Bizarre Love Triangle, Part 1/3
Title: Bizarre Love Triangle
Author: radiantbaby
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha, Dr. John/Martha, Ten/Martha/Dr. John [Note: Dr. John was a David Tennant character in the “Reproduction” episode of “Love in the 21st Century”]
Word Count: 22,860 total, 6887 in Part One [in Word]
Genre: Angst, AU, Romance/Fluff, Polyamory, Porn, and a teeny bit of Slash
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Post-S3 Doctor Who, Post-S2 Torchwood
Summary: The Doctor takes Martha and John on a trip to an alien festival to work on making amends, but they end up getting more than they bargained for. Everyone is a bit more vulnerable than they’d like, but is it what they need to finally work things out between them? Crossover of Doctor Who and “Love in the 21st Century”
Beta: persiflage_1
Disclaimer: All your Doctor Who are belong to us Sadly, I own nothing related to
Doctor Who et al, nor do I own anything related to “Love in the 21st Century” - I am just playing around in their sandbox for a bit of fun.
This story is in three parts and will be posted over the next few days.
Previous stories in this series: Three Words, Doctors, Staring off a Cliff, Martha Jones, Storyteller, Trusting You, and Not With a Bang, But With a Whimper.
Author Notes: In Part Seven of our series, things pick up immediately after the events in Not With a Bang, But With a Whimper (and might be a bit confusing without reading that first). As referenced in the summary, the Doctor reiterates his offer to take Martha and John on a trip to thank them, but the opportunities for making amends with Martha are also made more available as he takes them to an alien festival that is guaranteed to shake things up between them all.
When I sat down to write this, I never intended it to turn out so long, but in the end, there was so much of the story that I felt needed to be told and I didn’t want to gloss over the important details. This story is very emotionally-packed with the characters needing to examine themselves and their relationship(s) to each other. I hope everyone enjoys coming along on their journey.
Anyway, as always, thanks so much as always to the magnificent persiflage_1 who beta’d this piece! Any other mistakes are all mine. Feedback is happy-making, so please leave a word or two [even if I am a bit slack in responding, your comments always make my day].
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[Fic Banner by angelfireeast]
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part one | part two | part three
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“You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her, you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you”
- Franz Ferdinand - “Auf Achse”
===
“And we’re back in the car park!” the Doctor announced, as he pushed open the doors of the TARDIS.
Martha helped John out of the ship, helping him acclimatize to using his crutches, and the Doctor walked out past them. She planned on wrapping up his ankle as soon as she could get to her med kit and they had more of an idea of the status on the Hoppard-Greene incident - they weren’t necessarily out of an emergency yet.
Brigadier Chaudhry noted their arrival and approached them quickly, her expression very grave. “Dr. Jones, Dr. MacLachlan, Doctor,” she nodded at each of them in greeting, “Very happy to see that you three made it out safe. The others weren’t so lucky, I’m afraid. The rest of the building collapsed just a moment ago and, from the readings we’ve been able to get, there are no survivors. From what we could tell there were five people trapped together in a small room not far from where you were found.
We were able to get a phone into them once we discovered them. And we were able to speak to them, and get their names, but just as we were trying to help them escape, things began to collapse again. There is sadly nothing left of that side of the building. That leaves only one person unaccounted for,” she looked down at a clipboard she was holding, “a Jacob Hemmings.”
“He’s deceased as well, unfortunately, Brigadier,” the Doctor said solemnly, “He was with us and we were unable to save him.”
---
Everyone began to leave the scene one by one, the alien threat, at this point, still a mystery. John, Martha, and the Doctor each stood quietly just outside the TARDIS, watching people cleaning up, each silent as they mourned the dead.
“I’d really hoped we could save them all,” John offered quietly.
Martha looked over at him sadly, wrapping an arm around him as he precariously balanced on his crutches.
The Doctor stepped forward, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. “You did the best you could and you were brilliant, don’t forget that,” he said, his expression very serious until a sudden bright smile crossed his features, “Now let’s get that ankle taken care of, I know just the thing.”
The Doctor carefully led them both to the Med Bay inside the TARDIS, letting John lie down on one of the beds. Martha noticed John looking around the room with a look of awe and smiled at him.
“This is really amazing, I can only imagine the type of equipment you have in here,” John said excitedly.
“It is rather amazing, isn’t it?” Martha replied, kissing John’s cheek, pulling off his shoes, and then elevating his injured ankle to get a better look at it. “Oh, it’s not too bad. Looks like just a small sprain, thankfully. Does it hurt?”
“Not so much at the moment. I think I’m still in the throes of an adrenaline rush,” John chuckled.
“Aha, found it!” the Doctor exclaimed, startling John and Martha. He had been looking through a cabinet when he held up something that looked a bit like a clear plastic cast.
“This, my friends, is an air-cast from Rakxora-4. It’s waterproof and even fireproof, though, mind you, I do hope the latter won’t come into play. It’s a truly great piece of engineering, if I say so myself,” the Doctor said, obviously showing off a bit. “Anyway, put this on your ankle and it should heal nicely within the next few days.”
“An air-cast?” Martha asked, amused.
“You’d be surprised at how many of my companions are always tripping and hurting their ankles. Best investment I’ve ever made,” the Doctor replied, nudging Martha’s shoulder playfully as he walked over to John’s bedside.
The Doctor carefully slipped it onto his ankle. John gasped, as it seemed to immediately meld to his skin, looking almost invisible.
“There, it integrates itself into your skin and works to both heal and stabilize your injury,” the Doctor continued. “You can even walk around with it as it’s fully weight-bearing and everything, though I wouldn’t suggest walking around for any long periods of time if I were you. Go ahead, try it.”
John stood up slowly, tentatively putting his weight on his ankle. He was surprised when he didn’t feel any pain. He took a few steps and was even more surprised that he wasn’t even limping. “This is absolutely amazing!”
“I know!” the Doctor exclaimed, clearly proud of himself.
“Doctor, thank you so much!”
“It was the least I could do. Honest. Well, there’s one other thing I could do, of course,” the Doctor paused, pulling nervously on his ear, “I wasn’t joking when I offered the two of you a trip to say thank you.”
“Doctor - “ Martha started, ready to turn him down, but was interrupted by John.
“I’d like that Doctor. Thank you.”
Martha gave John a disapproving look.
---
The Doctor had gone to fetch some pajamas for John to wear for the night, leaving Martha and John alone in the Med Bay.
“It’s just one trip. I think we need this after all we went through today. I especially think the two of you need this. You can’t go on delaying the inevitable, at some point you two will have to talk. I mean, we can certainly leave and go back home, but you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the opportunity to get things resolved,” John said softly, stroking Martha’s hair as she stood between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m just…I don’t know if I’m ready,” she said, heaving a worried sigh.
“I’m right here, if you need. I can even talk to him along with you, but I can’t do it all for you, I’m afraid. I really wish I could - I’d do so in a heartbeat. Hell, I wish I could just pluck this lump of pain right out of you and get rid of it for good, but I can’t.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the nose, caressing the nape of her neck as he leaned his forehead against hers.
“I know,” she whispered. Martha knew he was right - it was just so hard to fully admit it to herself.
“Now then, he’s putting on the kettle, so why don’t the two of you sit down and have some tea and a chat, eh? It doesn’t have to be life altering right away, just baby steps, remember? I’ll be in the bath as I’m quite filthy and smell,” John leaned down to sniff his shirt, “well, rather awful, and how am I going to get a beautiful woman like you to sleep with me tonight if I’m such a mess, eh?”
---
“How is he?” the Doctor asked, looking up as Martha entered the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating from a tin of biscuits.
“Good, off to take a bath and get some well-deserved rest,” she replied, walking over to pour herself some tea before sitting down across from him.
“He was very brave today. Absolutely brilliant actually,” he said with a small smile, pushing the tin of biscuits between them toward her.
“He has a habit of being rather brilliant, I’m afraid. I must speak to him about that,” she joked, before taking a sip of her tea. “Oh, this is nice.”
“It’s from the Tandoukoo region of Loont, 42nd century - very popular in that sector of the universe and very expensive from what I understand. I received some from Queen Rispertoo of Tandoukoo - I just love saying that, just rolls off the tongue - as a gift for helping her with some nasty aliens. The Skynt, they were called, sort of what you might call space pirates. They were trying to steal their crops and make money on the black market with the tea. Anyway, I only drink this on special occasions.”
“And is that what this is - a special occasion?” Martha asked, trying to stay the blush she felt rise in her cheeks.
“A very dear friend - who I’ve missed greatly - visiting me?” he replied seriously, looking her in the eye with a stare heavy with the weight of emotion she tried to read, tried to make sense of, until -
He quickly averted his gaze downward at the mug grasped between his hands. “Yes, I should think so,” he added, his voice now barely above a whisper.
Now it was Martha’s turn to look down into her tea.
“You,” the Doctor started, his voice a bit hoarse before he cleared his throat, “never called.”
He looked back up at her, but only barely held her gaze as he looked past her, over her shoulder.
“I haven’t needed you. I would have called if I needed you,” Martha replied brusquely, trying her best not to let the welling emotions show through her façade of composure.
“How long has it been? In your time, I mean?”
“Almost a year now.”
“And you never needed…?”
“Doctor, I have a life now, a life without you,” Martha said, flinching a bit at the surprising harshness of her words.
The Doctor flinched as well, returning his gaze downward toward his tea.
“How long has it been for you?” Martha asked, trying to soften her tone. They were getting into very emotional territory and it was honestly making her uncomfortable.
“The same. I keep time with the Earth on the TARDIS these days. It makes me feel…I don’t know, tied to something, a part of something,” he replied, stopping to sip his tea.
“No replacement for me traveling with you then?”
“Replacement…for you?” he looked up, frowning as he rolled the words in his mouth as if they were poison.
“You know what I mean. I know you’ve traveled with others, have you met anyone else?”
“Haven’t been looking,” he murmured curtly, taking a large swig of his tea.
“You really,” Martha paused, taking a sip of her own tea and she collected her thoughts, “shouldn’t be traveling alone. You need someone with you.”
“You’re the one who left me, remember?” he spat, something suddenly dangerous and desperate in his tone as his long fingers began to grip the ends of the table.
“Just because you need someone with you, doesn’t mean that person needs to be me,” she replied, trying to stay calm.
“It could have been.” His body was still tense - his words spoken through gritted teeth - and his grip was white-knuckled, looking much like an animal about to strike. It made her feel unnerved, so Martha slid her chair back to stand.
“No,” she said firmly, standing up and looking down at him as she drank her final sip of tea, “it couldn’t have been.”
He looked up at her, his expression changing from ferocity to panic in a flash as he blew out a deep breath and let go of the table. “Martha - “
“Good night, Doctor. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Please…please don’t go,” he said, his voice gravelly as he stood up.
“Doctor - “ she began, but then stopped herself with a shake of her head and turned to leave.
“But,” he rushed around the table and grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Martha recoiled at the slight shock of the pain of his fingers digging into her. “I…I love you.”
Martha turned around to meet his gaze, all of the anger that she had been trying to keep in check suddenly spinning out of her control. She harshly yanked herself away from his grip.
“What?” she snarled.
“I love you,” he reiterated quietly, his voice so very small. “I’m in love with you.”
“You are just…” Martha started, but then groaned in frustration as she found herself at a loss for words over his confession. “I can’t believe this.” She began to slowly back away toward the door.
“Well, believe it, I love you,” he said, louder this time, his expression pained and anxious, and his eyes dark and hollow.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? Or is this one of your manipulative games to try and get me to travel with you again?”
“No, I - “
“Doctor, I’ve moved on. I have someone who loves me now, someone who appreciates me, and is good to me. I can’t bother with chasing you around any longer.”
“You don’t have to chase me. I’m right here.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? You can’t just try and say the ‘right words’ and make everything that happened between us okay. You really hurt me, and some days I’m still working through that. John wanted for me to reconcile things with you, but it’s becoming more and more apparent that this is absolutely futile.”
“Martha - “
“No, Doctor, you listen to me for once. We are no longer going to talk about this. I’m going to bed and then I will get up in the morning and go on that ‘one trip’ of yours to make John happy, but you better keep away from me because I absolutely refuse to let you bring me down again.”
With that, Martha turned and furiously made her way out of the kitchen and down the corridor to her bedroom.
---
Martha sighed as she went back inside her room, hoping that the mere presence of John would soothe her anger.
He was sitting on the bed with his hair wet and messy, reading the book Critical Care Diagnosis & Treatment in the 48th Quadrant of Khephare-4 (a book from the TARDIS library she had been reading during her travels with the Doctor that had apparently been left in the room). He smiled up at her when he heard her enter, but his expression fell quickly as he saw her staring at him with an almost horrified expression.
“Martha?” he asked, quickly putting the book on the bedside locker. “Are you okay?”
Martha took in a deep breath, pointing at him. “Where did you…get those?”
He looked down at himself. “What? Do you mean these?” he asked, tugging on the fabric of his pajamas.
She covered her mouth to muffle a sob, suddenly overcome with emotion. John was wearing the same pajamas that the Doctor had worn when he was John Smith back at Farringham in 1913. Just seeing him wearing them had brought a flood of emotions to the surface, many of which were painful and uncomfortable.
Martha was already feeling emotionally vulnerable from the combination of being back in the TARDIS, being back around the Doctor again, and her recent confrontation with him, but this was proving to be almost too much - the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.
Martha bit her lip in an attempt to hold back her tears. It wasn’t working.
“I got them from the Doctor. I needed something to wear while my clothes were being cleaned and he offered them to me,” John said quietly, soothingly, as he slowly stood and gradually made his way toward her.
Martha flinched as she watched him approach - he looked as if he was approaching a skittish animal and she wondered what she must look like to him. “Those…those were…” she started, but the words were caught in her throat, raw and aching.
John stood before her, opening his arms to her. She reticently moved into his embrace, letting him wrap his arms around her and lightly stroke the nape of her neck with his fingertips. It was confusing to her senses - the warm, familiar embrace of her beloved mixed with the scent of the Doctor from the fabric of his clothes - and it made a part of her want to run from him and a part of her want to stay there forever.
“I didn’t mean to trigger you. I-I had no idea, none at all,” he whispered, his own voice now thick with emotion. He let her ride out her emotions, sobbing against him as he continued to caress her neck and hold her close.
Finally, after several minutes, when the emotions ceased to be so out of control, she spoke. Her voice was small and broken, but she was pleased it finally carried sound again. “Those were John Smith’s pajamas. I should know, I cleaned them many times.”
“John Smith from 1913?”
John was well aware of the stories of her travels with the Doctor, as Martha loved to share them with him - so relieved that she had someone understanding to share them with at all. Farringham had always been a bit of a sore spot for her and it was a time period that Martha had spoken at length about (albeit reluctantly at first, as it was a very emotional time for her).
“Yes. I just don’t know why he gave them to you to wear.”
“Maybe he didn’t think of it? He does seem to be a rather oblivious sort. Plus, you said he’s practically always wearing the same two suits - he may not have any other pajamas in his possession.”
“That’s the thing, he’s got this enormous wardrobe full of all sorts of clothes.”
“Again, oblivious, I should think,” John said, pulling back from her to look down into her eyes. “He really wants to make amends, Martha. I really don’t think he’s trying to hurt you.”
“Maybe,” she sighed. She didn’t feel ready to talk about her recent argument.
“You said he’s got an enormous wardrobe, eh?” John asked, a sudden mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes. Lots of different clothes, why?”
“What about a maid uniform?”
“A maid uniform? Yes, I should think so. I’m sure mine is there or perhaps others.”
“Would you put on the one you wore at Farringham for me?”
Martha looked at him, trying to figure out what he was asking of her. Obviously, it was no secret that maid uniforms were de rigueur fetish-wear in sexual role-play, but this felt…different. There was a look of desire in his eyes, certainly, but it was a look that was coupled with both concern and love.
He must have sensed her confusion because he stroked her cheek and added, “I want to make a memory.”
‘Making a memory’ - that was what John always called it when he tried to help Martha work through her bad experiences by ‘replacing’ them with better ones. It was something he was particularly fond of doing with her - whether it was role-playing with bondage in a safer, sensual way when she’d become terrified of being tied up (after her experience at the Pharm) or making love to her several times in complete darkness to help her with her new-found crippling fear of the dark (after an alien had taken her captive and left her alone in a small dark room for hours on end).
John - the healer - was always looking for new ways to help her reconcile her past and she was always moved when he would patiently work through such hard times with her, reiterating again and again how much he loved her.
“You want to be John Smith tonight?” she asked, starting to catch on to what he was asking.
“And you be my maid…Ms. Jones.”
“But I hated that time, I hated being a maid.”
“More reason to make you have something fond associated with it,” John said, stepping away and reaching down to take her hand to lead her over to the bed to sit. “Except this time, things will be different. John Smith will be in rapturous desire - that does sound very Edwardian, doesn’t it? - of you and you will be in control, not him.”
“I think you just want me in a maid uniform.” She playfully nudged shoulder with hers as they sat side by side.
“No, I just want you to reclaim your power in that situation. That’s what turns me on most, Martha - you knowing your potential and using it,” he said to her, a very serious timbre to his voice.
Martha smiled at him, her heart swelling in affection for this sweet man before her who meant so much to her. “Hang on,” she said, getting up to cross the room to grab a comb from the dressing table.
When she returned, she combed his hair to look more like John Smith’s. It was shorter, of course, and John didn’t have sideburns like the Doctor, but he did still share an uncanny resemblance nonetheless.
John was smiling as he looked at her, his eyes gleaming with affection as he watched her delicately fix his hair. “And how does he speak, Martha? Very posh RP, I should think,” he asked gently.
“Yes,” Martha breathed, putting the comb down on the bedside locker and stroking his cheek.
“A bit like this?” he asked, affecting an imitation of an accent similar to John Smith’s, with a bit of his Scottish accent bleeding through. It was by no means perfect, but she appreciated his effort.
“Yes.”
“Find your dress for me and put in on,” he said, back to his natural accent. He held her hand against his cheek, smiling sweetly at her. “And when you return, I’ll be John Smith. We’ll then make it up as we go.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on the lips, “So very, very much.”
---
Martha slipped out of the room, being as quiet as she could, worried about running into the Doctor on her way to the wardrobe room. She wasn’t ready to face him just yet and she certainly didn’t want to try to explain why she was borrowing her maid’s uniform from the wardrobe.
She made it to the room without seeing him and searched through the racks of clothes to find what she was looking for. She felt a small nudge in her mind to check a rack to her left and thanked the TARDIS out loud for leading her to what she needed.
Once she found it, she stroked the fabric, feeling the sting of memories associated with it flow through her. She’d hardly ever felt so lost and alone as she had those months at Farringham and it only served as a reminder of that hard time she’d endured. She’d been so invisible with hardly anyone, except her friend Jenny - oh, Jenny, how I miss your laughter some times - ever taking any notice of her and so many people looking down on her simply because of her color and social standing.
Still, that was all part of what John - her John - wanted to work to make better. He might not have a time machine like the Doctor, but he was so very skilled at going back and helping her relive the past for the better.
Martha hid behind a rack of clothes, slipping out of her trousers and shirt and into the maid’s uniform. She decided - feeling rather naughty and aroused at the prospect of seducing ‘John Smith’ - that she would also forgo wearing her knickers as well. She found the simple shoes that she’d worn back in 1913 and changed into them, tossing her regular clothes and shoes into a bag she found on the floor of the room.
She looked at herself in the full length mirror, surprising herself at how much she looked like she did back then, but at the same time so very different. Her eyes were brighter these days, her features happier, and her hair was in a more modern style. Still, she felt it would do for what she needed to do tonight.
---
Martha made it back to her bedroom, again without crossing paths with the Doctor, and slipped quietly inside, setting her bag inside by the door.
John was sitting up in the bed, mostly in the dark, with only the bedside lamp on. He was reading again, but there was definitely something different about his demeanor - something more sophisticated. He set the book down on his lap after she’d closed the door and looked up at her curiously.
“Ms. Jones, to what do I owe this late night visit?” His accent, again, was not polished, but was surprisingly similar to John Smith’s nonetheless.
Martha curtsied in greeting, holding up the feather duster she’d grabbed from the wardrobe room. “Just doing some tidying up, sir.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for that, Ms. Jones?”
“There were…just a few things I needed to do before morning, sir,” she offered, trying to come up with how she wanted this scenario to work.
“Very well, then,” he said with a sigh and picked up his book to resume reading.
Martha dusted around the room, getting closer and closer to the bed as she did. She was already feeling throbbing and wet between her legs, her desire growing with each passing minute. She had already wanted to sleep with her John anyway - after being so afraid of losing him in the building and so relieved he’d come out alive - but that coupled with her tapping into her latent desires for John Smith, made her feel almost dizzy with lust.
She was quickly becoming aware that she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. She could feel the heat of John’s gaze on her back, watching her as she moved around the room. She contemplated on how she could seduce him - how she would have if she had the confidence or even the opportunity in 1913.
Seducing her own John was simple - he was nearly always ready and willing and Martha loved his almost feral libido - but John Smith was a cultured English gentleman and, while she wasn’t sure how her John would inhabit his ‘character’ for their role-playing, she knew that the inhibitions inherent with that would likely come into play.
“Ms. Jones?” John said, his voice breathy and thick. She felt a surge of desire rush through her at the tone, causing her legs to tremble a bit.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, continuing to dust the dresser, unable to look at him.
“The headboard…it’s very dusty. Could you please clean it for me?” he asked.
Martha smirked to herself, amused by his own awkward attempt at seduction, but surprised that it felt almost like something the naïve John Smith might actually say. “Yes, sir.”
She turned and made her way over to the bed and he placed his book on the bedside locker. “Just here. It always seems to collect so much dust,” he pointed at a spot over his shoulder.
Martha crawled onto the bed on her knees and leaned over him, dusting the headboard. “Here sir?” she asked, making sure to lightly brush her breasts against his chest as she moved past him.
John’s breath hitched. “Yes, Ms. Jones,” he said, his voice almost a whimper.
“This headboard is rather dusty, sir. It looks like I need to clean over here as well,” she said, moving to straddle him to dust the headboard on the other side of him.
Martha knew she was crossing a line - a social boundary - had she been seducing the actual John Smith, but this was just a fantasy, a game, and she decided to be a bit more bold than she’d usually be.
“Thank you, Ms. Jones. You always take such good care of me. I can see why my family employed you for so long,” he whispered, his voice deep and velvety.
“You're welcome, sir,” she said, in a singsong tone, leaning forward to continue to dust, her thigh brushing against his erection.
“Ms. Jones, I-I’ve never said, in fact I probably shouldn’t but, I feel the need to just now,” he stammered, swallowing audibly, “You are a very beautiful woman.”
“Thank you, sir.” She continued cleaning, not looking at him.
His hands moved up to her waist and Martha was surprised to feel that he was trembling a bit (John was always rather good with throwing himself into their role-playing, she noted). “And you smell so lovely,” he added, pressing down on her hips so her weight was pressed against his hardness.
Martha gasped softly, reveling in the feel of his erection bent beneath the fabric of his trousers and her own clothes. “Sir, may I ask what you are doing?” she asked, finding her own thighs trembling against his hips, wanting so badly to pull up her dress and sink down onto his hard length.
“I just…well, I just…wish to…ravish you, Ms. Jones,” he stammered.
Martha tried to stifle a laugh at his wording, even though his lascivious tone made her even wetter.
“Ravish me, sir? I’m simply here to tidy up. The teacher and the housemaid, I’m not sure that would be prudent, sir.” Martha was trying to sound as innocent and aloof as possible, though it was honestly a bit of a challenge.
“Let me be the judge of that, Ms. Jones. I am your master, am I not?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, nodding her head submissively at him.
“In that case, I must know if you want me to…well, if you wish for me to ravish you, Ms. Jones. I am not some rabid animal hoping to throw myself at a nubile young woman without any reciprocity. If you do not wish to be here, I will let you go back to your quarters and we shall never speak of this again.”
Martha leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. He moaned against her mouth, only tentatively kissing her back. She then trailed her kisses from his mouth, along his jaw line and neck, and over to his ear. “I would like it very much if you ravished me, sir,” she whispered.
John’s hips bucked up beneath her at her words and she pulled back to look him in the eyes. He bit his lip, looking at her. “I’ve never - “ he breathed.
Both Martha and John had always talked about John Smith as a rather inexperienced, virginal sort of man, and it was honestly turning her on to imagine seducing someone for his ‘very first time.’ She felt the power of that surge through her, the sheer immortality of being the one he would always remember as his first and who would harness his first stirrings of passion, holding him in the palm of her hand.
She felt drunk on that feeling of control in that moment - letting it consume her.
She rubbed herself against his hard cock, moaning at the sensation and surely wetting the fabric of her uniform with her arousal. John’s head lolled back against the headboard, his eyes now closed tightly as his own moans and groans escaped his lips.
Martha moved from him - delighting in the disappointed whimper he’d made - and got up to stand next to the bed. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his expression dark and wanton.
She held his gaze as she slowly untied the white lacy apron from her uniform and dropped it to the floor. She then worked the buttons at the back of her uniform free and slid down the rest of her clothing, letting it pool at her feet. Finally, she stepped out of it, also toeing off her shoes, and then stood nude before him.
“Ms. Jones,” he breathed, sitting up and pulling off his sheet. He slung his feet over the edge of the bed, standing up briefly before kneeling in front of her. “I say, you are as beautiful as a goddess.”
He looked up at her almost reverently, reaching tentatively toward her thighs, and lightly brushing them up and down with his fingertips. Martha trembled at his touch, finding it so very difficult to be patient with his languorous seduction.
“In books I’ve read of men kissing the fruit of a woman’s vulva to give her pleasure. Might I have the honor of tasting you, Ms. Jones?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, aching with desire for his tongue to press against her sex.
He leaned forward, gently pushing her legs apart, before dragging his tongue slowly against her slit. “As a goddess, you must be worshiped, Ms. Jones,” he whispered, following his words with another slow drag of his tongue.
His hands slipped up to her bottom and he held her steady as he began to work her with his tongue, pushing it as deeply inside her as he could, and thrusting it in and out of her as he curled it against the walls of her sex. He moved it to flick against and suckle the hardened nub of her clit, replacing his tongue with two fingers pushing inside her, moving slowly in and out of her.
Martha felt the beginnings of her climax coiling tighter and tighter within her and soon called out as it slammed into her, causing her almost lose her balance and fall against John’s mouth. He held her tightly, keeping her upright with his long fingers digging into the flesh of her bottom, and holding her as the spasms of orgasm ripped through her limbs.
“Oh yes, Mr. Smith. Oh yes!” she panted, her legs weak and trembling, and her hands pulling on his hair.
John still lightly lapped eagerly at her sex as her climax subsided, moaning each time she would shudder from the touch of his tongue against her heated flesh. As soon as she was able to breathe again, he ceased his ministrations, and slowly stood before her, holding her by the hips to steady her.
“Truly a goddess, Ms. Jones,” he breathed, leaning forward to capture her mouth in a kiss. Martha moaned at the taste of herself on his lips, the intimacy of the act fueling her desires even more acutely.
She wanted him and she wanted him now.
Martha pushed against his chest - pushing him to fall on the bed behind him - and then crawled over him as he lay back on the mattress. Martha then reached down between her legs to stroke his hardness through the material of his pajamas, enjoying the soft whimpers and the way he moved his hips up to meet her caress. “Oh my, oh yes, just like that, Ms. Jones.”
“Have you ever been inside a woman, sir?” she asked, moving her hand to slip under the waistband of his pajama trousers and to grasp his cock in her hand.
John groaned loudly, raising his hips to push his cock against her fist. “I’ve…no, I have not.”
“Would you like to be inside me, sir?” she teased, caressing his cock, up and down.
“I would…I would like that…very much, Ms. Jones,” he stammered.
Martha moved her hand from him, reaching up to slowly unbutton his top, letting it lie open at his sides. She then lifted herself to pull on his trousers, pulling them down to his thighs before John helped her get them the rest of the way off.
She looked down at him, marveling at the combination of emotions in his eyes - love, lust, innocence, and reverence - and then shifted herself to sink down on him, letting him fill her completely.
The two of them groaned from the penetration and John began to almost growl as she began to move atop him. Usually when they were together, he would often grab her by the hips and thrust upward against her, but as John Smith, he was being more reserved, more shy. His hands rested lightly on her hips, but he was letting her lead, letting her be in control of their pleasure.
“I’ve dreamt of this. You and I,” John said softly, his hands moving slowly upward to timidly caress her breasts.
“Oh, the things you say, sir,” she said with a gasp, surprised by a deep thrust he’d given her as he’d lifted his hips below her.
“I have…I just never thought…never let myself try,” he panted.
Martha smiled down at him, letting her thoughts drift. Oh, how she wished what he was saying was the truth of how John Smith had felt for her. She’d been so envious of Joan, so saddened by his ardent affection for her. John Smith, like the Doctor, seemingly never looked at her twice.
Then again, with the words the Doctor had said to her that very evening, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore -
“Come back, Martha,” John whispered, in his own accent. “Let this be a better memory.”
Martha shook her head of her thoughts and looked down at him, his expression somewhat concerned. “Ravish me, John Smith.”
John smiled and reached up to her back, flipping them over. He began to push against her hard and deep and fast, whispering all his desires in her ear - ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, how I’ve wanted this,’ ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, you feel so good, so amazingly good,’ ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, I could be like this with you forever.’
Martha soon felt herself coming again, her back arching upward to press herself against his body as he moved like a piston against her. His body was trembling, his thrusts wild and unrestrained, and he soon called out with his own climax, pressing tightly against her - hips pressed to hips - in his release.
John collapsed against her, rolling to her side to pull her against his chest. The two of them were breathing heavily, trying to calm themselves from the pleasure as they lay there silently for several long moments, Martha curled into John’s side.
“He told me he was in love with me tonight,” Martha finally said, her weakened and hoarse voice breaking the silence between them.
“I hoped he might,” John said simply, his accent returning to normal.
“What do you mean?” Martha asked, leaning up on an elbow to look him in the eye, very surprised by his reaction.
“He said as much when we were trapped in the building together.”
“Excuse me?”
“Martha,” John sighed, reaching up to caress her cheek with his thumb, “The Doctor loves you. You should really give him a chance. Is that what had made you so angry earlier - his confession?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you came back after my shower, I noticed that before you saw me, you were angry when you came into the room. Trust me, I know that look in your eyes and the way you hold your body when you’re upset.”
“Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling as if she might have overreacted during her conversation with the Doctor. She felt guilty and moved to lie back against the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“It’s not easy, it’s going to take work, but I think the two of you can work things out,” he said, propping himself up to lean over her as he lightly caressed her belly, “You just both have to give each other a chance.”
Martha looked back up at John, feeling the warmth spread through her as he smiled sweetly at her. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” she cooed.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled, “I can always stand to hear it again.”
She reached up and pulled him down by the neck, planting kisses all over his face, prefacing each kiss with an ‘I love you.’
---
Martha woke up in darkness, feeling disoriented. One thing she’d learned about sleeping in the TARDIS was that it messed around a bit with your internal clock - you couldn’t tell if it was night or day and, honestly, it wasn’t often either (or was it both?) in the vortex.
She reached over to the bedside locker to look for her mobile - she had left it there in reach before she went to bed in anticipation of waking up confused. Flipping it open, she spied the time. They’d been asleep for about four hours and, annoyingly enough, Martha was feeling wide-awake.
She lay in bed for several minutes, hoping another wave of fatigue would hit her, but instead she became more and more awake from the memory of her recent argument with the Doctor. She was honestly still trying to process it all, to make his words make sense in her head. He’d said he was in love with her and while she was poised to believe it was just another one of his games, John confessed to her that the Doctor had said about the same when they were trapped together.
While the Doctor was one to be dishonest at times for his own gains, John very rarely - if at all - was.
Perhaps I was too hard on him? Martha mused about the Doctor, suddenly uncomfortable with her venomous words to him. John thinks I should just make up with him, simple as that, but nothing is ever simple when it comes to the Doctor.
Whether she liked it or not, she and the Doctor were at a tense stalemate and someone needed to make a move to get them out of it. While she wasn’t sure about fully trusting him again, Martha begrudgingly decided that she would at least give the Doctor a chance to talk things out with her.
It was just one trip, right?
===
Click for Part Two
Author: radiantbaby
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha, Dr. John/Martha, Ten/Martha/Dr. John [Note: Dr. John was a David Tennant character in the “Reproduction” episode of “Love in the 21st Century”]
Word Count: 22,860 total, 6887 in Part One [in Word]
Genre: Angst, AU, Romance/Fluff, Polyamory, Porn, and a teeny bit of Slash
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Post-S3 Doctor Who, Post-S2 Torchwood
Summary: The Doctor takes Martha and John on a trip to an alien festival to work on making amends, but they end up getting more than they bargained for. Everyone is a bit more vulnerable than they’d like, but is it what they need to finally work things out between them? Crossover of Doctor Who and “Love in the 21st Century”
Beta: persiflage_1
Disclaimer: All your Doctor Who are belong to us Sadly, I own nothing related to
Doctor Who et al, nor do I own anything related to “Love in the 21st Century” - I am just playing around in their sandbox for a bit of fun.
This story is in three parts and will be posted over the next few days.
Previous stories in this series: Three Words, Doctors, Staring off a Cliff, Martha Jones, Storyteller, Trusting You, and Not With a Bang, But With a Whimper.
Author Notes: In Part Seven of our series, things pick up immediately after the events in Not With a Bang, But With a Whimper (and might be a bit confusing without reading that first). As referenced in the summary, the Doctor reiterates his offer to take Martha and John on a trip to thank them, but the opportunities for making amends with Martha are also made more available as he takes them to an alien festival that is guaranteed to shake things up between them all.
When I sat down to write this, I never intended it to turn out so long, but in the end, there was so much of the story that I felt needed to be told and I didn’t want to gloss over the important details. This story is very emotionally-packed with the characters needing to examine themselves and their relationship(s) to each other. I hope everyone enjoys coming along on their journey.
Anyway, as always, thanks so much as always to the magnificent persiflage_1 who beta’d this piece! Any other mistakes are all mine. Feedback is happy-making, so please leave a word or two [even if I am a bit slack in responding, your comments always make my day].
===
[Fic Banner by angelfireeast]
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part one | part two | part three
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“You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her, you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you”
- Franz Ferdinand - “Auf Achse”
===
“And we’re back in the car park!” the Doctor announced, as he pushed open the doors of the TARDIS.
Martha helped John out of the ship, helping him acclimatize to using his crutches, and the Doctor walked out past them. She planned on wrapping up his ankle as soon as she could get to her med kit and they had more of an idea of the status on the Hoppard-Greene incident - they weren’t necessarily out of an emergency yet.
Brigadier Chaudhry noted their arrival and approached them quickly, her expression very grave. “Dr. Jones, Dr. MacLachlan, Doctor,” she nodded at each of them in greeting, “Very happy to see that you three made it out safe. The others weren’t so lucky, I’m afraid. The rest of the building collapsed just a moment ago and, from the readings we’ve been able to get, there are no survivors. From what we could tell there were five people trapped together in a small room not far from where you were found.
We were able to get a phone into them once we discovered them. And we were able to speak to them, and get their names, but just as we were trying to help them escape, things began to collapse again. There is sadly nothing left of that side of the building. That leaves only one person unaccounted for,” she looked down at a clipboard she was holding, “a Jacob Hemmings.”
“He’s deceased as well, unfortunately, Brigadier,” the Doctor said solemnly, “He was with us and we were unable to save him.”
---
Everyone began to leave the scene one by one, the alien threat, at this point, still a mystery. John, Martha, and the Doctor each stood quietly just outside the TARDIS, watching people cleaning up, each silent as they mourned the dead.
“I’d really hoped we could save them all,” John offered quietly.
Martha looked over at him sadly, wrapping an arm around him as he precariously balanced on his crutches.
The Doctor stepped forward, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. “You did the best you could and you were brilliant, don’t forget that,” he said, his expression very serious until a sudden bright smile crossed his features, “Now let’s get that ankle taken care of, I know just the thing.”
The Doctor carefully led them both to the Med Bay inside the TARDIS, letting John lie down on one of the beds. Martha noticed John looking around the room with a look of awe and smiled at him.
“This is really amazing, I can only imagine the type of equipment you have in here,” John said excitedly.
“It is rather amazing, isn’t it?” Martha replied, kissing John’s cheek, pulling off his shoes, and then elevating his injured ankle to get a better look at it. “Oh, it’s not too bad. Looks like just a small sprain, thankfully. Does it hurt?”
“Not so much at the moment. I think I’m still in the throes of an adrenaline rush,” John chuckled.
“Aha, found it!” the Doctor exclaimed, startling John and Martha. He had been looking through a cabinet when he held up something that looked a bit like a clear plastic cast.
“This, my friends, is an air-cast from Rakxora-4. It’s waterproof and even fireproof, though, mind you, I do hope the latter won’t come into play. It’s a truly great piece of engineering, if I say so myself,” the Doctor said, obviously showing off a bit. “Anyway, put this on your ankle and it should heal nicely within the next few days.”
“An air-cast?” Martha asked, amused.
“You’d be surprised at how many of my companions are always tripping and hurting their ankles. Best investment I’ve ever made,” the Doctor replied, nudging Martha’s shoulder playfully as he walked over to John’s bedside.
The Doctor carefully slipped it onto his ankle. John gasped, as it seemed to immediately meld to his skin, looking almost invisible.
“There, it integrates itself into your skin and works to both heal and stabilize your injury,” the Doctor continued. “You can even walk around with it as it’s fully weight-bearing and everything, though I wouldn’t suggest walking around for any long periods of time if I were you. Go ahead, try it.”
John stood up slowly, tentatively putting his weight on his ankle. He was surprised when he didn’t feel any pain. He took a few steps and was even more surprised that he wasn’t even limping. “This is absolutely amazing!”
“I know!” the Doctor exclaimed, clearly proud of himself.
“Doctor, thank you so much!”
“It was the least I could do. Honest. Well, there’s one other thing I could do, of course,” the Doctor paused, pulling nervously on his ear, “I wasn’t joking when I offered the two of you a trip to say thank you.”
“Doctor - “ Martha started, ready to turn him down, but was interrupted by John.
“I’d like that Doctor. Thank you.”
Martha gave John a disapproving look.
---
The Doctor had gone to fetch some pajamas for John to wear for the night, leaving Martha and John alone in the Med Bay.
“It’s just one trip. I think we need this after all we went through today. I especially think the two of you need this. You can’t go on delaying the inevitable, at some point you two will have to talk. I mean, we can certainly leave and go back home, but you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the opportunity to get things resolved,” John said softly, stroking Martha’s hair as she stood between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m just…I don’t know if I’m ready,” she said, heaving a worried sigh.
“I’m right here, if you need. I can even talk to him along with you, but I can’t do it all for you, I’m afraid. I really wish I could - I’d do so in a heartbeat. Hell, I wish I could just pluck this lump of pain right out of you and get rid of it for good, but I can’t.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the nose, caressing the nape of her neck as he leaned his forehead against hers.
“I know,” she whispered. Martha knew he was right - it was just so hard to fully admit it to herself.
“Now then, he’s putting on the kettle, so why don’t the two of you sit down and have some tea and a chat, eh? It doesn’t have to be life altering right away, just baby steps, remember? I’ll be in the bath as I’m quite filthy and smell,” John leaned down to sniff his shirt, “well, rather awful, and how am I going to get a beautiful woman like you to sleep with me tonight if I’m such a mess, eh?”
---
“How is he?” the Doctor asked, looking up as Martha entered the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating from a tin of biscuits.
“Good, off to take a bath and get some well-deserved rest,” she replied, walking over to pour herself some tea before sitting down across from him.
“He was very brave today. Absolutely brilliant actually,” he said with a small smile, pushing the tin of biscuits between them toward her.
“He has a habit of being rather brilliant, I’m afraid. I must speak to him about that,” she joked, before taking a sip of her tea. “Oh, this is nice.”
“It’s from the Tandoukoo region of Loont, 42nd century - very popular in that sector of the universe and very expensive from what I understand. I received some from Queen Rispertoo of Tandoukoo - I just love saying that, just rolls off the tongue - as a gift for helping her with some nasty aliens. The Skynt, they were called, sort of what you might call space pirates. They were trying to steal their crops and make money on the black market with the tea. Anyway, I only drink this on special occasions.”
“And is that what this is - a special occasion?” Martha asked, trying to stay the blush she felt rise in her cheeks.
“A very dear friend - who I’ve missed greatly - visiting me?” he replied seriously, looking her in the eye with a stare heavy with the weight of emotion she tried to read, tried to make sense of, until -
He quickly averted his gaze downward at the mug grasped between his hands. “Yes, I should think so,” he added, his voice now barely above a whisper.
Now it was Martha’s turn to look down into her tea.
“You,” the Doctor started, his voice a bit hoarse before he cleared his throat, “never called.”
He looked back up at her, but only barely held her gaze as he looked past her, over her shoulder.
“I haven’t needed you. I would have called if I needed you,” Martha replied brusquely, trying her best not to let the welling emotions show through her façade of composure.
“How long has it been? In your time, I mean?”
“Almost a year now.”
“And you never needed…?”
“Doctor, I have a life now, a life without you,” Martha said, flinching a bit at the surprising harshness of her words.
The Doctor flinched as well, returning his gaze downward toward his tea.
“How long has it been for you?” Martha asked, trying to soften her tone. They were getting into very emotional territory and it was honestly making her uncomfortable.
“The same. I keep time with the Earth on the TARDIS these days. It makes me feel…I don’t know, tied to something, a part of something,” he replied, stopping to sip his tea.
“No replacement for me traveling with you then?”
“Replacement…for you?” he looked up, frowning as he rolled the words in his mouth as if they were poison.
“You know what I mean. I know you’ve traveled with others, have you met anyone else?”
“Haven’t been looking,” he murmured curtly, taking a large swig of his tea.
“You really,” Martha paused, taking a sip of her own tea and she collected her thoughts, “shouldn’t be traveling alone. You need someone with you.”
“You’re the one who left me, remember?” he spat, something suddenly dangerous and desperate in his tone as his long fingers began to grip the ends of the table.
“Just because you need someone with you, doesn’t mean that person needs to be me,” she replied, trying to stay calm.
“It could have been.” His body was still tense - his words spoken through gritted teeth - and his grip was white-knuckled, looking much like an animal about to strike. It made her feel unnerved, so Martha slid her chair back to stand.
“No,” she said firmly, standing up and looking down at him as she drank her final sip of tea, “it couldn’t have been.”
He looked up at her, his expression changing from ferocity to panic in a flash as he blew out a deep breath and let go of the table. “Martha - “
“Good night, Doctor. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Please…please don’t go,” he said, his voice gravelly as he stood up.
“Doctor - “ she began, but then stopped herself with a shake of her head and turned to leave.
“But,” he rushed around the table and grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Martha recoiled at the slight shock of the pain of his fingers digging into her. “I…I love you.”
Martha turned around to meet his gaze, all of the anger that she had been trying to keep in check suddenly spinning out of her control. She harshly yanked herself away from his grip.
“What?” she snarled.
“I love you,” he reiterated quietly, his voice so very small. “I’m in love with you.”
“You are just…” Martha started, but then groaned in frustration as she found herself at a loss for words over his confession. “I can’t believe this.” She began to slowly back away toward the door.
“Well, believe it, I love you,” he said, louder this time, his expression pained and anxious, and his eyes dark and hollow.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? Or is this one of your manipulative games to try and get me to travel with you again?”
“No, I - “
“Doctor, I’ve moved on. I have someone who loves me now, someone who appreciates me, and is good to me. I can’t bother with chasing you around any longer.”
“You don’t have to chase me. I’m right here.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? You can’t just try and say the ‘right words’ and make everything that happened between us okay. You really hurt me, and some days I’m still working through that. John wanted for me to reconcile things with you, but it’s becoming more and more apparent that this is absolutely futile.”
“Martha - “
“No, Doctor, you listen to me for once. We are no longer going to talk about this. I’m going to bed and then I will get up in the morning and go on that ‘one trip’ of yours to make John happy, but you better keep away from me because I absolutely refuse to let you bring me down again.”
With that, Martha turned and furiously made her way out of the kitchen and down the corridor to her bedroom.
---
Martha sighed as she went back inside her room, hoping that the mere presence of John would soothe her anger.
He was sitting on the bed with his hair wet and messy, reading the book Critical Care Diagnosis & Treatment in the 48th Quadrant of Khephare-4 (a book from the TARDIS library she had been reading during her travels with the Doctor that had apparently been left in the room). He smiled up at her when he heard her enter, but his expression fell quickly as he saw her staring at him with an almost horrified expression.
“Martha?” he asked, quickly putting the book on the bedside locker. “Are you okay?”
Martha took in a deep breath, pointing at him. “Where did you…get those?”
He looked down at himself. “What? Do you mean these?” he asked, tugging on the fabric of his pajamas.
She covered her mouth to muffle a sob, suddenly overcome with emotion. John was wearing the same pajamas that the Doctor had worn when he was John Smith back at Farringham in 1913. Just seeing him wearing them had brought a flood of emotions to the surface, many of which were painful and uncomfortable.
Martha was already feeling emotionally vulnerable from the combination of being back in the TARDIS, being back around the Doctor again, and her recent confrontation with him, but this was proving to be almost too much - the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.
Martha bit her lip in an attempt to hold back her tears. It wasn’t working.
“I got them from the Doctor. I needed something to wear while my clothes were being cleaned and he offered them to me,” John said quietly, soothingly, as he slowly stood and gradually made his way toward her.
Martha flinched as she watched him approach - he looked as if he was approaching a skittish animal and she wondered what she must look like to him. “Those…those were…” she started, but the words were caught in her throat, raw and aching.
John stood before her, opening his arms to her. She reticently moved into his embrace, letting him wrap his arms around her and lightly stroke the nape of her neck with his fingertips. It was confusing to her senses - the warm, familiar embrace of her beloved mixed with the scent of the Doctor from the fabric of his clothes - and it made a part of her want to run from him and a part of her want to stay there forever.
“I didn’t mean to trigger you. I-I had no idea, none at all,” he whispered, his own voice now thick with emotion. He let her ride out her emotions, sobbing against him as he continued to caress her neck and hold her close.
Finally, after several minutes, when the emotions ceased to be so out of control, she spoke. Her voice was small and broken, but she was pleased it finally carried sound again. “Those were John Smith’s pajamas. I should know, I cleaned them many times.”
“John Smith from 1913?”
John was well aware of the stories of her travels with the Doctor, as Martha loved to share them with him - so relieved that she had someone understanding to share them with at all. Farringham had always been a bit of a sore spot for her and it was a time period that Martha had spoken at length about (albeit reluctantly at first, as it was a very emotional time for her).
“Yes. I just don’t know why he gave them to you to wear.”
“Maybe he didn’t think of it? He does seem to be a rather oblivious sort. Plus, you said he’s practically always wearing the same two suits - he may not have any other pajamas in his possession.”
“That’s the thing, he’s got this enormous wardrobe full of all sorts of clothes.”
“Again, oblivious, I should think,” John said, pulling back from her to look down into her eyes. “He really wants to make amends, Martha. I really don’t think he’s trying to hurt you.”
“Maybe,” she sighed. She didn’t feel ready to talk about her recent argument.
“You said he’s got an enormous wardrobe, eh?” John asked, a sudden mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes. Lots of different clothes, why?”
“What about a maid uniform?”
“A maid uniform? Yes, I should think so. I’m sure mine is there or perhaps others.”
“Would you put on the one you wore at Farringham for me?”
Martha looked at him, trying to figure out what he was asking of her. Obviously, it was no secret that maid uniforms were de rigueur fetish-wear in sexual role-play, but this felt…different. There was a look of desire in his eyes, certainly, but it was a look that was coupled with both concern and love.
He must have sensed her confusion because he stroked her cheek and added, “I want to make a memory.”
‘Making a memory’ - that was what John always called it when he tried to help Martha work through her bad experiences by ‘replacing’ them with better ones. It was something he was particularly fond of doing with her - whether it was role-playing with bondage in a safer, sensual way when she’d become terrified of being tied up (after her experience at the Pharm) or making love to her several times in complete darkness to help her with her new-found crippling fear of the dark (after an alien had taken her captive and left her alone in a small dark room for hours on end).
John - the healer - was always looking for new ways to help her reconcile her past and she was always moved when he would patiently work through such hard times with her, reiterating again and again how much he loved her.
“You want to be John Smith tonight?” she asked, starting to catch on to what he was asking.
“And you be my maid…Ms. Jones.”
“But I hated that time, I hated being a maid.”
“More reason to make you have something fond associated with it,” John said, stepping away and reaching down to take her hand to lead her over to the bed to sit. “Except this time, things will be different. John Smith will be in rapturous desire - that does sound very Edwardian, doesn’t it? - of you and you will be in control, not him.”
“I think you just want me in a maid uniform.” She playfully nudged shoulder with hers as they sat side by side.
“No, I just want you to reclaim your power in that situation. That’s what turns me on most, Martha - you knowing your potential and using it,” he said to her, a very serious timbre to his voice.
Martha smiled at him, her heart swelling in affection for this sweet man before her who meant so much to her. “Hang on,” she said, getting up to cross the room to grab a comb from the dressing table.
When she returned, she combed his hair to look more like John Smith’s. It was shorter, of course, and John didn’t have sideburns like the Doctor, but he did still share an uncanny resemblance nonetheless.
John was smiling as he looked at her, his eyes gleaming with affection as he watched her delicately fix his hair. “And how does he speak, Martha? Very posh RP, I should think,” he asked gently.
“Yes,” Martha breathed, putting the comb down on the bedside locker and stroking his cheek.
“A bit like this?” he asked, affecting an imitation of an accent similar to John Smith’s, with a bit of his Scottish accent bleeding through. It was by no means perfect, but she appreciated his effort.
“Yes.”
“Find your dress for me and put in on,” he said, back to his natural accent. He held her hand against his cheek, smiling sweetly at her. “And when you return, I’ll be John Smith. We’ll then make it up as we go.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on the lips, “So very, very much.”
---
Martha slipped out of the room, being as quiet as she could, worried about running into the Doctor on her way to the wardrobe room. She wasn’t ready to face him just yet and she certainly didn’t want to try to explain why she was borrowing her maid’s uniform from the wardrobe.
She made it to the room without seeing him and searched through the racks of clothes to find what she was looking for. She felt a small nudge in her mind to check a rack to her left and thanked the TARDIS out loud for leading her to what she needed.
Once she found it, she stroked the fabric, feeling the sting of memories associated with it flow through her. She’d hardly ever felt so lost and alone as she had those months at Farringham and it only served as a reminder of that hard time she’d endured. She’d been so invisible with hardly anyone, except her friend Jenny - oh, Jenny, how I miss your laughter some times - ever taking any notice of her and so many people looking down on her simply because of her color and social standing.
Still, that was all part of what John - her John - wanted to work to make better. He might not have a time machine like the Doctor, but he was so very skilled at going back and helping her relive the past for the better.
Martha hid behind a rack of clothes, slipping out of her trousers and shirt and into the maid’s uniform. She decided - feeling rather naughty and aroused at the prospect of seducing ‘John Smith’ - that she would also forgo wearing her knickers as well. She found the simple shoes that she’d worn back in 1913 and changed into them, tossing her regular clothes and shoes into a bag she found on the floor of the room.
She looked at herself in the full length mirror, surprising herself at how much she looked like she did back then, but at the same time so very different. Her eyes were brighter these days, her features happier, and her hair was in a more modern style. Still, she felt it would do for what she needed to do tonight.
---
Martha made it back to her bedroom, again without crossing paths with the Doctor, and slipped quietly inside, setting her bag inside by the door.
John was sitting up in the bed, mostly in the dark, with only the bedside lamp on. He was reading again, but there was definitely something different about his demeanor - something more sophisticated. He set the book down on his lap after she’d closed the door and looked up at her curiously.
“Ms. Jones, to what do I owe this late night visit?” His accent, again, was not polished, but was surprisingly similar to John Smith’s nonetheless.
Martha curtsied in greeting, holding up the feather duster she’d grabbed from the wardrobe room. “Just doing some tidying up, sir.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for that, Ms. Jones?”
“There were…just a few things I needed to do before morning, sir,” she offered, trying to come up with how she wanted this scenario to work.
“Very well, then,” he said with a sigh and picked up his book to resume reading.
Martha dusted around the room, getting closer and closer to the bed as she did. She was already feeling throbbing and wet between her legs, her desire growing with each passing minute. She had already wanted to sleep with her John anyway - after being so afraid of losing him in the building and so relieved he’d come out alive - but that coupled with her tapping into her latent desires for John Smith, made her feel almost dizzy with lust.
She was quickly becoming aware that she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. She could feel the heat of John’s gaze on her back, watching her as she moved around the room. She contemplated on how she could seduce him - how she would have if she had the confidence or even the opportunity in 1913.
Seducing her own John was simple - he was nearly always ready and willing and Martha loved his almost feral libido - but John Smith was a cultured English gentleman and, while she wasn’t sure how her John would inhabit his ‘character’ for their role-playing, she knew that the inhibitions inherent with that would likely come into play.
“Ms. Jones?” John said, his voice breathy and thick. She felt a surge of desire rush through her at the tone, causing her legs to tremble a bit.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, continuing to dust the dresser, unable to look at him.
“The headboard…it’s very dusty. Could you please clean it for me?” he asked.
Martha smirked to herself, amused by his own awkward attempt at seduction, but surprised that it felt almost like something the naïve John Smith might actually say. “Yes, sir.”
She turned and made her way over to the bed and he placed his book on the bedside locker. “Just here. It always seems to collect so much dust,” he pointed at a spot over his shoulder.
Martha crawled onto the bed on her knees and leaned over him, dusting the headboard. “Here sir?” she asked, making sure to lightly brush her breasts against his chest as she moved past him.
John’s breath hitched. “Yes, Ms. Jones,” he said, his voice almost a whimper.
“This headboard is rather dusty, sir. It looks like I need to clean over here as well,” she said, moving to straddle him to dust the headboard on the other side of him.
Martha knew she was crossing a line - a social boundary - had she been seducing the actual John Smith, but this was just a fantasy, a game, and she decided to be a bit more bold than she’d usually be.
“Thank you, Ms. Jones. You always take such good care of me. I can see why my family employed you for so long,” he whispered, his voice deep and velvety.
“You're welcome, sir,” she said, in a singsong tone, leaning forward to continue to dust, her thigh brushing against his erection.
“Ms. Jones, I-I’ve never said, in fact I probably shouldn’t but, I feel the need to just now,” he stammered, swallowing audibly, “You are a very beautiful woman.”
“Thank you, sir.” She continued cleaning, not looking at him.
His hands moved up to her waist and Martha was surprised to feel that he was trembling a bit (John was always rather good with throwing himself into their role-playing, she noted). “And you smell so lovely,” he added, pressing down on her hips so her weight was pressed against his hardness.
Martha gasped softly, reveling in the feel of his erection bent beneath the fabric of his trousers and her own clothes. “Sir, may I ask what you are doing?” she asked, finding her own thighs trembling against his hips, wanting so badly to pull up her dress and sink down onto his hard length.
“I just…well, I just…wish to…ravish you, Ms. Jones,” he stammered.
Martha tried to stifle a laugh at his wording, even though his lascivious tone made her even wetter.
“Ravish me, sir? I’m simply here to tidy up. The teacher and the housemaid, I’m not sure that would be prudent, sir.” Martha was trying to sound as innocent and aloof as possible, though it was honestly a bit of a challenge.
“Let me be the judge of that, Ms. Jones. I am your master, am I not?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, nodding her head submissively at him.
“In that case, I must know if you want me to…well, if you wish for me to ravish you, Ms. Jones. I am not some rabid animal hoping to throw myself at a nubile young woman without any reciprocity. If you do not wish to be here, I will let you go back to your quarters and we shall never speak of this again.”
Martha leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. He moaned against her mouth, only tentatively kissing her back. She then trailed her kisses from his mouth, along his jaw line and neck, and over to his ear. “I would like it very much if you ravished me, sir,” she whispered.
John’s hips bucked up beneath her at her words and she pulled back to look him in the eyes. He bit his lip, looking at her. “I’ve never - “ he breathed.
Both Martha and John had always talked about John Smith as a rather inexperienced, virginal sort of man, and it was honestly turning her on to imagine seducing someone for his ‘very first time.’ She felt the power of that surge through her, the sheer immortality of being the one he would always remember as his first and who would harness his first stirrings of passion, holding him in the palm of her hand.
She felt drunk on that feeling of control in that moment - letting it consume her.
She rubbed herself against his hard cock, moaning at the sensation and surely wetting the fabric of her uniform with her arousal. John’s head lolled back against the headboard, his eyes now closed tightly as his own moans and groans escaped his lips.
Martha moved from him - delighting in the disappointed whimper he’d made - and got up to stand next to the bed. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his expression dark and wanton.
She held his gaze as she slowly untied the white lacy apron from her uniform and dropped it to the floor. She then worked the buttons at the back of her uniform free and slid down the rest of her clothing, letting it pool at her feet. Finally, she stepped out of it, also toeing off her shoes, and then stood nude before him.
“Ms. Jones,” he breathed, sitting up and pulling off his sheet. He slung his feet over the edge of the bed, standing up briefly before kneeling in front of her. “I say, you are as beautiful as a goddess.”
He looked up at her almost reverently, reaching tentatively toward her thighs, and lightly brushing them up and down with his fingertips. Martha trembled at his touch, finding it so very difficult to be patient with his languorous seduction.
“In books I’ve read of men kissing the fruit of a woman’s vulva to give her pleasure. Might I have the honor of tasting you, Ms. Jones?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, aching with desire for his tongue to press against her sex.
He leaned forward, gently pushing her legs apart, before dragging his tongue slowly against her slit. “As a goddess, you must be worshiped, Ms. Jones,” he whispered, following his words with another slow drag of his tongue.
His hands slipped up to her bottom and he held her steady as he began to work her with his tongue, pushing it as deeply inside her as he could, and thrusting it in and out of her as he curled it against the walls of her sex. He moved it to flick against and suckle the hardened nub of her clit, replacing his tongue with two fingers pushing inside her, moving slowly in and out of her.
Martha felt the beginnings of her climax coiling tighter and tighter within her and soon called out as it slammed into her, causing her almost lose her balance and fall against John’s mouth. He held her tightly, keeping her upright with his long fingers digging into the flesh of her bottom, and holding her as the spasms of orgasm ripped through her limbs.
“Oh yes, Mr. Smith. Oh yes!” she panted, her legs weak and trembling, and her hands pulling on his hair.
John still lightly lapped eagerly at her sex as her climax subsided, moaning each time she would shudder from the touch of his tongue against her heated flesh. As soon as she was able to breathe again, he ceased his ministrations, and slowly stood before her, holding her by the hips to steady her.
“Truly a goddess, Ms. Jones,” he breathed, leaning forward to capture her mouth in a kiss. Martha moaned at the taste of herself on his lips, the intimacy of the act fueling her desires even more acutely.
She wanted him and she wanted him now.
Martha pushed against his chest - pushing him to fall on the bed behind him - and then crawled over him as he lay back on the mattress. Martha then reached down between her legs to stroke his hardness through the material of his pajamas, enjoying the soft whimpers and the way he moved his hips up to meet her caress. “Oh my, oh yes, just like that, Ms. Jones.”
“Have you ever been inside a woman, sir?” she asked, moving her hand to slip under the waistband of his pajama trousers and to grasp his cock in her hand.
John groaned loudly, raising his hips to push his cock against her fist. “I’ve…no, I have not.”
“Would you like to be inside me, sir?” she teased, caressing his cock, up and down.
“I would…I would like that…very much, Ms. Jones,” he stammered.
Martha moved her hand from him, reaching up to slowly unbutton his top, letting it lie open at his sides. She then lifted herself to pull on his trousers, pulling them down to his thighs before John helped her get them the rest of the way off.
She looked down at him, marveling at the combination of emotions in his eyes - love, lust, innocence, and reverence - and then shifted herself to sink down on him, letting him fill her completely.
The two of them groaned from the penetration and John began to almost growl as she began to move atop him. Usually when they were together, he would often grab her by the hips and thrust upward against her, but as John Smith, he was being more reserved, more shy. His hands rested lightly on her hips, but he was letting her lead, letting her be in control of their pleasure.
“I’ve dreamt of this. You and I,” John said softly, his hands moving slowly upward to timidly caress her breasts.
“Oh, the things you say, sir,” she said with a gasp, surprised by a deep thrust he’d given her as he’d lifted his hips below her.
“I have…I just never thought…never let myself try,” he panted.
Martha smiled down at him, letting her thoughts drift. Oh, how she wished what he was saying was the truth of how John Smith had felt for her. She’d been so envious of Joan, so saddened by his ardent affection for her. John Smith, like the Doctor, seemingly never looked at her twice.
Then again, with the words the Doctor had said to her that very evening, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore -
“Come back, Martha,” John whispered, in his own accent. “Let this be a better memory.”
Martha shook her head of her thoughts and looked down at him, his expression somewhat concerned. “Ravish me, John Smith.”
John smiled and reached up to her back, flipping them over. He began to push against her hard and deep and fast, whispering all his desires in her ear - ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, how I’ve wanted this,’ ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, you feel so good, so amazingly good,’ ‘Oh, Ms. Jones, I could be like this with you forever.’
Martha soon felt herself coming again, her back arching upward to press herself against his body as he moved like a piston against her. His body was trembling, his thrusts wild and unrestrained, and he soon called out with his own climax, pressing tightly against her - hips pressed to hips - in his release.
John collapsed against her, rolling to her side to pull her against his chest. The two of them were breathing heavily, trying to calm themselves from the pleasure as they lay there silently for several long moments, Martha curled into John’s side.
“He told me he was in love with me tonight,” Martha finally said, her weakened and hoarse voice breaking the silence between them.
“I hoped he might,” John said simply, his accent returning to normal.
“What do you mean?” Martha asked, leaning up on an elbow to look him in the eye, very surprised by his reaction.
“He said as much when we were trapped in the building together.”
“Excuse me?”
“Martha,” John sighed, reaching up to caress her cheek with his thumb, “The Doctor loves you. You should really give him a chance. Is that what had made you so angry earlier - his confession?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you came back after my shower, I noticed that before you saw me, you were angry when you came into the room. Trust me, I know that look in your eyes and the way you hold your body when you’re upset.”
“Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling as if she might have overreacted during her conversation with the Doctor. She felt guilty and moved to lie back against the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“It’s not easy, it’s going to take work, but I think the two of you can work things out,” he said, propping himself up to lean over her as he lightly caressed her belly, “You just both have to give each other a chance.”
Martha looked back up at John, feeling the warmth spread through her as he smiled sweetly at her. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” she cooed.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled, “I can always stand to hear it again.”
She reached up and pulled him down by the neck, planting kisses all over his face, prefacing each kiss with an ‘I love you.’
---
Martha woke up in darkness, feeling disoriented. One thing she’d learned about sleeping in the TARDIS was that it messed around a bit with your internal clock - you couldn’t tell if it was night or day and, honestly, it wasn’t often either (or was it both?) in the vortex.
She reached over to the bedside locker to look for her mobile - she had left it there in reach before she went to bed in anticipation of waking up confused. Flipping it open, she spied the time. They’d been asleep for about four hours and, annoyingly enough, Martha was feeling wide-awake.
She lay in bed for several minutes, hoping another wave of fatigue would hit her, but instead she became more and more awake from the memory of her recent argument with the Doctor. She was honestly still trying to process it all, to make his words make sense in her head. He’d said he was in love with her and while she was poised to believe it was just another one of his games, John confessed to her that the Doctor had said about the same when they were trapped together.
While the Doctor was one to be dishonest at times for his own gains, John very rarely - if at all - was.
Perhaps I was too hard on him? Martha mused about the Doctor, suddenly uncomfortable with her venomous words to him. John thinks I should just make up with him, simple as that, but nothing is ever simple when it comes to the Doctor.
Whether she liked it or not, she and the Doctor were at a tense stalemate and someone needed to make a move to get them out of it. While she wasn’t sure about fully trusting him again, Martha begrudgingly decided that she would at least give the Doctor a chance to talk things out with her.
It was just one trip, right?
===
Click for Part Two