Fic: Consenting Adults
I have no excuse for this. It is failed porn. Sorry.
"We can't have sex," he says, forming the words round the air pushed from his lungs as he hits the wall.
Martha works loose the knot in his tie. "Why not?"
"We'd have babies," he says, sensible as always.
"That's what contraceptives are for."
"But-"
"And prevention of STDs. I've got no idea where you've been. You're not even human. You could have anything."
His hands are under her shirt and blimey those things have a mind of their own because he's thinking that "That's an excellent reason not to have sex. You're brilliant, Martha Jones, have I mentioned that?"
"No, but you should have. Much better chat-up line than 'Hand me the sonic screwdriver.'"
So that's how they got into this situation. She was right about things escalating. One minute you're adjusting the temporal stabilisers and the next you're up against a wall with your shirt open and your companion's breasts all warm and soft under your hands.
Funny how it's always the most innocent situations that go awry.
"I mean it," she says, slithering out of her jeans. "I'm not having unprotected sex with an alien."
"Well then we can't have sex, because-"
"Don't worry, I always carry condoms."
Of course she does. She's got exactly the sort of mind that - against all the laws of logic, sensory perception and plain decency - he'd quite like to lick.
Martha tastes lovely, even though he's not entirely sure how they got into this position.
"Your knees," he tells her, "taste of oxygen and a week last Thursday."
"Is that a Time Lord thing or are you just weird?"
He considers this at some length while ascertaining that this taste continues along the entire leg. "Bit of both," he decides.
"I see."
Her fingers twist in his hair he adds "And of," another lick, "Martha."
"I taste of myself," she says, only it's more of a gasp than sentence.
"Oxygen, a week last Thursday, and Martha. Slight hint of lemon but that's probably just soap or something you ate."
"This is the most disturbing sex I've ever had."
"As I was saying," he says, finding his feet again, "we can't have penetrative sex."
"Because I taste of lemons."
"Because you're a woman."
She pauses with a hand down his trousers. "You don't feel gay."
"Women have babies. And... mortgages. Semi-detached houses with little wooden fences and curtains all over the place and that's quite nice, yes."
"Right," she says, helping him with a shoelace. "On my planet, you don't have to marry someone just because you shagged them."
"Actually, in some cultures you do."
"Not in mine."
"So," he says, "I can't have sex with you. It just leads to complications and mortgages."
Martha rests her hands over his hearts and says, "You do realise that this is how humans have sex, yeah? This. What we're doing right now."
"I'm trying to find a polite way of stopping."
"I don't think there really is one." Then she says "Hang on, stop."
"That works," he says, half grateful and half disappointed. More than half. More like two-fifths and three-fifths.
"Are you a consenting adult or not?"
"I am, I just don't... do this very often."
"Because you have commitment issues. Fine. Not a problem. You may continue with the sex."
"But-"
Martha fixes him with a slightly terrifying stare and says, "Take me, Time Lord."
So he does.
*flees*
"We can't have sex," he says, forming the words round the air pushed from his lungs as he hits the wall.
Martha works loose the knot in his tie. "Why not?"
"We'd have babies," he says, sensible as always.
"That's what contraceptives are for."
"But-"
"And prevention of STDs. I've got no idea where you've been. You're not even human. You could have anything."
His hands are under her shirt and blimey those things have a mind of their own because he's thinking that "That's an excellent reason not to have sex. You're brilliant, Martha Jones, have I mentioned that?"
"No, but you should have. Much better chat-up line than 'Hand me the sonic screwdriver.'"
So that's how they got into this situation. She was right about things escalating. One minute you're adjusting the temporal stabilisers and the next you're up against a wall with your shirt open and your companion's breasts all warm and soft under your hands.
Funny how it's always the most innocent situations that go awry.
"I mean it," she says, slithering out of her jeans. "I'm not having unprotected sex with an alien."
"Well then we can't have sex, because-"
"Don't worry, I always carry condoms."
Of course she does. She's got exactly the sort of mind that - against all the laws of logic, sensory perception and plain decency - he'd quite like to lick.
Martha tastes lovely, even though he's not entirely sure how they got into this position.
"Your knees," he tells her, "taste of oxygen and a week last Thursday."
"Is that a Time Lord thing or are you just weird?"
He considers this at some length while ascertaining that this taste continues along the entire leg. "Bit of both," he decides.
"I see."
Her fingers twist in his hair he adds "And of," another lick, "Martha."
"I taste of myself," she says, only it's more of a gasp than sentence.
"Oxygen, a week last Thursday, and Martha. Slight hint of lemon but that's probably just soap or something you ate."
"This is the most disturbing sex I've ever had."
"As I was saying," he says, finding his feet again, "we can't have penetrative sex."
"Because I taste of lemons."
"Because you're a woman."
She pauses with a hand down his trousers. "You don't feel gay."
"Women have babies. And... mortgages. Semi-detached houses with little wooden fences and curtains all over the place and that's quite nice, yes."
"Right," she says, helping him with a shoelace. "On my planet, you don't have to marry someone just because you shagged them."
"Actually, in some cultures you do."
"Not in mine."
"So," he says, "I can't have sex with you. It just leads to complications and mortgages."
Martha rests her hands over his hearts and says, "You do realise that this is how humans have sex, yeah? This. What we're doing right now."
"I'm trying to find a polite way of stopping."
"I don't think there really is one." Then she says "Hang on, stop."
"That works," he says, half grateful and half disappointed. More than half. More like two-fifths and three-fifths.
"Are you a consenting adult or not?"
"I am, I just don't... do this very often."
"Because you have commitment issues. Fine. Not a problem. You may continue with the sex."
"But-"
Martha fixes him with a slightly terrifying stare and says, "Take me, Time Lord."
So he does.
*flees*