(no subject)
Title: Hen Party
Author: Megan/darthsemicolon
Pairing(s): Donna/Martha
Rating: R for girlkisses and nudity.
Summary: Donna shows up for Martha's hen party, only to discover that it's been cancelled.
Author's Notes: Um...I suppose there might be spoilers if you don't know that Donna and Martha meet? :/ Thanks to starxd_sparrow for the plot bunny, and for all the inspiration. ;)
“Oi, alien boy!” Donna called out sharply from the bench seat, where she’d been idly flipping through an issue of Cosmo from the fifty-first century that promised to teach her thirty-one ways to please her man with mental telepathy. “D’you know what day it is?”
The Doctor frowned down at the monitor, hitting a few buttons until the chronometer came up. “At the moment, April twenty-second in the year 283 AD. Why?”
Donna heaved a sigh of exasperation. The man could be so literal sometimes - okay, pretty much all the time. “No, you idiot. Tonight’s Martha’s hen night, so I need you to turn this thing around and take me back to London.” Though she hadn’t had a text from Martha in a few weeks, she figured that she still had an invitation to the party - she’d promised to make margaritas, and the Doctor had produced the most interesting bright blue tequila from the TARDIS’s liquor cabinet.
Maybe Martha hadn’t been as amused by that cameraphone picture of the Doctor on the Planet of the Hats as she had. Donna had thought that seeing him pile hats high on his head was hilarious, but maybe the other woman had a different sense of humor - though, in her opinion, there was no way anybody could fail to find the Doctor in an umbrella hat at least a little funny. He hadn’t appreciated her hysterical laughter much, though.
At any rate, Donna needed a nice break from travelling around with a marginally neurotic alien, and a hen party seemed just the thing. No men, Ood, fish-men, cyborgs, or Time Lords in sight. Well, except for the stripper - and Donna really hoped that he was human (though, on Earth, what else could he be?).
“I’m going to go change,” she told the Doctor as she stood up, setting her magazine aside and carefully marking the page with the quiz she’d been taking (“What planet is your man from?”). “You’d better get the coordinates right, Doctor.” She shot him a pointed look, which he ignored; Donna had been the victim of enough navigational errors to know that the Doctor was not nearly as adept at steering the TARDIS as he claimed to be.
Donna still didn’t quite trust the TARDIS wardrobe, not after she’d ventured into it once and found an array of corsets in the Doctor’s size stashed in one corner (and if there was anybody who shouldn’t be dressing in drag, it was the Doctor). She went to her room instead - after all, she’d packed for every occasion, and that included going out to a club with mates. She hadn’t actually been to a club with the Doctor, of course - not that she hadn’t tried on the eighth moon of Terinia, but he’d pleaded a headache when she’d suggested the idea and had spent the rest of the evening lying down in his room. Anyway, she certainly ought to be able to find some of her own clothes without coming across women’s clothes that had been suspiciously stretched out.
By the time she decided on an outfit, her room looked as if it had been struck by a hurricane. Clothes were strewn everywhere - she’d had to rummage through several suitcases in order to piece things together. The next time she packed for an interstellar vacation, she decided, she would have to organise things better. She did a bit of a rush job on her makeup, not wanting to be late, though she supposed that if she was, she could always get the Doctor to hop back in time a few minutes (although that probably fell under “frivolous use of abilities to travel in space and time”, and was therefore forbidden - she wasn’t sure by whom).
The Doctor eyed her suspiciously when she stepped into the console room again. “A little dressed up, aren’t you?”
Donna fluffed her hair. “You’re just jealous because you weren’t invited. Did you get the time and place right, Doctor?”
“’Course I did,” he said, sounding a little insulted. “London, England, Earth. Just outside Martha’s building.” He picked up her issue of Cosmo and flipped it open to the front page. “I’ll just stay here and catch up on my reading while you do…human things. Give my best to Martha, will you?”
“Right.” Donna blew him a mocking kiss as she walked out the door, double-checking to make sure that he had gotten the place right before closing it behind her. Everything looked spot-on to her, so she continued on up to Martha’s flat, ringing the buzzer.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot impatiently as she waited outside the door for a few minutes, then buzzed again. “Martha? Are you there? It’s Donna.” She pulled out her mobile to double-check the time and date, but everything seemed to be correct.
Finally, the door opened just a crack, restrained by the chain in the lock, to reveal Martha’s tear-stained face. “Sorry,” she said quietly, not meeting Donna’s eyes. “I completely forgot to phone you - well, actually, Tish rang everybody, and you weren’t on the actual guest list, and things are sort of a mess, and - “ she dissolved into tears, collapsing against the doorframe.
Donna was thrown for a bit of a loop; when she’d seen Martha previously, the young woman had been confident and self-assured, perfectly poised and always knowing just what to do. There had been a flash of something hidden once, but Donna had just chalked that up to her own imagination, since she hadn’t seen it again. But this Martha - broken, emotionally devastated, trapped in circumstances beyond her control - Donna wanted to gather her up in her arms and soothe her.
Or at least devise a use for the bottle of tequila she had. Donna held the aforementioned bottle up in front of the crack. “Want to let me in, love? I’ll make the both of us some margaritas, unless you really want to be left alone right now.”
Martha sniffled, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. “Yeah, sorry. I mean, I was just going to sort of…sit in my pyjamas and eat ice cream, maybe order some Chinese takeaway, but who’m I to turn down free drinks?” She gave Donna a tearful smile, sliding the chain free and opening the door for her.
She stepped inside, looking around at the décor in the tiny flat - Martha seemed to prefer bold, bright colours, that much was obvious. Small alien artifacts, souvenirs from her travels with the Doctor, occupied the coffee table and the end tables, and Donna had a sneaking suspicion there were more lurking about - God knew she’d picked up enough random kitsch of her own. On the walls hung pictures of Martha with her family, and one blank frame that she figured had only been recently vacated. Donna wondered what had happened, but she wasn’t going to push it.
Instead, she headed to the kitchen, setting her bag down on the table and rummaging through Martha’s cabinets like she owned the place. Martha sank down on the sofa, burying her head in her hands and pulling the box of tissues close to her again. “You going to be all right, love?” Donna asked. No cocktail shaker - well, she’d just have to improvise, maybe with some plastic cups. She’d always tended bar for her mates at university, which meant that she’d wound up using all sorts of unorthodox implements. Plastic cups were not as bad as having drinks with penis-shaped ice cubes - which, unfortunately, actually were in the freezer. Donna sighed, remembering what her own mates had been like at Martha’s age, and figured she ought to have expected that sort of thing.
She dumped the whole lot of ice cubes in the blender, then added generous portions of Triple Sec, the glowing blue alien tequila, and lime juice - a bit heavy on the tequila, because, in her opinion, Martha could use it. Plucking a pair of margarita glasses from the cabinet (at least Martha had plenty of drinkware), she deftly salted them, then poured the blended concoction in. Donna sipped hers experimentally, grimacing as the alcohol seared her throat. Belatedly, she thought that maybe she should have tested the potency of the tequila first.
Donna made her way over to the sofa, handing Martha one of the glasses. The younger woman smiled gratefully up at her, taking a large swallow of the drink - and then coughing.
“God, Donna, what’d you put in these things?” she asked as soon as the coughing fit subsided, looking surprised.
“Some sort of alien tequila the Doctor gave me.” She shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Donna sipped her drink more cautiously. “And I think you probably wouldn’t mind getting smashed right now - I know that’s what I did when my wedding went to hell.” Well, first she’d helped the Doctor defeat a giant spider - and then she’d curled up with the leftover champagne from her reception, because she figured she’d earned it.
“Yeah…” Martha looked down for a moment, tugging a throw over her legs. “Worst part is, Donna, it’s all my fault.”
Donna slung a comforting arm around Martha’s shoulders. “Oh, love, I’m sure that’s not true. Sometimes people just…grow apart.”
“And sometimes,” Martha said, bitterness evident in her voice, “people tell their fiancés that they spent a year saving the world from an evil alien and that they don’t remember it because that year was actually erased from history, and their fiancés try to get them to take antipsychotic drugs.” She gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I thought that since Tom knew about UNIT, he might be able to understand what happened with the Doctor. Thought that I might as well come clear with everything before we got married. And look what happened, Donna. He just…up and left.” Martha shook her head sorrowfully, taking another drink of her margarita. “I just want someone who understands me. Got away from the Doctor to find someone who could love me, and now…I’m farther away than I ever was before.”
Donna listened to her speech, squeezing her and pulling her closer. She’d never really found out what had happened to Martha and her family - Martha had mentioned it when they were working together to investigate the Sontarans, but she’d not wanted to ask about it, and it was obviously a sore subject for the Doctor as well. She didn’t know what to say to make things better - and it wasn’t often that Donna Noble found herself at a loss for words.
“I didn’t even know what to tell my mates,” Martha continued. “Just said that Tom’d found someone else while he was working in Africa.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, clearly on the verge of tears again. “Never told them about it, either. That’s what travelling with the Doctor does to you, Donna. It removes you from everybody else - sets you apart. You’ll never be able to really identify with anybody, ‘cos you’ll always have these secrets that you can’t share for fear of being locked up in a straitjacket.”
Donna gave her a crooked smile. “Well, there’s always the rest of us, yeah? The other people who’ve travelled with the Doctor. We can form a sort of club, meet up for tea and biscuits and talk about aliens.”
“You, me, and Jack.” Martha snorted derisively. “Sounds more like an orgy than a support group. Though with Jack, everything’s an orgy.”
“Really?” Donna would definitely have to meet this Jack bloke everybody kept mentioning. “Sorry, sorry, got distracted. Anyway, he’s been travelling for ages - there’s got to be more than just us. They can’t all be trapped in parallel universes.” She stroked Martha’s hair idly as she spoke. “We’ve just got to find them. And till then…well, you’ve got me.” Though she’d only met Martha a few short weeks ago - and had it only been that long? - she’d formed an instant connection with the other woman, who she thought of as a sort of kindred spirit.
“Thanks, Donna.” Martha turned her head to smile at her, tears still glinting at the corners of her eyes. “And thanks for coming, even if it was by accident. Your margaritas are brilliant.” She held up the half-empty glass to demonstrate, but Donna had the feeling she was talking about more than the margaritas. Martha was a private sort of girl; she kept her problems close. The only reason why she’d found out about what had happened at all, Donna suspected, was because the drink had loosened her tongue.
“Oh, you ought to see my daiquiris,” Donna joked. “They’re things of beauty, Martha.” She kissed the other woman’s forehead. “And you’re welcome, though there’s no need to thank me.” She studied Martha’s face for a moment; every line spoke of a deep sadness, one that would never go away. It reminded her of the Doctor - except Martha was human, so human, and she knew it had to hurt her more than it let on.
She leaned over and set her margarita down on the coffee table, on top of a bridal magazine, and wrapped her other arm around Martha, pulling her close to her in a tight hug. “Oh, Martha,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.” To have gone through what she had, then to be denied a shot at happiness when it had been so close? It wasn’t fair.
Donna gently brushed her lips against Martha’s in a move that surprised even her. She’d never been much of one for women - oh, she’d tried it once or twice at university, but had discovered that she generally preferred men - but somehow, this just felt right.
Martha pulled back slightly, her dark eyes wide with surprise. “Donna?”
Donna gave her another crooked smile, but didn’t say anything, kissing her again instead. This kiss was firmer, more insistent, and she could feel Martha yield beneath her, returning her embrace as she kissed her back. Martha’s kisses were long and sweet and full of that deep sorrow, but they also contained a hint of desperation, one expressed in the way that she wrapped her arms tightly around Donna, refusing to let go.
“It’s all right,” she murmured against Martha’s lips, stroking her back gently. “I’m here, Martha. I’m not going to leave. I understand.”
Martha’s response was to kiss her more desperately, and suddenly, Donna found herself pushed back against the sofa, one Martha Jones straddling her lap and kissing her almost wantonly, her hands running all over her body. That, Donna thought, was a rather unexpected turn of events. She moaned into Martha’s mouth, reaching between them to undo the buttons on her pyjama top one by one, revealing an expanse of bare skin that she couldn’t help but caress with her fingertips.
“How the hell do you take this dress off?” Martha muttered - at least, that’s what Donna thought she said; she was too busy divesting the other woman of her pants and underwear to really pay attention to such things.
“Zipper in the back,” Donna pointed out, a bit breathlessly. Getting into the dress had been difficult enough. Surprisingly, though, it went easier with another person to help her out of it, even if Martha insisted on pausing to feather kisses over her bare skin as it was revealed. Finally, they were both naked, Martha pressed tightly against her as she kept kissing her, Donna running her hands down her back to cup her arse in her hands and pull her closer, both of them sweaty and panting and striving for contact like there was nobody else in the world that mattered at that moment.
Sometime later, they were curled up on the sofa in a comfortable tangle of limbs, exchanging lazy caresses and slow kisses. They’d switched from margaritas to tea, but then the tea had cooled without them noticing as they had gotten lost in each other again. Martha rested her head on Donna’s chest, her eyes drooping shut drowsily as she traced slow circles on Donna’s stomach with her fingertips. They hadn’t spoken in quite some time, but they’d discovered that they didn’t need to; their touches and glances spoke louder than words ever could.
Though, Donna thought as a familiar whooshing sound filled the flat, there was always an exception to the rule. “What the hell?” she muttered under her breath as she and Martha exchanged equally confused looks.
And then the Doctor popped out like a Jack-in-the-box, long limbs flying everywhere. “Donna,” he said urgently, “so sorry to interrupt, but there’s this swarm on - “ and then he saw precisely what his companions were doing, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head in a look that Donna felt was quite satisfying, even if it didn’t exactly suit him.
“Doctor,” she purred, sounding entirely more self-satisfied than she should have, “Martha and I are busy. Either make yourself useful or come back later.”
Martha grinned up at Donna, laughing delightedly, and the sound of her carefree laughter was all that Donna needed at that moment - though if the Doctor really did want to stay, well, she wasn’t exactly going to say no. She leaned down and kissed Martha soundly again, not caring if the Doctor was watching (and probably getting off on it, the silly perverted Martian). All that mattered to her was Martha.
Teaspoon
Author: Megan/darthsemicolon
Pairing(s): Donna/Martha
Rating: R for girlkisses and nudity.
Summary: Donna shows up for Martha's hen party, only to discover that it's been cancelled.
Author's Notes: Um...I suppose there might be spoilers if you don't know that Donna and Martha meet? :/ Thanks to starxd_sparrow for the plot bunny, and for all the inspiration. ;)
“Oi, alien boy!” Donna called out sharply from the bench seat, where she’d been idly flipping through an issue of Cosmo from the fifty-first century that promised to teach her thirty-one ways to please her man with mental telepathy. “D’you know what day it is?”
The Doctor frowned down at the monitor, hitting a few buttons until the chronometer came up. “At the moment, April twenty-second in the year 283 AD. Why?”
Donna heaved a sigh of exasperation. The man could be so literal sometimes - okay, pretty much all the time. “No, you idiot. Tonight’s Martha’s hen night, so I need you to turn this thing around and take me back to London.” Though she hadn’t had a text from Martha in a few weeks, she figured that she still had an invitation to the party - she’d promised to make margaritas, and the Doctor had produced the most interesting bright blue tequila from the TARDIS’s liquor cabinet.
Maybe Martha hadn’t been as amused by that cameraphone picture of the Doctor on the Planet of the Hats as she had. Donna had thought that seeing him pile hats high on his head was hilarious, but maybe the other woman had a different sense of humor - though, in her opinion, there was no way anybody could fail to find the Doctor in an umbrella hat at least a little funny. He hadn’t appreciated her hysterical laughter much, though.
At any rate, Donna needed a nice break from travelling around with a marginally neurotic alien, and a hen party seemed just the thing. No men, Ood, fish-men, cyborgs, or Time Lords in sight. Well, except for the stripper - and Donna really hoped that he was human (though, on Earth, what else could he be?).
“I’m going to go change,” she told the Doctor as she stood up, setting her magazine aside and carefully marking the page with the quiz she’d been taking (“What planet is your man from?”). “You’d better get the coordinates right, Doctor.” She shot him a pointed look, which he ignored; Donna had been the victim of enough navigational errors to know that the Doctor was not nearly as adept at steering the TARDIS as he claimed to be.
Donna still didn’t quite trust the TARDIS wardrobe, not after she’d ventured into it once and found an array of corsets in the Doctor’s size stashed in one corner (and if there was anybody who shouldn’t be dressing in drag, it was the Doctor). She went to her room instead - after all, she’d packed for every occasion, and that included going out to a club with mates. She hadn’t actually been to a club with the Doctor, of course - not that she hadn’t tried on the eighth moon of Terinia, but he’d pleaded a headache when she’d suggested the idea and had spent the rest of the evening lying down in his room. Anyway, she certainly ought to be able to find some of her own clothes without coming across women’s clothes that had been suspiciously stretched out.
By the time she decided on an outfit, her room looked as if it had been struck by a hurricane. Clothes were strewn everywhere - she’d had to rummage through several suitcases in order to piece things together. The next time she packed for an interstellar vacation, she decided, she would have to organise things better. She did a bit of a rush job on her makeup, not wanting to be late, though she supposed that if she was, she could always get the Doctor to hop back in time a few minutes (although that probably fell under “frivolous use of abilities to travel in space and time”, and was therefore forbidden - she wasn’t sure by whom).
The Doctor eyed her suspiciously when she stepped into the console room again. “A little dressed up, aren’t you?”
Donna fluffed her hair. “You’re just jealous because you weren’t invited. Did you get the time and place right, Doctor?”
“’Course I did,” he said, sounding a little insulted. “London, England, Earth. Just outside Martha’s building.” He picked up her issue of Cosmo and flipped it open to the front page. “I’ll just stay here and catch up on my reading while you do…human things. Give my best to Martha, will you?”
“Right.” Donna blew him a mocking kiss as she walked out the door, double-checking to make sure that he had gotten the place right before closing it behind her. Everything looked spot-on to her, so she continued on up to Martha’s flat, ringing the buzzer.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot impatiently as she waited outside the door for a few minutes, then buzzed again. “Martha? Are you there? It’s Donna.” She pulled out her mobile to double-check the time and date, but everything seemed to be correct.
Finally, the door opened just a crack, restrained by the chain in the lock, to reveal Martha’s tear-stained face. “Sorry,” she said quietly, not meeting Donna’s eyes. “I completely forgot to phone you - well, actually, Tish rang everybody, and you weren’t on the actual guest list, and things are sort of a mess, and - “ she dissolved into tears, collapsing against the doorframe.
Donna was thrown for a bit of a loop; when she’d seen Martha previously, the young woman had been confident and self-assured, perfectly poised and always knowing just what to do. There had been a flash of something hidden once, but Donna had just chalked that up to her own imagination, since she hadn’t seen it again. But this Martha - broken, emotionally devastated, trapped in circumstances beyond her control - Donna wanted to gather her up in her arms and soothe her.
Or at least devise a use for the bottle of tequila she had. Donna held the aforementioned bottle up in front of the crack. “Want to let me in, love? I’ll make the both of us some margaritas, unless you really want to be left alone right now.”
Martha sniffled, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. “Yeah, sorry. I mean, I was just going to sort of…sit in my pyjamas and eat ice cream, maybe order some Chinese takeaway, but who’m I to turn down free drinks?” She gave Donna a tearful smile, sliding the chain free and opening the door for her.
She stepped inside, looking around at the décor in the tiny flat - Martha seemed to prefer bold, bright colours, that much was obvious. Small alien artifacts, souvenirs from her travels with the Doctor, occupied the coffee table and the end tables, and Donna had a sneaking suspicion there were more lurking about - God knew she’d picked up enough random kitsch of her own. On the walls hung pictures of Martha with her family, and one blank frame that she figured had only been recently vacated. Donna wondered what had happened, but she wasn’t going to push it.
Instead, she headed to the kitchen, setting her bag down on the table and rummaging through Martha’s cabinets like she owned the place. Martha sank down on the sofa, burying her head in her hands and pulling the box of tissues close to her again. “You going to be all right, love?” Donna asked. No cocktail shaker - well, she’d just have to improvise, maybe with some plastic cups. She’d always tended bar for her mates at university, which meant that she’d wound up using all sorts of unorthodox implements. Plastic cups were not as bad as having drinks with penis-shaped ice cubes - which, unfortunately, actually were in the freezer. Donna sighed, remembering what her own mates had been like at Martha’s age, and figured she ought to have expected that sort of thing.
She dumped the whole lot of ice cubes in the blender, then added generous portions of Triple Sec, the glowing blue alien tequila, and lime juice - a bit heavy on the tequila, because, in her opinion, Martha could use it. Plucking a pair of margarita glasses from the cabinet (at least Martha had plenty of drinkware), she deftly salted them, then poured the blended concoction in. Donna sipped hers experimentally, grimacing as the alcohol seared her throat. Belatedly, she thought that maybe she should have tested the potency of the tequila first.
Donna made her way over to the sofa, handing Martha one of the glasses. The younger woman smiled gratefully up at her, taking a large swallow of the drink - and then coughing.
“God, Donna, what’d you put in these things?” she asked as soon as the coughing fit subsided, looking surprised.
“Some sort of alien tequila the Doctor gave me.” She shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Donna sipped her drink more cautiously. “And I think you probably wouldn’t mind getting smashed right now - I know that’s what I did when my wedding went to hell.” Well, first she’d helped the Doctor defeat a giant spider - and then she’d curled up with the leftover champagne from her reception, because she figured she’d earned it.
“Yeah…” Martha looked down for a moment, tugging a throw over her legs. “Worst part is, Donna, it’s all my fault.”
Donna slung a comforting arm around Martha’s shoulders. “Oh, love, I’m sure that’s not true. Sometimes people just…grow apart.”
“And sometimes,” Martha said, bitterness evident in her voice, “people tell their fiancés that they spent a year saving the world from an evil alien and that they don’t remember it because that year was actually erased from history, and their fiancés try to get them to take antipsychotic drugs.” She gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I thought that since Tom knew about UNIT, he might be able to understand what happened with the Doctor. Thought that I might as well come clear with everything before we got married. And look what happened, Donna. He just…up and left.” Martha shook her head sorrowfully, taking another drink of her margarita. “I just want someone who understands me. Got away from the Doctor to find someone who could love me, and now…I’m farther away than I ever was before.”
Donna listened to her speech, squeezing her and pulling her closer. She’d never really found out what had happened to Martha and her family - Martha had mentioned it when they were working together to investigate the Sontarans, but she’d not wanted to ask about it, and it was obviously a sore subject for the Doctor as well. She didn’t know what to say to make things better - and it wasn’t often that Donna Noble found herself at a loss for words.
“I didn’t even know what to tell my mates,” Martha continued. “Just said that Tom’d found someone else while he was working in Africa.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, clearly on the verge of tears again. “Never told them about it, either. That’s what travelling with the Doctor does to you, Donna. It removes you from everybody else - sets you apart. You’ll never be able to really identify with anybody, ‘cos you’ll always have these secrets that you can’t share for fear of being locked up in a straitjacket.”
Donna gave her a crooked smile. “Well, there’s always the rest of us, yeah? The other people who’ve travelled with the Doctor. We can form a sort of club, meet up for tea and biscuits and talk about aliens.”
“You, me, and Jack.” Martha snorted derisively. “Sounds more like an orgy than a support group. Though with Jack, everything’s an orgy.”
“Really?” Donna would definitely have to meet this Jack bloke everybody kept mentioning. “Sorry, sorry, got distracted. Anyway, he’s been travelling for ages - there’s got to be more than just us. They can’t all be trapped in parallel universes.” She stroked Martha’s hair idly as she spoke. “We’ve just got to find them. And till then…well, you’ve got me.” Though she’d only met Martha a few short weeks ago - and had it only been that long? - she’d formed an instant connection with the other woman, who she thought of as a sort of kindred spirit.
“Thanks, Donna.” Martha turned her head to smile at her, tears still glinting at the corners of her eyes. “And thanks for coming, even if it was by accident. Your margaritas are brilliant.” She held up the half-empty glass to demonstrate, but Donna had the feeling she was talking about more than the margaritas. Martha was a private sort of girl; she kept her problems close. The only reason why she’d found out about what had happened at all, Donna suspected, was because the drink had loosened her tongue.
“Oh, you ought to see my daiquiris,” Donna joked. “They’re things of beauty, Martha.” She kissed the other woman’s forehead. “And you’re welcome, though there’s no need to thank me.” She studied Martha’s face for a moment; every line spoke of a deep sadness, one that would never go away. It reminded her of the Doctor - except Martha was human, so human, and she knew it had to hurt her more than it let on.
She leaned over and set her margarita down on the coffee table, on top of a bridal magazine, and wrapped her other arm around Martha, pulling her close to her in a tight hug. “Oh, Martha,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.” To have gone through what she had, then to be denied a shot at happiness when it had been so close? It wasn’t fair.
Donna gently brushed her lips against Martha’s in a move that surprised even her. She’d never been much of one for women - oh, she’d tried it once or twice at university, but had discovered that she generally preferred men - but somehow, this just felt right.
Martha pulled back slightly, her dark eyes wide with surprise. “Donna?”
Donna gave her another crooked smile, but didn’t say anything, kissing her again instead. This kiss was firmer, more insistent, and she could feel Martha yield beneath her, returning her embrace as she kissed her back. Martha’s kisses were long and sweet and full of that deep sorrow, but they also contained a hint of desperation, one expressed in the way that she wrapped her arms tightly around Donna, refusing to let go.
“It’s all right,” she murmured against Martha’s lips, stroking her back gently. “I’m here, Martha. I’m not going to leave. I understand.”
Martha’s response was to kiss her more desperately, and suddenly, Donna found herself pushed back against the sofa, one Martha Jones straddling her lap and kissing her almost wantonly, her hands running all over her body. That, Donna thought, was a rather unexpected turn of events. She moaned into Martha’s mouth, reaching between them to undo the buttons on her pyjama top one by one, revealing an expanse of bare skin that she couldn’t help but caress with her fingertips.
“How the hell do you take this dress off?” Martha muttered - at least, that’s what Donna thought she said; she was too busy divesting the other woman of her pants and underwear to really pay attention to such things.
“Zipper in the back,” Donna pointed out, a bit breathlessly. Getting into the dress had been difficult enough. Surprisingly, though, it went easier with another person to help her out of it, even if Martha insisted on pausing to feather kisses over her bare skin as it was revealed. Finally, they were both naked, Martha pressed tightly against her as she kept kissing her, Donna running her hands down her back to cup her arse in her hands and pull her closer, both of them sweaty and panting and striving for contact like there was nobody else in the world that mattered at that moment.
Sometime later, they were curled up on the sofa in a comfortable tangle of limbs, exchanging lazy caresses and slow kisses. They’d switched from margaritas to tea, but then the tea had cooled without them noticing as they had gotten lost in each other again. Martha rested her head on Donna’s chest, her eyes drooping shut drowsily as she traced slow circles on Donna’s stomach with her fingertips. They hadn’t spoken in quite some time, but they’d discovered that they didn’t need to; their touches and glances spoke louder than words ever could.
Though, Donna thought as a familiar whooshing sound filled the flat, there was always an exception to the rule. “What the hell?” she muttered under her breath as she and Martha exchanged equally confused looks.
And then the Doctor popped out like a Jack-in-the-box, long limbs flying everywhere. “Donna,” he said urgently, “so sorry to interrupt, but there’s this swarm on - “ and then he saw precisely what his companions were doing, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head in a look that Donna felt was quite satisfying, even if it didn’t exactly suit him.
“Doctor,” she purred, sounding entirely more self-satisfied than she should have, “Martha and I are busy. Either make yourself useful or come back later.”
Martha grinned up at Donna, laughing delightedly, and the sound of her carefree laughter was all that Donna needed at that moment - though if the Doctor really did want to stay, well, she wasn’t exactly going to say no. She leaned down and kissed Martha soundly again, not caring if the Doctor was watching (and probably getting off on it, the silly perverted Martian). All that mattered to her was Martha.
Teaspoon