Maria Jackson really couldn't say why this particular moment felt like the right time to tangle her hand in Sarah Jane's hair and kiss her senseless. Maybe it was the way her skin had been, not exactly itching, but strangely alive for the past two hours, or that the attic felt particularly close today—the air heavy and sweet—or that when Sarah Jane leaned forward to collect yet another book from the stack at her feet, Maria could see the tops of her breasts in the shadows down the front of her dress. Maybe it was all of these things or none of them.
What was truly surprising was the fact that Sarah Jane was kissing her back and not pushing her away.
In fact, Sarah Jane seemed to be pulling her somewhere.
"Where are we go--" Maria began.
"My room. My bed."
Suddenly the only thing that mattered to Maria was having Sarah Jane as fast as physically possible.
She dropped down to the rug, pulling Sarah Jane down on top of her. "No. Here."
"But Mr. Smith is watching."
"Sarah Jane, please."
"I love that—the way you say my name."
Maria craned her head up to bite at Sarah Jane's earlobe--"Sarah Jane"—nipped at her throat--"Sarah."
"Sarah Jane," an eerily even voice called across the room.
"Not now!" Sarah Jane growled. Her dress was bunched up around her waist and she was making fast work of the buttons down Maria's top.
"Sarah Jane, I have completed my analysis of the alien spores as you requested."
She threw the nearest book within her reach at him.
"Judging by your increased respiratory and heart rates and the spikes in both blood pressure and hormone levels, not to mention your current state of undress and lack of inhibition, you appear to be under the influence of amorpolytemporium, an aphrodisiac renowned for its sudden and intense effects."
His words reached a hazy part of her brain as she was simultaneously trying to undo the zip on Maria's jeans with one hand while shoving aside the lace on Maria's bra with the other, clearing a path for her mouth.
An aphrodisiac. That meant this wasn't real. "No, no, no, no." She bent her head in defeat against Maria's throat. "No."
"As always my analysis is infallible."
Sarah Jane rose up on her elbows to focus on Maria—her clothes were in disarray, her hair a tangled mess, and most damning of all an angry red mark was spreading on the side of her breast—Maria looked well and truly debauched. Sarah Jane suddenly felt like crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."
"No, don't stop. Please, it doesn't matter."
With a surge of will power she had not been entirely sure she possessed, Sarah Jane stood up and stepped over Maria.
"Explain, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Smith launched into a thorough history of amorpolytemporium, an analysis which Sarah Jane admittedly only half heard as Maria's hands scaled the length of her leg, disappearing up under her dress, to slide over the smooth material of her tights. Sarah Jane swatted at Maria's hands. "No."
Maria retaliated by biting at Sarah Jane's hip. The sound Sarah Jane emitted was a strange hybrid of a sharp yelp and a protracted moan.
"Sarah Jane, you appear to be distracted once again."
"Sorry." She pulled Maria up by the elbow, watching her as reproachfully as she could muster. "How do we counteract the effects of the amor-what's-it?"
"Amorpolytemporium. The effects should wear off within 24 hours. Of course, with the release of a significant amount of both oxytocin and vasopressin, you should be free of the effects almost immediately."
"An orgasm?" Maria asked.
"Yes. However, several would be necessary to release sufficient amounts of the chemicals to counteract the spores."
The look in her eyes was positively feral as Maria walked Sarah Jane backwards until she was against the nearest available flat surface—which just happened to be Mr. Smith's consol. "You heard the man, err, computer. Several."
"Maria. Sarah Jane. I really must protest."
When their only response was the winding of Sarah Jane's legs around Maria's hips, Mr. Smith retreated into the wall with a blast of smoke that sent them flailing painfully into the floor.
Maria framed Sarah Jane's face with her hands, aiming to kiss her again but something in Sarah Jane's eyes just wasn't--.
"We can't do this."
This time Maria agreed. Albeit reluctantly.
Miraculously, they managed to get downstairs to the front door with minimal incident and very little bodily harm.
Maria's actual departure, however, proved more difficult, in no small part because she was leaning on the door and Sarah Jane was pressed firmly against her.
"If you stay here, we will do something that we'll both regret. Though right now it would be. . ." Sarah Jane trailed off. She ran her thumb across Maria's bottom lip. She stepped back. "Maria, please go home. I can't stop touching you. And this—like this—is wrong."
"If I go home right now, you have to promise that we'll talk about what's happening between us—and not just about tonight."
Sarah Jane understood. "For months."
"Years," Maria corrected.
"Tomorrow, when we're no longer," she struggled for the word, "affected, if you still want this. If you still want me--"
"I will." She didn't have to think about it—she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt—and beyond the influence of the damned amorpolytemporium as well.
"You will?" Sarah Jane asked. Maria nodded. "Good. Because I really . . ."
"I'm going." Maria slipped through the door, almost slamming it on Sarah Jane's hand.
Five minutes later, locked away in her bedroom, Sarah Jane decided that taking matters into her own hands, as it were, was the only rational thing to do.
Two minutes later, the phone rang.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, looked at the caller ID and sighed.
"Maria . . ."
"You didn't say I couldn't call you."
15 seconds later, Sarah Jane had one of the fastest orgasms, maybe not in the history of the universe, but certainly in her own personal history.