Anatomy
Title: Anatomy
Series: Doctor Who
Summary: Martha reflects and fantasizes about love, sex, porn, and her relationship with the Doctor. Inspired by discussing truly horrible erotic fiction with some friends.
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Martha has never really understood written porn. Oh, she gets the gist of it, she knows what it's for, she even has a few select choices carefully hidden on her hard drive, but she's never really cared for it. It's the language that gets her every time. Words like 'dick' and 'cock' just make her think of Richards and roosters, and the choices for her parts are even worse. Either you get hard, unsexy words like 'pussy' that mean curses to her ears, and not body parts, or you get the truly ridiculous, like 'lady-softness.' And then there are the ones who try and talk their way around it, and say 'her' and 'himself.' Half the time, she doesn't even know which parts they're talking about. Why don't they just say 'penis' or 'vagina'? She knows those words, she learned them when she was eight and got her hands on Tish's 'Health and Safety' textbooks. That was also where she learned how, exactly, babies were made, with a nice sensible explanation that didn't start 'When a man and a woman love each other and decide to get married...' and had a nice, in-depth description of how, exactly, the baby itself came to be. It was where she first went when she was twelve, and decided that maybe she would like that to happen to her someday.
The problem is, she wants her porn to be clear and clinical and make sense, and much like sex, it never does.
Rose, the girl who last occupied this room, doesn't have such discerning taste. Martha finds a secret stash of 'romance novels,' with spines that flop open to exactly the right spot with a single touch. She reads some of them, one day, when she's bored and wishing she brought her own books. Rose apparently has a thing for student-professor relationships and men in kilts; Martha prefers murder mysteries.
That doesn't mean she has no imagination; it just means it has a slightly more academic vocabulary. And despite the best efforts of lusty Highlanders to distract her, it keeps on drifting back to the same subject. It's utter silliness, she tells herself. It's bad for your relationship she tells herself. And yet, her mind keeps on drifting back to a certain tall, thin, alien man, who only kisses her if he's getting rid of space rhinos, and thinks too much about missing Rose.
At least part of her longs to give him a thorough physical - not a kinky one, because once you've actually been a doctor, you realize it's not nearly as sexy as most people think. She's heard two hearts beating in tandem already, seen him expel radiation through his shoe. What other secrets is he hiding? She asks him once, and he just laughs and starts in on a long monologue about how he spent some time with another doctor once, American woman, a heart surgeon, no really, she killed him by mistake when they first met, no really, she didn't half get how he worked either, at least Martha hadn't gotten all lost when she had a wire up in him, huh? and she just smiles and lets him go on. Somewhere in there he mentions how clever she was to work out how to resuscitate him, and she feels a bit of nasty selfish pleasure. She's cleverer than that American heart surgeon, even if she hasn't passed all her exams; that woman killed him where she saved his life.
He heaps praise on her, all the time, maybe to make up for all the times he's told her she's not good enough. 'Martha Jones, you're brilliant, you're so clever, you're a star, a real life saver, you know that, don't you?' She feels like he really respects her, which maybe means more than loving her or wanting her. But she also wonders, sometimes, if she's not just Martha Jones, the fantastic, brilliant, always dependable lifesaver. If that wink and grin he gave her as he lay in bed pretending to have stomach cramps was really just a friendly gesture he'd give anybody, if he would have stuck his tongue in any mouth that was available. It's probably true, she tells herself sternly. She's just being silly about him, fantasizing about him looking at her with the same look a long-dead man who shared his face had given to a nurse, so long ago, a nurse who tried to take away all the things Martha worked so hard for. In many ways, she doesn't want to forgive him that, but when she sees how broken he looked as they walked away, she changes her mind.
She has everything she should want, right here, and certainly everything she needs, but she can't help dreaming of more.
His long, thin fingers part her labia and stroke her clitoris, gently pressing back the hood, and his tongue caresses her nipple. She can feel the swelling of his penis as the erectile tissue is flooded with blood, and he moans, "Martha, Martha,' with that catch in his voice that he gets when he's emotional. And he slides his penis into her vagina, with an easy thrusting motion that stimulates her most sensitive nerves, and she cries out in a flood of hormones and ecstasy.
She'll never tell him, or anyone else, but somewhere in between 2007 and 1913 and 1969, she keeps forgetting that he's the Doctor, and in her mind and heart and secret fantasies, he's just John Smith, a brilliant, crazy man with with a magic box and an anatomy she hasn't already memorized but is ripe for exploration.
Series: Doctor Who
Summary: Martha reflects and fantasizes about love, sex, porn, and her relationship with the Doctor. Inspired by discussing truly horrible erotic fiction with some friends.
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Martha has never really understood written porn. Oh, she gets the gist of it, she knows what it's for, she even has a few select choices carefully hidden on her hard drive, but she's never really cared for it. It's the language that gets her every time. Words like 'dick' and 'cock' just make her think of Richards and roosters, and the choices for her parts are even worse. Either you get hard, unsexy words like 'pussy' that mean curses to her ears, and not body parts, or you get the truly ridiculous, like 'lady-softness.' And then there are the ones who try and talk their way around it, and say 'her' and 'himself.' Half the time, she doesn't even know which parts they're talking about. Why don't they just say 'penis' or 'vagina'? She knows those words, she learned them when she was eight and got her hands on Tish's 'Health and Safety' textbooks. That was also where she learned how, exactly, babies were made, with a nice sensible explanation that didn't start 'When a man and a woman love each other and decide to get married...' and had a nice, in-depth description of how, exactly, the baby itself came to be. It was where she first went when she was twelve, and decided that maybe she would like that to happen to her someday.
The problem is, she wants her porn to be clear and clinical and make sense, and much like sex, it never does.
Rose, the girl who last occupied this room, doesn't have such discerning taste. Martha finds a secret stash of 'romance novels,' with spines that flop open to exactly the right spot with a single touch. She reads some of them, one day, when she's bored and wishing she brought her own books. Rose apparently has a thing for student-professor relationships and men in kilts; Martha prefers murder mysteries.
That doesn't mean she has no imagination; it just means it has a slightly more academic vocabulary. And despite the best efforts of lusty Highlanders to distract her, it keeps on drifting back to the same subject. It's utter silliness, she tells herself. It's bad for your relationship she tells herself. And yet, her mind keeps on drifting back to a certain tall, thin, alien man, who only kisses her if he's getting rid of space rhinos, and thinks too much about missing Rose.
At least part of her longs to give him a thorough physical - not a kinky one, because once you've actually been a doctor, you realize it's not nearly as sexy as most people think. She's heard two hearts beating in tandem already, seen him expel radiation through his shoe. What other secrets is he hiding? She asks him once, and he just laughs and starts in on a long monologue about how he spent some time with another doctor once, American woman, a heart surgeon, no really, she killed him by mistake when they first met, no really, she didn't half get how he worked either, at least Martha hadn't gotten all lost when she had a wire up in him, huh? and she just smiles and lets him go on. Somewhere in there he mentions how clever she was to work out how to resuscitate him, and she feels a bit of nasty selfish pleasure. She's cleverer than that American heart surgeon, even if she hasn't passed all her exams; that woman killed him where she saved his life.
He heaps praise on her, all the time, maybe to make up for all the times he's told her she's not good enough. 'Martha Jones, you're brilliant, you're so clever, you're a star, a real life saver, you know that, don't you?' She feels like he really respects her, which maybe means more than loving her or wanting her. But she also wonders, sometimes, if she's not just Martha Jones, the fantastic, brilliant, always dependable lifesaver. If that wink and grin he gave her as he lay in bed pretending to have stomach cramps was really just a friendly gesture he'd give anybody, if he would have stuck his tongue in any mouth that was available. It's probably true, she tells herself sternly. She's just being silly about him, fantasizing about him looking at her with the same look a long-dead man who shared his face had given to a nurse, so long ago, a nurse who tried to take away all the things Martha worked so hard for. In many ways, she doesn't want to forgive him that, but when she sees how broken he looked as they walked away, she changes her mind.
She has everything she should want, right here, and certainly everything she needs, but she can't help dreaming of more.
His long, thin fingers part her labia and stroke her clitoris, gently pressing back the hood, and his tongue caresses her nipple. She can feel the swelling of his penis as the erectile tissue is flooded with blood, and he moans, "Martha, Martha,' with that catch in his voice that he gets when he's emotional. And he slides his penis into her vagina, with an easy thrusting motion that stimulates her most sensitive nerves, and she cries out in a flood of hormones and ecstasy.
She'll never tell him, or anyone else, but somewhere in between 2007 and 1913 and 1969, she keeps forgetting that he's the Doctor, and in her mind and heart and secret fantasies, he's just John Smith, a brilliant, crazy man with with a magic box and an anatomy she hasn't already memorized but is ripe for exploration.