Title: My Sweetest Downfall (I Loved You First)
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor/Martha (and, if you squint, random off-hand references to Tenth Doctor/Rose and Tenth Doctor/Reinette)
Word Count: 1111
Genre: Dark, Angsty Romance Ficlet?
Rating: R for sexual situations
Warning: Dark themes, small mention of blood, and first time sex
Spoilers: Takes place just after Gridlock
Summary: The Doctor shares Martha’s first time. Angst and introspection ensues.
All your Doctor Who are belong to us
Sadly, I own nothing related to Doctor Who et al, though I have Ten(nant) and the TARDIS currently on my wish list (didn’t get either for Christmas though – bugger!).
Author Notes: This story got stuck in my head the other day, but took a few days to flesh out despite its short length. I wanted to try and write something dark!Doctor related and I thought it might be interesting to have Martha be a virgin due to her busy life before the Doctor (though outside of this story, I honestly doubt she is). I wasn’t quite sure how to get the thoughts down and I am still a bit shaky on the final product, but I think I have done enough editing. The title comes from Regina Spektor’s song “Samson.” I was working with no title up until the end of the editing process when the song came on and it just felt right to use the line from the song that I did. This work hasn’t been beta’d, so all mistakes are my own. Still getting used to writing again, so that is also a handicap. Feedback is happy-making though, so please leave a word or two.
He pressed himself against her, against the door to the room. He wanted to be as close to her as he could and to enjoy the pleasures the flesh could bestow. He needed the distraction (at least he tried to convince himself that the need for distraction was all it was), especially after baring his soul to Martha in the wet alleyway of the under-city of New New York. He needed to ease his pain.
He liked the moans that fell from her lips. He liked that he could pull such sounds from her. It was much like playing a musical instrument, he mused. And it was something he loved to do to humans – at least the few that caught his eye – though he rarely liked to admit it to himself or, for that matter, let himself do anything about it.
“I’ve never –“ Martha breathed.
He could feel her heart beating madly against his chest and part of him wished his hearts were beating as intensely. He cursed himself for how damned jaded he’d become.
“Been with an alien?” he asked, finishing her sentence with an attempt at humor.
Humor was a mask he liked to don. It was the best he could put out there to distract everyone from the darkness that reigned within him. Besides, a little sleight of hand never hurt anyone. Or at least that is the lie he would always tell himself as he tried to forget the long list in his head of all the lives he’d destroyed.
Martha admitted it was her first time having sex and it made him stop for a moment, taking him aback. It had been so long – so achingly long
– since he’d had a first time at anything
in his life. Did lots of experience trump that beautiful first taste of things? It had been too long for him to even find an answer within himself.
“We don’t…have to,” she said, stammering a bit as he felt her limbs beginning to tremble against him. She was obviously getting nervous.
Fear, it was in her eyes, and all of his desires to quell such fears in her – in anyone close to him really – slammed into him. He could never give her a life with houses, cars, children, and grandchildren, but he could calm her fears. Yes.
That is, at least until the time she really
looked into his eyes – an honest look, mind you – and saw the monster he truly was beneath the skin and bone of the attractive, young-looking body he inhabited. All the happy grins, crazy hair, and tights suits couldn’t hide him forever.
“Martha Jones, a beautiful girl like you, how is it your first time?” he asked in a low growl, putting on his most charming smile before leaning forward to pull the tip of his tongue up the length of her neck and sink his teeth lightly into her earlobe.
He needn’t make her feel as uncomfortable as he was starting to feel. You always remember your first time and there was a part of him that didn’t want
to be remembered.
She bucked against him, moaning. “Medical school, work, no time,” she replied in clipped words, each with greater meaning that seemed lost as she was weakening against his body.
He moved her to the bed. They were in a bedroom the TARDIS had made for her just after they had visited Shakespeare and had come back after handling the Carrionites. It was supposed to be a temporary room, but he was starting to question that.
When he’d walked in the room that night, he had tried to block the flooding memories of how many rooms had been occupied in the TARDIS by his assistants, his companions, his dearest friends.
So many of the rooms are lost now somewhere deep within the TARDIS, much like his attempts to tuck away the memories in his mind of their past inhabitants.
Clothes were quickly – urgently – pulled off and tossed into a pile on the floor and bodies pressed together again, this time with skin on skin and him pushing himself inside her. She cried out and he could tell her was hurting her somewhat. The more compassionate parts of his personality urged him to press fingertips against her temples to ease her pain as he slipped more and more inside her mind as well as her body as she acclimated to him. He knew the pain would pass, but he wanted to help anyway. It wouldn’t be him if he weren’t interfering with things,
The connection shook him a bit as he already felt a bit vulnerable after their evening’s conversation and it was harder to keep up pretenses in such circumstances. He also had to admit that he was also a bit worried as he remembered the last time he connected with a woman this way – with the beautiful Reinette – and how she had used such a connection to dip into his mind as well. No, I can’t let someone get that close again,
he urged himself. Never again.
He tried to focus on physical pleasures instead.
Soon Martha’s moans were changing tone into pleasure and he broke the connection and pulled himself from her thoughts. Thoughts that were running through future possibilities for the two of them, as if calculating equations. He didn’t want to think about that. He’d already made the mistake of lying to Rose about such future possibilities (“How long are you going to stay with me again?”);
he didn’t want to repeat the same mistake so soon. No, this is just one trip and then back home,
he insisted to himself. Just one trip.
He didn’t want to think about how good Martha felt below him and how when she wrapped her thighs around his waist he wanted to stay there forever (if there was even such a thing). He didn’t want to think about how good it would be to watch her eyes brighten as he showed her so many new worlds, new cultures. He didn’t want to think about how much he wanted to kiss her again and again and again.
They finished, climaxing loud and hard against one another, and he pulled from her.
He reached down, pressing the wetness on the bed below them. He pulled his hand up before him, studying the small bit of blood that was on his fingertips, and it made a part of him think of other ways he might make her bleed. How he might damage her.
He always leaves them broken in the end, but loving them – loving them all – is his sweetest downfall.