Christmas 1969
Title: Christmas 1969
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Summary: Celebrating Christmas in 1969
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This fic is for gryffinclaw, who wanted Martha and the Doctor celebrating Christmas in 1969 - and even though I know (from Martha's MySpace Blog) that they weren't there at that time, I stretched the point and wrote it anyway… Happy Holidays - it's been great getting to know you gryffinclaw and sharing the Freema!Love!
~~~~~~
Martha surfaced slowly from sleep, a pleasant smell tickling her nose. Opening her eyes she saw the Doctor placing a mug on the bedside locker and realised the smell was coffee. Surprise banished the remaining sleep from her brain and she looked up at him, wide-eyed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling. "Merry Christmas Mrs Smith," he said.
"Merry Christmas Mr Smith," she answered, smiling back and pulling herself up into a sitting position. She reached out a hand for the mug and savoured the scent of the coffee before taking a small sip.
"You're a sly one," she commented, looking up at him, her face wreathed in steam from the mug.
"Who me?" He feigned innocence.
"Yes you," she said. "Where did the coffee come from? I know there wasn't enough left in our housekeeping budget to buy coffee."
"Weeellll, I may have supplemented our budget slightly," he answered.
"Oh. Do I want to know how?"
He grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. "Mr Smart assisted me," he said.
Martha nodded. She knew that the Doctor could tell, by looking at a list of horses, which one would win a given race - something to do with his Time Lord powers of being able to read the strongest potential outcome in any given situation. He'd tried to describe it to her once, but not being a Time Lord herself, she hadn't been able to fully comprehend it. What it boiled down to was that he occasionally supplemented her wages from the shop with winnings from horse races. Their next door neighbour, Mr Smart, spent all his waking hours in the local bookie's shop - and he'd been doing rather nicely out of the arrangement he had with the Doctor. He'd quickly discovered that "Mr Smith" had an unerring nose for picking winners, so whichever horses the Doctor asked him to bet on, were the ones he backed for himself. Martha couldn't shake the feeling that it was slightly unethical, but she never voiced that opinion because she knew how much Mr Smart needed the money. She'd seen the state of his flat when she'd gone in to re-dress his arm: he'd cut it a few days after she and the Doctor had moved in next door. And whilst he didn't live in outright squalor, it wasn't far short.
She had taken to occasionally cooking for him, certain he wouldn't eat properly otherwise, and when the Doctor found out what she was doing from a chance remark of Mr Smart's about Mrs Smith's 'good cooking', the Doctor had decided he loved her more than he'd ever realised before.
"This coffee's good," Martha said. "Thank you."
"My wife deserves the best."
She felt a small surge of pleasure whenever he called her his wife, even though it meant nothing more than that they could keep a roof over their heads. They didn't even sleep in the same bed - the Doctor rarely slept, but when he did he tended to collapse on their tiny sofa. She'd tried to persuade him to at least use the bed during the day whilst she was at work, but if he did, he never slept in it because it was always as pristine as when she'd made it before going out that morning.
"Are you ready for your present?" he asked.
"I thought the coffee was my present?"
He looked shocked. "Certainly not!"
"Sorry, it's just, it's such a luxury," she shrugged.
"I know, but it's not your present. This is." He held out a large flat package wrapped in blue paper the same colour as the TARDIS' outer panels.
She put her mug aside, then took the package and tried not to start when he brushed his fingers against hers as he let go of it. She stroked her own fingers over the paper before beginning to carefully unfasten it; the Doctor didn't miss her action or the fleeting look of pain on her face, and he knew she missed the TARDIS nearly as much as he did, for all that she'd not known the ship for very long.
The next moment he was grabbed in a very tight hug and found himself being kissed fervently on the face and neck as Martha discovered that her present was a copy of The White Album. "Oh my God, thank you!" she cried between kisses. "This is fantastic!"
"Glad you like it," he said, trying for a nonchalance he didn't really feel as she pressed her small warm body against his own. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around her and return her hug, trying to ignore the sensations that were stirring as he held her, knowing that she was only wearing a pair of men's flannel pyjamas.
"I guess we'd better wait until later to play this," Martha said wistfully.
"I don't think Mr Smart would appreciate it if we woke him up this early with The Beatles, good as they are," the Doctor agreed.
"OK." She unwrapped one arm to grab her mug of coffee, and the Doctor found he was quite happy for her to remain where she was as she finished her drink. He was fighting a strong urge to stroke her back and wondering if she would like it if he gave in to the urge; he showed her little enough affection after all. Tentatively he ran his hand up and down her back: Martha sighed softly and pressed back against his hand slightly. He smiled to himself and made his touch less tentative.
"Doctor?"
"Hmm, yes?"
"That feels nice."
"Good." He continued to stroke her back and was only slightly startled when Martha reached up to cup his cheek, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone. "That feels nice too," he said softly, before turning his head to kiss her palm.
"Ah." She tried to fight down the rush of desire she felt for him in case it made her embarrass them both. Her desire only grew when the Doctor pressed another kiss on her wrist, just over her pulse point. Then he reached up to catch hold of her wrist and kissed his way up the inside of her arm to the crook.
"Doctor?" She wasn't surprised when her voice came out as a hoarse croak.
"Shh." He kissed his way up her arm, pushing the sleeve of her pyjama top up her arm with his nose as he went. Finally reaching a point where the sleeve could go no further, he lifted his head a moment before dipping it down to kiss her neck at the V of the neckline. Then he kissed his way up her throat before kissing her lips.
Martha sighed with pleasure, her left arm still wrapped across the Doctor's back. She had no idea where this was going, but right now she didn't really care, it was enough that he was kissing her.
The Doctor slid his hands down Martha's back, using one to push her pyjama top up at the back so he could slide a cool hand across her warm back. The other hand slid inside the waistband of her pyjama trousers and stroked across smooth plump flesh. She moaned, unable to stop herself. This was getting too much and if the Doctor wasn't careful, she'd come soon.
As if reading her thoughts, he pulled his mouth from hers. "More?" he asked softly.
"Please."
He began to unbutton her pyjama top. "Lie down," he said softly.
She lay back and allowed him to finish undressing her, which he did with a tender gentleness that moved her. He got up from the bed and quickly stripped his shirt, t-shirt and trousers, then pulled off his beloved Converse, before kneeling back on the bed. He stretched out beside Martha and pulled her into a hug, kissing her softly before sliding into her. She gasped with pleasure as he began to move inside her, touching her in all the right places and it didn't take long for her to reach a climax. She clung to the Doctor as her body shook and shuddered.
When she could focus again, he was smiling at her with a fond look. He dipped his head and kissed her, then said. "You're even more beautiful when you come."
"Thank you."
He began to move again and she wrapped her arms and legs around his body, urging him deeper. The second time Martha came, he came too, uttering a half-shout of her name.
Afterwards they lay wrapped in each others' arms, legs tangled together and dozed for some time before Martha began to feel chilly and shivered slightly.
"Want me to warm you up?" asked the Doctor with a seductive grin.
She giggled. "Why Mr Smith, I do believe you're insatiable."
"Ah well, you'll have to take the blame for that, I'm afraid," he said, the grin becoming a smirk.
"Me? What did I do?"
"Besides letting me make love to you?" he asked. "Nothing in particular, apart from being you." He began to kiss her again before Martha could even begin to think of an answer.
When he finally allowed her to catch her breath, she observed, "You'll have to let me get up at some point soon if you plan on eating today."
"Later," he answered before beginning to kiss a wet path down her body from her mouth, stopping off at her throat, shoulders, breasts and belly before he reached her core.
All thoughts of food soon flew out of Martha's head as he made good use of his oral fixation and his long, slender fingers. Her last coherent thought before he made her scream was that this was the best Christmas present she'd ever received.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Summary: Celebrating Christmas in 1969
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This fic is for gryffinclaw, who wanted Martha and the Doctor celebrating Christmas in 1969 - and even though I know (from Martha's MySpace Blog) that they weren't there at that time, I stretched the point and wrote it anyway… Happy Holidays - it's been great getting to know you gryffinclaw and sharing the Freema!Love!
~~~~~~
Martha surfaced slowly from sleep, a pleasant smell tickling her nose. Opening her eyes she saw the Doctor placing a mug on the bedside locker and realised the smell was coffee. Surprise banished the remaining sleep from her brain and she looked up at him, wide-eyed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling. "Merry Christmas Mrs Smith," he said.
"Merry Christmas Mr Smith," she answered, smiling back and pulling herself up into a sitting position. She reached out a hand for the mug and savoured the scent of the coffee before taking a small sip.
"You're a sly one," she commented, looking up at him, her face wreathed in steam from the mug.
"Who me?" He feigned innocence.
"Yes you," she said. "Where did the coffee come from? I know there wasn't enough left in our housekeeping budget to buy coffee."
"Weeellll, I may have supplemented our budget slightly," he answered.
"Oh. Do I want to know how?"
He grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. "Mr Smart assisted me," he said.
Martha nodded. She knew that the Doctor could tell, by looking at a list of horses, which one would win a given race - something to do with his Time Lord powers of being able to read the strongest potential outcome in any given situation. He'd tried to describe it to her once, but not being a Time Lord herself, she hadn't been able to fully comprehend it. What it boiled down to was that he occasionally supplemented her wages from the shop with winnings from horse races. Their next door neighbour, Mr Smart, spent all his waking hours in the local bookie's shop - and he'd been doing rather nicely out of the arrangement he had with the Doctor. He'd quickly discovered that "Mr Smith" had an unerring nose for picking winners, so whichever horses the Doctor asked him to bet on, were the ones he backed for himself. Martha couldn't shake the feeling that it was slightly unethical, but she never voiced that opinion because she knew how much Mr Smart needed the money. She'd seen the state of his flat when she'd gone in to re-dress his arm: he'd cut it a few days after she and the Doctor had moved in next door. And whilst he didn't live in outright squalor, it wasn't far short.
She had taken to occasionally cooking for him, certain he wouldn't eat properly otherwise, and when the Doctor found out what she was doing from a chance remark of Mr Smart's about Mrs Smith's 'good cooking', the Doctor had decided he loved her more than he'd ever realised before.
"This coffee's good," Martha said. "Thank you."
"My wife deserves the best."
She felt a small surge of pleasure whenever he called her his wife, even though it meant nothing more than that they could keep a roof over their heads. They didn't even sleep in the same bed - the Doctor rarely slept, but when he did he tended to collapse on their tiny sofa. She'd tried to persuade him to at least use the bed during the day whilst she was at work, but if he did, he never slept in it because it was always as pristine as when she'd made it before going out that morning.
"Are you ready for your present?" he asked.
"I thought the coffee was my present?"
He looked shocked. "Certainly not!"
"Sorry, it's just, it's such a luxury," she shrugged.
"I know, but it's not your present. This is." He held out a large flat package wrapped in blue paper the same colour as the TARDIS' outer panels.
She put her mug aside, then took the package and tried not to start when he brushed his fingers against hers as he let go of it. She stroked her own fingers over the paper before beginning to carefully unfasten it; the Doctor didn't miss her action or the fleeting look of pain on her face, and he knew she missed the TARDIS nearly as much as he did, for all that she'd not known the ship for very long.
The next moment he was grabbed in a very tight hug and found himself being kissed fervently on the face and neck as Martha discovered that her present was a copy of The White Album. "Oh my God, thank you!" she cried between kisses. "This is fantastic!"
"Glad you like it," he said, trying for a nonchalance he didn't really feel as she pressed her small warm body against his own. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around her and return her hug, trying to ignore the sensations that were stirring as he held her, knowing that she was only wearing a pair of men's flannel pyjamas.
"I guess we'd better wait until later to play this," Martha said wistfully.
"I don't think Mr Smart would appreciate it if we woke him up this early with The Beatles, good as they are," the Doctor agreed.
"OK." She unwrapped one arm to grab her mug of coffee, and the Doctor found he was quite happy for her to remain where she was as she finished her drink. He was fighting a strong urge to stroke her back and wondering if she would like it if he gave in to the urge; he showed her little enough affection after all. Tentatively he ran his hand up and down her back: Martha sighed softly and pressed back against his hand slightly. He smiled to himself and made his touch less tentative.
"Doctor?"
"Hmm, yes?"
"That feels nice."
"Good." He continued to stroke her back and was only slightly startled when Martha reached up to cup his cheek, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone. "That feels nice too," he said softly, before turning his head to kiss her palm.
"Ah." She tried to fight down the rush of desire she felt for him in case it made her embarrass them both. Her desire only grew when the Doctor pressed another kiss on her wrist, just over her pulse point. Then he reached up to catch hold of her wrist and kissed his way up the inside of her arm to the crook.
"Doctor?" She wasn't surprised when her voice came out as a hoarse croak.
"Shh." He kissed his way up her arm, pushing the sleeve of her pyjama top up her arm with his nose as he went. Finally reaching a point where the sleeve could go no further, he lifted his head a moment before dipping it down to kiss her neck at the V of the neckline. Then he kissed his way up her throat before kissing her lips.
Martha sighed with pleasure, her left arm still wrapped across the Doctor's back. She had no idea where this was going, but right now she didn't really care, it was enough that he was kissing her.
The Doctor slid his hands down Martha's back, using one to push her pyjama top up at the back so he could slide a cool hand across her warm back. The other hand slid inside the waistband of her pyjama trousers and stroked across smooth plump flesh. She moaned, unable to stop herself. This was getting too much and if the Doctor wasn't careful, she'd come soon.
As if reading her thoughts, he pulled his mouth from hers. "More?" he asked softly.
"Please."
He began to unbutton her pyjama top. "Lie down," he said softly.
She lay back and allowed him to finish undressing her, which he did with a tender gentleness that moved her. He got up from the bed and quickly stripped his shirt, t-shirt and trousers, then pulled off his beloved Converse, before kneeling back on the bed. He stretched out beside Martha and pulled her into a hug, kissing her softly before sliding into her. She gasped with pleasure as he began to move inside her, touching her in all the right places and it didn't take long for her to reach a climax. She clung to the Doctor as her body shook and shuddered.
When she could focus again, he was smiling at her with a fond look. He dipped his head and kissed her, then said. "You're even more beautiful when you come."
"Thank you."
He began to move again and she wrapped her arms and legs around his body, urging him deeper. The second time Martha came, he came too, uttering a half-shout of her name.
Afterwards they lay wrapped in each others' arms, legs tangled together and dozed for some time before Martha began to feel chilly and shivered slightly.
"Want me to warm you up?" asked the Doctor with a seductive grin.
She giggled. "Why Mr Smith, I do believe you're insatiable."
"Ah well, you'll have to take the blame for that, I'm afraid," he said, the grin becoming a smirk.
"Me? What did I do?"
"Besides letting me make love to you?" he asked. "Nothing in particular, apart from being you." He began to kiss her again before Martha could even begin to think of an answer.
When he finally allowed her to catch her breath, she observed, "You'll have to let me get up at some point soon if you plan on eating today."
"Later," he answered before beginning to kiss a wet path down her body from her mouth, stopping off at her throat, shoulders, breasts and belly before he reached her core.
All thoughts of food soon flew out of Martha's head as he made good use of his oral fixation and his long, slender fingers. Her last coherent thought before he made her scream was that this was the best Christmas present she'd ever received.