Cleaning Out My Hard Drive, Part Un (Doctor Who, various) PG through NC-17
Plotless flashcrack, I has some.
Titles include: "Porthole," "Oh, Good, You Got the Memo," "Seeing Anew," "La Vita Nuova," and "By Any Other Name."
Characters/Pairings include: Ten, Martha, Martha/TARDIS, Nine/Martha, ?/?, ?/?/?, and ??/??.
Title: Porthole (410 words)
Characters: Ten, Martha/TARDIS
Rating: PG
Prompt: "I see you now…" for persiflage_1, and-a little bit-Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle for nonelvis. Both prompts from the lifeonmartha 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome. As is the drabble itself, the only one I managed to contribute.
In a room in the TARDIS, Martha looks out of a porthole.
She had often been told that to look at a thing was to participate in it in some way and had calculated out how this was so, but she'd had no idea that the TARDIS took it so literally.
Martha sat with her forehead against the porthole and her eyes open wide while in another room of the TARDIS the Doctor was opening the doors and letting Mother of Mine fall into an instantaneous forever while he didn't ask Martha what she thought about it while there were no more possibilities for Jenny while to the TARDIS it didn't matter. Probabilities went past the glass and looked in on her like fishes.
I see you now, said Martha to the TARDIS.
The Doctor lay on a settee, his hands tucked beneath his head. He didn't look like her Doctor. He looked like a collage.
He was sick. Martha knew that, though she didn't know when this was or why he was able to see her. Parts of him didn't even exist, yet.
"Hello, my dear," he said.
Mute, Martha stood on the carpet, made of quiet curiosity and a little fright because she started her A-levels today.
His face looked so grey. "Do you know why the seat of love and grief is the heart, Martha, for more species than just yours?"
She shook her head.
He turned his head on the settee to look at her better. "Because it's the muscle that never stops laboring. The mind can lie idle, but the heart goes to work no matter what."
That smile again, like dry leaves. He slipped one hand out from under his head and held it out to her. "Come here."
Wordlessly, she came up to the couch and gave him her hand. He slid his fingers about hers, cool and dry, and smiled like an old man. "There." One finger pressed in gently against her wrist's pulse. "Humanity, the world's wind-up clock. You love what you like, Martha. Go on, now."
Martha stared out the porthole. In a while, the Doctor would find her and shake her hard and demand to know what she thought she was doing, and she wouldn't be able to answer because she wouldn't remember. People remember things, not possibilities. But for now she couldn't look away. The TARDIS pressed her lips against her ear and whispered, "I see you now."
Title: Oh, Good, You Got the Memo (573 words)
Characters: Nine, Martha; Nine/Martha if you like
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Bananas smell like…
Their chemistry teacher had her day's selection of bottles and filter paper and droppers spread out on the slate worktable, the lesson manual open beside her for reference. Thirteen-year-olds stood around her fiddling with the straps of their lab goggles or ruining their plastic micropipets. "What you'll be doing today," Ms. Foreaker said without looking up from the diagram provided of the teacher demonstration, "is taking small samples of each volatile esther. Using the table on page three-twenty-one of your books, compare them against each other to determine the name of each one."
Martha couldn't see the point, but she did assume there was one.
"For example," Ms. Foreaker carried on, dropping the contents of a pipet onto a circle of filter paper, "can anybody tell me what this is?"
A few people rifled through their books. "It's… isoamyl acetate," somebody said, not sounding like she much cared.
"Right. You can tell because it smells like bananas."
Martha frowned. "No, that's not right."
"Yes, it is, Martha," said Ms. Foreaker without any inflection. "See? The bottle's marked isoamyl acetate. You'll see on your table that this one smells like bananas."
"But it doesn't," said Martha, more insistent this time. They needed to see. It was important. "Bananas smell like isoamyl acetate."
She looked about her. One of the girls was examining the end of her plait. Two of the boys were flicking a paper football between them. "What's the difference, Martha?" said Susan Pinson, rolling her eyes. Martha opened her mouth and stood there stupidly for a moment without any sound coming out.
"It's the other way round." She couldn't figure out how to make them see why it mattered.
"Martha? Martha! Martha, listen to me!"
Martha coughed on smoke. It was the Doctor's voice, the Doctor's northern accent. Funny, to be going backwards for him while it was going forwards for her. Maybe it was backwards for her, too, and she just hadn't known it. She wondered if he would remember this bit, if he'd known her before she'd known him and had his reasons or if there were some arcane laws of time and regeneration that meant you couldn't take it with you. She rather wanted to know. There was a truth and you could know it, and if you were uninterested in knowing it, there was something wrong with you.
His hands jostled her, getting her up out of the wreckage, making her field of view bounce around from the metal strut to the electrical cables sparking on the floor. Big bang as his knees hit the grating.
He cradled her. Couldn't see his face; hers was up against that coarse woolen jumper, worn right against his skin like a hair shirt. She couldn't recall how she'd got on the floor though she'd known only a moment ago. There was a numbess in her abdomen. It sort of trickled down, over her legs to her feet.
"Listen to me, Martha. We've got to go now, and I need you to hang on-"
He was doing something with whatever he'd dug out of his pocket; she couldn't feel it, so it didn't matter very much. She could see into his leather jacket. A banana had gotten smashed between an inner pocket and his jumper, and the smell of it filled her nostrils, forcing out the smoke.
"Martha, can you hear me?"
"Isoamyl acetate," she said, almost crying.
Title: Seeing Anew (211 words)
Characters/Pairings: That would be telling.
Rating: PG-13 for sickening fluff
Prompt: No. And with all due apologies.
The Doctor was looking worriedly at the TARDIS console, not quite wringing his hands, but rubbing them slowly, as though he would have liked to.
Martha was looking at the Doctor. She stared at his collar, at the tantalizing glimpse of skin it parted to display. In itself this wasn't unusual, but this was not the collar she was accustomed to staring at. Or the throat she was accustomed to staring at. It was, in fact, a floppy white collar secured by a little Edwardian bow tie on a figure barely taller than she was wearing plaid trousers buttoned up well above his waist.
She couldn't be sexually attracted to the Doctor. No, wait, she'd been sexually attracted to the Doctor on an almost nightly basis. But she couldn't be sexually attracted to the Doctor like this. Surely she couldn't. It was just…
"No, no, no, no, no!" the little man wailed, jumping on the last word for emphasis.
Martha shook herself, slightly dazed, because seeing him fussing like a toddler had somehow not put a stop to the warm flush that was building under her blouse.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and Martha jumped to find a pair of lips very near her ear. "No," Jamie advised her sweetly.
Title: La Vita Nuova (188 words)
Characters: Read & Find Out.
Rating: PG-13
"It isn't brutality, Jamie. It's a flourishing twenty-first century practice. Probably a flourishing eighteenth century practice, come to that."
"Aye? Well, don' tell Victoria."
"You did say that you wanted to try new things. Isn't it lucky that we've got such good seats?"
"I reckon we'll need all we've got of them. Have ye noticed the size of that thing, Doctor?"
"It is a big one-oh, say, Jamie, look out for this part, it's going to be marvelous. Are you having fun yet?"
"I… I can' quite tell."
"Now, Jamie. Do you remember when we were on the bernalium freighter, and you said you would like a roast beef dinner, with turnips and potatoes?"
"Ye-es…"
"And weren't you quite vocally skeptical of the food pellets I got out of the dispenser?"
"Aye, aye, you've made your point."
"Well. I suppose I have. You ended up enjoying my recommendations immensely on that occasion-"
Martha cracked her whip. "Look, do you want me to gag you, you two?"
The Doctor smiled in satisfaction and settled back into the bed, folding his hands across his stomach. "Oh, yes, please."
The prompt was Martha/Two/Jamie for biichan, from the lifeonmartha 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome. I'd love to see somebody pick that prompt up properly.
Title: By Any Other Name (491 words)
Characters/Pairings: Read & Find Out.
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the "let's spam the anon meme with bad porn" project. I consider you sufficiently warned. Remember, kids, fight wanking with wanking.
This wasn't what she'd expected-to be bent over a bench, her arse in the air, and the thick, blunt head of his cock pressed flush against her entrance. Wasn't what she'd expected at all.
And he was just standing there. As a matter of pride, she clenched her teeth and tried to stay still, but he'd got her like this and now he was poised behind her, rubbing her slickness gently over his cock but never, never pressing in. She could hear him breathing, slowly and regularly, as if he were just savoring this. Finally she groaned and pushed herself back and up, as if in response to the penetration she wanted-
His hand slammed down roughly on her back, and she gasped as her chest was crushed to the bench. "Do you know what happens to naughty girls who don't stay still?" He talked a good talk, but his voice was rough.
"Nothing gentle, I hope," she managed to get out.
She didn't even have a description for the sound that got out of him. But it worked-oh God. He was pressing forward; she hissed as he slowly worked the head inside her, stretching and feeding her tight slit.
He leant forward until his full weight held her down and whispered in her ear. "Not gentle at all?"
He slammed up into her. She would have screamed, if she hadn't choked; he might as well have stuffed himself down her throat as up her cunt for all the sound she could get out. He drew slowly, agonizingly back, bracing himself with the heel of his hand on her back, and her eyes watered as her body stretched to accommodate him. And… in again, as savagely as he could manage, ripping away all her shoddy belief that she was prepared as he rammed against her cervix. It was too much; she couldn't bear it; she wanted it; it was exactly what she needed.
"Won't you say anything, my dear?" he panted in her ear.
She swallowed around the ache. It had been too long, she'd feel this tomorrow. After a couple tries, she managed to get her tongue to work. "Faster."
For a moment, he went rigid. Then he wrapped one hand around her upper arm, wrenched her opposite knee up with the other, leant in, and just drove.
No thought. No identity. Just the feel of him, possessing her over and over, harder and harder, strokes falling into a harsh, regular rhythm until she lost all sense of time. In a time machine. How ironic-oh-
She heard him hiss an instant before he stilled. Just as hot liquid spilled inside her, he managed to fumble one hand down, over her clit, and she was gone, her mind narrowing to one fiery point-
"Oh-God-Frobisher!"
The body behind her froze. The Doctor gave a squeak of horror and hurt as he stumbled back.
"Evelyn! How could you!"
Next time, on Cleaning Out My Hard Drive: Will Elliptic succeed in supplying the three missing paragraphs from the second half of a fic posted at Christmas? Will the Doctor Who/Pulp Fiction crossover find a plot and see the light of day? Probably not. Expect more of the same.
Titles include: "Porthole," "Oh, Good, You Got the Memo," "Seeing Anew," "La Vita Nuova," and "By Any Other Name."
Characters/Pairings include: Ten, Martha, Martha/TARDIS, Nine/Martha, ?/?, ?/?/?, and ??/??.
Title: Porthole (410 words)
Characters: Ten, Martha/TARDIS
Rating: PG
Prompt: "I see you now…" for persiflage_1, and-a little bit-Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle for nonelvis. Both prompts from the lifeonmartha 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome. As is the drabble itself, the only one I managed to contribute.
In a room in the TARDIS, Martha looks out of a porthole.
She had often been told that to look at a thing was to participate in it in some way and had calculated out how this was so, but she'd had no idea that the TARDIS took it so literally.
Martha sat with her forehead against the porthole and her eyes open wide while in another room of the TARDIS the Doctor was opening the doors and letting Mother of Mine fall into an instantaneous forever while he didn't ask Martha what she thought about it while there were no more possibilities for Jenny while to the TARDIS it didn't matter. Probabilities went past the glass and looked in on her like fishes.
I see you now, said Martha to the TARDIS.
The Doctor lay on a settee, his hands tucked beneath his head. He didn't look like her Doctor. He looked like a collage.
He was sick. Martha knew that, though she didn't know when this was or why he was able to see her. Parts of him didn't even exist, yet.
"Hello, my dear," he said.
Mute, Martha stood on the carpet, made of quiet curiosity and a little fright because she started her A-levels today.
His face looked so grey. "Do you know why the seat of love and grief is the heart, Martha, for more species than just yours?"
She shook her head.
He turned his head on the settee to look at her better. "Because it's the muscle that never stops laboring. The mind can lie idle, but the heart goes to work no matter what."
That smile again, like dry leaves. He slipped one hand out from under his head and held it out to her. "Come here."
Wordlessly, she came up to the couch and gave him her hand. He slid his fingers about hers, cool and dry, and smiled like an old man. "There." One finger pressed in gently against her wrist's pulse. "Humanity, the world's wind-up clock. You love what you like, Martha. Go on, now."
Martha stared out the porthole. In a while, the Doctor would find her and shake her hard and demand to know what she thought she was doing, and she wouldn't be able to answer because she wouldn't remember. People remember things, not possibilities. But for now she couldn't look away. The TARDIS pressed her lips against her ear and whispered, "I see you now."
Title: Oh, Good, You Got the Memo (573 words)
Characters: Nine, Martha; Nine/Martha if you like
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Bananas smell like…
Their chemistry teacher had her day's selection of bottles and filter paper and droppers spread out on the slate worktable, the lesson manual open beside her for reference. Thirteen-year-olds stood around her fiddling with the straps of their lab goggles or ruining their plastic micropipets. "What you'll be doing today," Ms. Foreaker said without looking up from the diagram provided of the teacher demonstration, "is taking small samples of each volatile esther. Using the table on page three-twenty-one of your books, compare them against each other to determine the name of each one."
Martha couldn't see the point, but she did assume there was one.
"For example," Ms. Foreaker carried on, dropping the contents of a pipet onto a circle of filter paper, "can anybody tell me what this is?"
A few people rifled through their books. "It's… isoamyl acetate," somebody said, not sounding like she much cared.
"Right. You can tell because it smells like bananas."
Martha frowned. "No, that's not right."
"Yes, it is, Martha," said Ms. Foreaker without any inflection. "See? The bottle's marked isoamyl acetate. You'll see on your table that this one smells like bananas."
"But it doesn't," said Martha, more insistent this time. They needed to see. It was important. "Bananas smell like isoamyl acetate."
She looked about her. One of the girls was examining the end of her plait. Two of the boys were flicking a paper football between them. "What's the difference, Martha?" said Susan Pinson, rolling her eyes. Martha opened her mouth and stood there stupidly for a moment without any sound coming out.
"It's the other way round." She couldn't figure out how to make them see why it mattered.
"Martha? Martha! Martha, listen to me!"
Martha coughed on smoke. It was the Doctor's voice, the Doctor's northern accent. Funny, to be going backwards for him while it was going forwards for her. Maybe it was backwards for her, too, and she just hadn't known it. She wondered if he would remember this bit, if he'd known her before she'd known him and had his reasons or if there were some arcane laws of time and regeneration that meant you couldn't take it with you. She rather wanted to know. There was a truth and you could know it, and if you were uninterested in knowing it, there was something wrong with you.
His hands jostled her, getting her up out of the wreckage, making her field of view bounce around from the metal strut to the electrical cables sparking on the floor. Big bang as his knees hit the grating.
He cradled her. Couldn't see his face; hers was up against that coarse woolen jumper, worn right against his skin like a hair shirt. She couldn't recall how she'd got on the floor though she'd known only a moment ago. There was a numbess in her abdomen. It sort of trickled down, over her legs to her feet.
"Listen to me, Martha. We've got to go now, and I need you to hang on-"
He was doing something with whatever he'd dug out of his pocket; she couldn't feel it, so it didn't matter very much. She could see into his leather jacket. A banana had gotten smashed between an inner pocket and his jumper, and the smell of it filled her nostrils, forcing out the smoke.
"Martha, can you hear me?"
"Isoamyl acetate," she said, almost crying.
Title: Seeing Anew (211 words)
Characters/Pairings: That would be telling.
Rating: PG-13 for sickening fluff
Prompt: No. And with all due apologies.
The Doctor was looking worriedly at the TARDIS console, not quite wringing his hands, but rubbing them slowly, as though he would have liked to.
Martha was looking at the Doctor. She stared at his collar, at the tantalizing glimpse of skin it parted to display. In itself this wasn't unusual, but this was not the collar she was accustomed to staring at. Or the throat she was accustomed to staring at. It was, in fact, a floppy white collar secured by a little Edwardian bow tie on a figure barely taller than she was wearing plaid trousers buttoned up well above his waist.
She couldn't be sexually attracted to the Doctor. No, wait, she'd been sexually attracted to the Doctor on an almost nightly basis. But she couldn't be sexually attracted to the Doctor like this. Surely she couldn't. It was just…
"No, no, no, no, no!" the little man wailed, jumping on the last word for emphasis.
Martha shook herself, slightly dazed, because seeing him fussing like a toddler had somehow not put a stop to the warm flush that was building under her blouse.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and Martha jumped to find a pair of lips very near her ear. "No," Jamie advised her sweetly.
Title: La Vita Nuova (188 words)
Characters: Read & Find Out.
Rating: PG-13
"It isn't brutality, Jamie. It's a flourishing twenty-first century practice. Probably a flourishing eighteenth century practice, come to that."
"Aye? Well, don' tell Victoria."
"You did say that you wanted to try new things. Isn't it lucky that we've got such good seats?"
"I reckon we'll need all we've got of them. Have ye noticed the size of that thing, Doctor?"
"It is a big one-oh, say, Jamie, look out for this part, it's going to be marvelous. Are you having fun yet?"
"I… I can' quite tell."
"Now, Jamie. Do you remember when we were on the bernalium freighter, and you said you would like a roast beef dinner, with turnips and potatoes?"
"Ye-es…"
"And weren't you quite vocally skeptical of the food pellets I got out of the dispenser?"
"Aye, aye, you've made your point."
"Well. I suppose I have. You ended up enjoying my recommendations immensely on that occasion-"
Martha cracked her whip. "Look, do you want me to gag you, you two?"
The Doctor smiled in satisfaction and settled back into the bed, folding his hands across his stomach. "Oh, yes, please."
The prompt was Martha/Two/Jamie for biichan, from the lifeonmartha 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome. I'd love to see somebody pick that prompt up properly.
Title: By Any Other Name (491 words)
Characters/Pairings: Read & Find Out.
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the "let's spam the anon meme with bad porn" project. I consider you sufficiently warned. Remember, kids, fight wanking with wanking.
This wasn't what she'd expected-to be bent over a bench, her arse in the air, and the thick, blunt head of his cock pressed flush against her entrance. Wasn't what she'd expected at all.
And he was just standing there. As a matter of pride, she clenched her teeth and tried to stay still, but he'd got her like this and now he was poised behind her, rubbing her slickness gently over his cock but never, never pressing in. She could hear him breathing, slowly and regularly, as if he were just savoring this. Finally she groaned and pushed herself back and up, as if in response to the penetration she wanted-
His hand slammed down roughly on her back, and she gasped as her chest was crushed to the bench. "Do you know what happens to naughty girls who don't stay still?" He talked a good talk, but his voice was rough.
"Nothing gentle, I hope," she managed to get out.
She didn't even have a description for the sound that got out of him. But it worked-oh God. He was pressing forward; she hissed as he slowly worked the head inside her, stretching and feeding her tight slit.
He leant forward until his full weight held her down and whispered in her ear. "Not gentle at all?"
He slammed up into her. She would have screamed, if she hadn't choked; he might as well have stuffed himself down her throat as up her cunt for all the sound she could get out. He drew slowly, agonizingly back, bracing himself with the heel of his hand on her back, and her eyes watered as her body stretched to accommodate him. And… in again, as savagely as he could manage, ripping away all her shoddy belief that she was prepared as he rammed against her cervix. It was too much; she couldn't bear it; she wanted it; it was exactly what she needed.
"Won't you say anything, my dear?" he panted in her ear.
She swallowed around the ache. It had been too long, she'd feel this tomorrow. After a couple tries, she managed to get her tongue to work. "Faster."
For a moment, he went rigid. Then he wrapped one hand around her upper arm, wrenched her opposite knee up with the other, leant in, and just drove.
No thought. No identity. Just the feel of him, possessing her over and over, harder and harder, strokes falling into a harsh, regular rhythm until she lost all sense of time. In a time machine. How ironic-oh-
She heard him hiss an instant before he stilled. Just as hot liquid spilled inside her, he managed to fumble one hand down, over her clit, and she was gone, her mind narrowing to one fiery point-
"Oh-God-Frobisher!"
The body behind her froze. The Doctor gave a squeak of horror and hurt as he stumbled back.
"Evelyn! How could you!"
Next time, on Cleaning Out My Hard Drive: Will Elliptic succeed in supplying the three missing paragraphs from the second half of a fic posted at Christmas? Will the Doctor Who/Pulp Fiction crossover find a plot and see the light of day? Probably not. Expect more of the same.