Characters: Ten, Donna, Peter Vincent, OCs

Prompt: given by develish1 (quite by accident)

Warning: this story will include lots of swearing; but then what did you expect with Peter Vincent?!

Disclaimer: I do not own the hotel, the bed, the bed sheets, the alarm clock, the… Hopefully you are getting the picture by now.

A/N: originally written for stinabeena in order to wish her a very "Happy birthday!"

Mistaken Identities

Part 1

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It was quiet as Donna slowly crept up an impressive staircase within an equally impressive house. She had followed her trail of investigation to enter this large house in the middle of nowhere; that's if you count the middle of Belgravia as being nowhere. Whoever owned this house clearly had plenty of money and connections, judging by the location, the antiques dotted nonchalantly about and the portraits hanging on the walls around her. Most old families had ancestral portraits on display, but the owner had gone for photographs of the rich and famous. Weird that. Not your average English Heritage gaff at all.

The floorboards creaked annoyingly as she stepped off the top of the staircase, mentally shushing herself to keep quiet. Nobody was about on the expansive landing, but there was clearly someone in the bathroom, judging by the sounds of someone moving about in the room to the side of her; rinsing out their mouth and then hitting the floor with a loud thump.

There was only one possible person it could be in her mind so, following the sound, she opened the door into the bathroom and made her grand entrance.

Sighing with relief when she spotted the occupant, Donna hastily swept into the small room, cautiously closing the door behind her before she kicked at the black booted foot in front of her and asked her burning question. "Okay Spaceman, what the hell are you doing skulking in here? Give us all the gossip."

The man sat leaning back against the bathroom sink pedestal shot an extremely angry glare in her direction. "What are you on about, and who the fuck are you?!"

She snorted in exasperation. "Don't play the idiot with me! I know you are working undercover, so tell me. What's going on with the whole…" There was an explanatory moment where she pointed to his clothing, since he was dressed completely in an unusual mixture of black cotton and leather. "… Demented sock puppet look?"

"Demented sock puppet!" he cried out indignantly. "You've got a fucking nerve coming in here and insulting me when I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Truck?" she queried in surprise, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Why do you think?" he petulantly replied. "Sorry," he added sarcastically, "I should have said 'lorry'; but I tend to mix with people who can't spell right most of the time let alone use the proper words for things."

She frowned at him in utter confusion. This really wasn't the way he normally spoke. "Are you alright, Doctor?" Donna asked more gently, and dropped down onto her haunches to place a tender hand on his arm; offering her normal brand of support. "Just tell me what you need and I'll provide it, whatever it is."

The man in front of her obviously had an idea occur to him. "Anything?" he queried.

"Well, when I say anything, I'm sure you don't mean I should offer up my future offspring in sacrifice to the temple of the great and mighty Time Lords," she retorted.

His eyes swept over her in judgement, but he didn't seem overly disgusted with her, she thought.

"What about your body?" he asked after his visual scan.

What was he on about now? No doubt she had missed something important. "What about my body?"

"Would you let me have your body?" he boldly wondered.

"What on Earth for? Is this you telling me we've got to do some sort of creepy body swap? Because I'm not sure I could cope with yours. It's a bit high maintenance, although I would be able to eat whatever I liked," she pondered as she rambled on, hoping he'd think up a decent alternative. "And the idea of you getting your hands on my chest is a bit unsettling."

"It's a very nice chest," he commented as he confidently stared right at it. "I assure you your chest would thank me for putting my hands there."

This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all! The Doctor never spoke this way; not to anyone. So Donna put her hand on his forehead to check his temperature and then moved it to his cheek. "You're feeling a bit warm. We need to cool you down before we get out of here. It's sending you loop."

He continued to stare at this crazy woman in front of him. Obviously she thought he was someone else. Who that was would remain a mystery to him, but there was a burgeoning question in his mind: how could he get her to fuck him? His body had already risen to the bait, and she kept going on about that luscious chest of hers. It was peeping out at him as she leaned forward, and the way her long flowing ginger hair was playing across the exposed creamy skin of her neck was driving him wild. That wasn't the alcohol speaking; he'd long rid himself of that effect earlier that evening. He'd been sitting there in the bathroom contemplating how he could escape out of this house without being detected, and perhaps this curvaceous beauty would provide the means.

"I'm not feeling quite myself," he uttered, wondering quite what he could get away with. He'd have to play it by ear, as usual. "I need to get back to my room in the hotel."

To his delight she seemed to pounce happily on this information.

"The hotel? Is that where you parked the TARDIS?" she gleefully enquired.

Okay, he decided he'd go along with this. Gawd knows what a Tardis is though. He'd certainly never seen one, let alone driven it. It was probably the latest car from Fords of Europe, and made just down the road. He'd been more than a bit out of touch with British cars lately. "Yes, love," he quickly answered. "That's exactly where it is. Can you help me get there?"

Donna snorted her scorn. "Of course I can. Just tell me what you want me to do."

'Start by sucking me off and we'll continue from there,' he thought. "I need to get out of this place without anyone noticing, so I shall want you to hold me tight and let me snog you. Nobody ever stops a canoodling couple. Can you do that?"

"I think so," she answered cautiously. The thought of the Doctor resorting to this old cliché was more than odd. "I warn you, if you try to cop a feel I shall slap you one."

"You will?" He then saucily grinned at her. "I rather like the sound of that."

That made her mind up; he definitely needed to get back to the TARDIS as fast as possible. "Come on, up you get," she encouraged him as she tugged on his arm. "The sooner we get out of here the sooner you can be home."

"Ooh, I like a girl that initiates things," he leered as he pulled himself into a standing position. Unfortunately his sense of balance was still rather off, so he leaned heavily on her. Not that he needed to, he just wanted to and used it as an excuse. Drunkenness and he were old friends and enemies. They knew each other very well.

She chose that moment to look properly at his hands. "Erm… Doctor, why are you wearing black nail varnish?" she openly wondered.

He flicked his gaze downwards and then dismissed the question as being stupid. "The usual reasons."

"What reasons…?" she started to ask, and then thought better of it. If he was ill or in disguise then that would explain it; and anything else she didn't want to know about just yet. Lowering her hand until she covered his, she gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Which way home?"

"Just follow my lead," he whispered to her, and groggily steered them down the stairs and into the grandiose hallway below.

At the bottom of the staircase they were suddenly seen by the owner of the grand house, Rodney Le Strange. "Are you alright, old boy?" he asked Donna's companion with concern.

Rodney's concern was immediately waved off with an arrogant sneer. "I certainly am! This little darling has agreed to join me tonight, Rodders."

"Is that Peter you're talking to, Rodney?" a woman called out from a nearby open doorway.

"Oh shit!" the man complained quietly to Donna. "It had to be her, didn't it? Brace yourself, love."

And then Donna found herself shoved up against the nearest wall with his mouth firmly planted on her lips. She tried to protest at the intrusion, but he had her pinned beneath him. "Doctor," she managed to gasp out when he eased his hold for a second, but he quickly took repossession; halting any further words.

Once it was clear they were on their own again, he finally released her. "Sorry love, but I had to avoid them."

"A bit of a cliché, ain't it?" she griped, pressing her fingers to her lips. Why had he gone and done that? Normally he would have talked his way out the situation. Not that he had informed her yet what the situation exactly was. If she didn't know better she would have said he'd been drugged. "Look Doctor…"

He stopped her talking by placing a fingertip on her lips, shocking her into silence. "For the time being let's call me 'Peter', eh? Can you do that for me?"

Donna nodded. "Okay. But why 'Peter'?" she asked when she was able to speak again. "I thought you normally chose 'John'."

"I fancied a change," he lied.

"That's not all you seem to fancy," she remarked, shoving him away from her body. "Unless this is some bizarre part of your plan; and don't try to kid me that you've got your sonic in your pocket."

Peter wracked his brain to work out what the hell she was going on about with the 'sonic' reference, and all he could think of was a sonic toothbrush. Why would you have a sonic toothbrush, or any other type of one, in your pocket? He decided to go with that all time classic: distraction.

~0~0~