forearms, finding enough give in their wrapping to allow him to look into her eyes, now sleepily gazing up at him. Her lips parted in a slight half-smile, and he leaned down to kiss her. Her arms wrapped gently around his middle and pulled him closer as they began a slower, more thorough examination of each other.
Eventually, they loosed the bedding; John was finding it difficult to breathe, even as Martha tried to balance her desire for him with her need to keep him safe. The rush of cooler air into the cocoon they’d made of the bedding heightened their arousal, and John buried his now-cool fingers in the slick heat of her, delighting in the way her back arched at his touch, her breasts rising to meet his mouth and tongue. He sucked and nibbled at the previously neglected of the pair, eliciting a deep groan from Martha’s throat. “I can do better,” he whispered, and he intensified the pressure at her breast while his thumb began to make ever-tighter circles around her clit. Martha writhed beneath him, her body hungry for more of this contact, this release, this connection. “Please,” she gasped, then moaned as he bit into the flesh at the nape of her neck and his thumb zeroed in on its target. “Please, John, I need-“ he covered her mouth with his, his tongue probing and teasing her. Her hands held his head to her, her fingers threading through his hair.
What do you need? She heard him teasing in her mind.
She broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. “I need you.”
Everything was still and silent. Her words hung in the air between them, warm in the chill of the room. He felt the flush of being needed, being wanted, just as he was. He buried his face in her neck, showering her skin with gentle, sweet kisses of thanksgiving, as his hands hurried to give her something like a release until he’d collected himself. As he felt her quickening around his fingers, he raised his head to watch her. Her lips were parted, her eyes clenched as it began coursing through her, and when he whispered “come to me Martha,” her eyes opened and locked with his as his fingers drew the orgasm from her. She cried out, she convulsed, then pulled his head down to kiss him deeply as her body relaxed.
Martha brought his hand to her mouth to kiss it, then impulse overtook her and she sucked first one, then the other finger into her mouth, tasting herself on his skin. Now it was his turn to groan as her mouth pulled a taut line from his finger to his cock.
“Martha,” he stuttered, “please-may I-“
“No need to ask,” she replied, a bit drunk from the orgasm and the power she felt over him in this moment. She did need him, needed this feeling of safe danger. Martha knew there were stories left to be told, sins to be confessed by each of them, but she knew that would come later, and she didn’t care what she found out. He’d already won her by letting her be. She stroked his cock with one hand while she located a condom on the bedside table with the other. She ripped open the package with her teeth, then handed it to him while she moved to rest her head on the soft pillows at the head of the bed. Her hands brushed cool metal; she hadn’t noticed the intricate antique iron headboard before (this will be fun, she thought, plotting further adventures involving silken bindings), but she forced herself to refocus on John, who was kneeling before her now, resting on his heels as his eyes took in the sight of her in the moonlight.
“Martha Jones,” he exhaled as he lowered himself over her, “I’ve needed you for so long.”
She coiled her legs and arms around him as he sunk into her, losing himself in this feeling of being and doing the utterly human. He gave her what he had to give, receiving what she offered in return.
∞
John woke as sunlight began to stream into the room. He rose and drew the curtain closed-he wanted Martha to rest and he needed to think. So much she didn’t know, and while he was thankful to feel her unconditional acceptance of him, he needed her to know the truth about him and the Doctor. But how to tell her?
The book, he thought. The book could say what he felt he couldn’t, could show her what his mind might try to erase. He reluctantly pulled himself from her side, and rising, located the dressing gown and wrapped it around him. He opened the safe in the office, chuckling silently at the impressive repair job Jack had done after breaking into it to retrieve the hat. The Doctor may not have entirely approved of the blaster, but John had to admire its usefulness.
The book was heavy in his hands. He hadn’t looked at it in quite some time, and he stopped himself from opening it now. He didn’t want to lose his nerve, not now that he’d decided to give her the whole story. Instead, he wrapped it, his gift to her, and wrote a note explaining its purpose.
It was now nearly 7 o’clock, which meant that Simon would be arriving soon. John prepared a breakfast tray for Martha, and set it and the wrapped book in the bedroom. He dressed, laid the gown at the foot of the bed, and sat near her for a moment. His hand brushed her hair from her face, then traced the line of her cheek, her lips, her chin, her neck. She smiled in her sleep, and he leaned down to kiss her. “I need you, Martha,” he whispered. He went out to greet Simon, hoping that she’d see past the book someday to find him again.
Characters: alt!Doctor, alt!Martha
Word Count:
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: S4 through Journey’s End
A/N: A special interlude (set in the middle of Chapter 10) for voicegrl ’s birthday! Unbeta’d-all mistakes are mine, but thank you persiflage_1 for the beta-on-the-fly!
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Whoniverse.
Index Post
The Still of the Night
This was definitely new. Not the sex-he and Rose had certainly explored that area of human relations in their brief time together-but the feeling of being seen as you are, not as you were. As Martha slept in his arms, John thought about their earlier conversation about the Doctor; she had listened, but hadn’t been affected, not as he’d feared she would, by his existence. Once he’d started telling her the story, she hadn’t looked at his face on the screen-not once-and he realized that she’d closed the laptop, like closing the book on that chapter of his life, without hesitation.
He was going to have to tell her all, though, and he felt a bit guilty, as though he’d seduced her under false pretenses. He believes she wouldn’t have slept with him so readily, if ever, had she known about the Doctor and that other Martha. But she chose me, not him, he insists to himself, because she wants to see me, to know me.
John stroked her hair, and she nestled closer to him in the duvet that enfolded them. His hands moved lower on her body, to the soft skin of her shoulder, then down her back. When his hand curved at her side to cup her breast, she let out a slow moan and began to stir against him. They’d wrapped themselves so tightly in the bedding there was scarcely room to move. They concentrated on the parts of bodies they could reach; he caressed her breast and tugged at the nipple, eliciting her hot breath against his neck as she gasped from the pleasure and pain. She stroked his side, alternating between the gentle touch of her skin and the insistent pressure of her nails; the combination of these sensations produced the effect she’d desired, her forearm registering the increasing tension in his groin as she brushed against his cock on her trips up and down his torso.
He rolled them, bedding and all, so that she now lay beneath him. He managed to rest on his forearms, finding enough give in their wrapping to allow him to look into her eyes, now sleepily gazing up at him. Her lips parted in a slight half-smile, and he leaned down to kiss her. Her arms wrapped gently around his middle and pulled him closer as they began a slower, more thorough examination of each other.
Eventually, they loosed the bedding; John was finding it difficult to breathe, even as Martha tried to balance her desire for him with her need to keep him safe. The rush of cooler air into the cocoon they’d made of the bedding heightened their arousal, and John buried his now-cool fingers in the slick heat of her, delighting in the way her back arched at his touch, her breasts rising to meet his mouth and tongue. He sucked and nibbled at the previously neglected of the pair, eliciting a deep groan from Martha’s throat. “I can do better,” he whispered, and he intensified the pressure at her breast while his thumb began to make ever-tighter circles around her clit. Martha writhed beneath him, her body hungry for more of this contact, this release, this connection. “Please,” she gasped, then moaned as he bit into the flesh at the nape of her neck and his thumb zeroed in on its target. “Please, John, I need-“ he covered her mouth with his, his tongue probing and teasing her. Her hands held his head to her, her fingers threading through his hair.
What do you need? She heard him teasing in her mind.
She broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. “I need you.”
Everything was still and silent. Her words hung in the air between them, warm in the chill of the room. He felt the flush of being needed, being wanted, just as he was. He buried his face in her neck, showering her skin with gentle, sweet kisses of thanksgiving, as his hands hurried to give her something like a release until he’d collected himself. As he felt her quickening around his fingers, he raised his head to watch her. Her lips were parted, her eyes clenched as it began coursing through her, and when he whispered “come to me Martha,” her eyes opened and locked with his as his fingers drew the orgasm from her. She cried out, she convulsed, then pulled his head down to kiss him deeply as her body relaxed.
Martha brought his hand to her mouth to kiss it, then impulse overtook her and she sucked first one, then the other finger into her mouth, tasting herself on his skin. Now it was his turn to groan as her mouth pulled a taut line from his finger to his cock.
“Martha,” he stuttered, “please-may I-“
“No need to ask,” she replied, a bit drunk from the orgasm and the power she felt over him in this moment. She did need him, needed this feeling of safe danger. Martha knew there were stories left to be told, sins to be confessed by each of them, but she knew that would come later, and she didn’t care what she found out. He’d already won her by letting her be. She stroked his cock with one hand while she located a condom on the bedside table with the other. She ripped open the package with her teeth, then handed it to him while she moved to rest her head on the soft pillows at the head of the bed. Her hands brushed cool metal; she hadn’t noticed the intricate antique iron headboard before (this will be fun, she thought, plotting further adventures involving silken bindings), but she forced herself to refocus on John, who was kneeling before her now, resting on his heels as his eyes took in the sight of her in the moonlight.
“Martha Jones,” he exhaled as he lowered himself over her, “I’ve needed you for so long.”
She coiled her legs and arms around him as he sunk into her, losing himself in this feeling of being and doing the utterly human. He gave her what he had to give, receiving what she offered in return.
∞
John woke as sunlight began to stream into the room. He rose and drew the curtain closed-he wanted Martha to rest and he needed to think. So much she didn’t know, and while he was thankful to feel her unconditional acceptance of him, he needed her to know the truth about him and the Doctor. But how to tell her?
The book, he thought. The book could say what he felt he couldn’t, could show her what his mind might try to erase. He reluctantly pulled himself from her side, and rising, located the dressing gown and wrapped it around him. He opened the safe in the office, chuckling silently at the impressive repair job Jack had done after breaking into it to retrieve the hat. The Doctor may not have entirely approved of the blaster, but John had to admire its usefulness.
The book was heavy in his hands. He hadn’t looked at it in quite some time, and he stopped himself from opening it now. He didn’t want to lose his nerve, not now that he’d decided to give her the whole story. Instead, he wrapped it, his gift to her, and wrote a note explaining its purpose.
It was now nearly 7 o’clock, which meant that Simon would be arriving soon. John prepared a breakfast tray for Martha, and set it and the wrapped book in the bedroom. He dressed, laid the gown at the foot of the bed, and sat near her for a moment. His hand brushed her hair from her face, then traced the line of her cheek, her lips, her chin, her neck. She smiled in her sleep, and he leaned down to kiss her. “I need you, Martha,” he whispered. He went out to greet Simon, hoping that she’d see past the book someday to find him again.