A/N: A very short little piece that I have to get out. I got a little hooked on Lucifer over the weekend and wondered ... hmmmm ... The Doctor's deepest desire ...

I hope this works ...

I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own Lucifer. Althoughhhhhhh ... I have been told more than once that I'm the daughter of the Devil, so who knows ...

~~oooOOOooo~~

The Doctor struck a rather thoughtful and purposeful stride as he dipped his head into his shoulders and thrust his hands deeply inside his trouser pockets. To anyone observing his casual walk and the curious glint inside his deep brown eyes, they might assume that he was casually and curiously excited about whatever plans he'd set for the evening. To anyone who knew him better, the appearance of a divot in his right cheek set by the grit of his teeth meant that he was here under protest.

Although he was full of love for a party and overflowing with excitable manic energy, the Doctor rather vehemently disliked the club scene. Oh, he was good to let loose and down a few inhibition-lowering beverages in the name of living it up like the locals. He could throw down as well as the next person. But when it came to being in a venue full of nearly naked individuals out to score a one-night-only shag with a complete stranger, the Doctor would much rather opt out, ta.

He quite honestly loathed the olfactory onslaught of arousal, pheromones, stale alcohol, and expensive (and sometimes not expensive enough) colognes and perfume that was assault him the very moment that he entered the venue. It was a melting pot of odours that mixed together about as well as oil and water, and he had a fairly limited ability to utilize his respiratory bypass in order to escape it.

Add to that the incessant thumping of sub woofers that gave each and every song an overpowering and oversaturated bass line that actually registered on any nearby Richter Scales, and this Time Lord risked being locked up in the vortex for days with a death-level neural implosion event.

Oh Might Rassilon, Warrior and Champion of all Time Lords, how had he let himself be talked into this? How had he let Martha talk him into not only landing in 21st century Los Angeles, but to also accompany her to the hottest nightclub in the City?

How?

He felt Martha's gait slip just slightly as her hip and hamstring protested the uneven surface of the cracked and rather poorly maintained sidewalk and remembered. If a fit of apology as he patched her up after she was injured in an altercation on Rahuliam-6, he had promised to take her anywhere she wanted to go. Any time, any place. All she had to do was ask, and he promised to input the coordinates into the TARDIS navigation and take her there.

Now. In his defence, he was the pilot of a brilliant time ship that had the ability to travel absolutely anywhere and any time in the entire universe – Gallifrey rather sadly omitted. With a companion as brilliant and as perfectly cultured as Martha, he expected her to ask for cocktails on the moon, or a ride along the rapids along the rings of Saturn.

He could have taken her to when they built the Pyramids of Giza, or he could introduce her to Marie Curie, or even follow along the flight path of Amelia Earhart and together they could solve the mystery of what happened during that doomed flight.

Oh, the options were endless.

So with all those delicious options at their disposal, the Doctor would openly admit to being hotly disappointed that his otherwise cultured and brilliant companion had chosen to go to a nightclub on Earth inside her own century where there would probably be no one of any real historical note to encounter.

How utterly disappointing was this evening going to be?

"Oh Doctor," Martha crooned excitedly beside him. "I can't believe that we're actually going to Lux!"

"Neither can I," he breathed with a sigh as he lifted his head to the sky to ask the deities to help him make it through the night.

Martha giggled against his arm. She'd curled herself around him the moment that they'd stepped out of the TARDIS and begun the relatively short walk toward the club. Her excitement rippled off her in vibrating waves that were practically visible.

"Are you really sure about this?" The Doctor questioned with an additional bit of volume to his voice as he warred against the roar of a sports car engine revving at the curb beside them. "You have all Time and Space at your disposal, and you want to go to a nightclub on Earth?"

She gripped tighter around his arm and nodded rapidly. "Doctor. Lux is the most exclusive club in the Northern Hemisphere! People line up outside all night and never get in."

"Sounds like a waste of an evening if you ask me," he grumbled somewhat petulantly. "We could be skimming the surface of Jupiter's third moon, or sipping cocktails on the very edge of the belt of Mehensia watching the universe birth brand new solar systems." He looked down at her with wide eyes of encouragement. "Creation, Martha! We can fly through the clouds and asteroid fields of a brand new constellation…"

"Sounds pretty dangerous if you ask me," she countered with a one-sided smile.

"Nah," he drawled. "The TARDIS wouldn't let anything happen to us. She's very protective of her Time Lord and his companions. She can dance through the asteroids with a careful and majestic choreography…"

"I really, really, want to go to this club, Doctor," Martha interrupted him with her own sigh. "And you promised me that we'd go wherever I wanted."

"I know, but-"

She lifted her arm to point across the street. "And I want to go there."

He could already feel the tremor of heavy bass beneath his feet, but he looked up anyway. Across the street was a bland looking building. Non descript, really, aside from the carefully carved (or moulded, knowing the lazy nature of the human race) stone doorways. Already there was a line that started at the front door and extended along the street for at least two blocks.

Oh, this was going to be a very long evening.

Such was his abhorration to spending his night in such Hell, he couldn't even find the will within him to get maybe a little bit excited about the Disney sign that glowed bright atop the lighted Ghiradelli lettering that promised both Disney merchandise and Chocolate – two of his favourite Earth-Based things.

"So," he sang on a long note. "What are we doing then? Did you want to stand against the wall all night in line to experience what I expect the vast majority of club goers experience when attending this venue, or-"

"I want to get in," she answered him with a roll in her eyes and a shake of her head. She hugged herself against his arm and looked up at him with an impossibly imploring expression. "Can you make that happen, Doctor?"

"Can I make that-" he blustered with affront. "Can I make that happen?" He looked to the sky. "She asks me if I – the Doctor – has what it takes to bypass an entire line of people to get into a … night .. club…" His words slowed and he looked back down at her with disdain. "Is this what you really want to do tonight, Martha? There are so many better options out there than a night in a noisy, smoky bar full of people only out to mate with another member of their species."

Martha huffed with an exaggerated roll in her eyes. "That's not what clubbing is for," she argued impatiently. "It's to go out and have some fun…"

"Which, for your species, is all about finding a temporary mate to rut with for the night," he finished with a curl in his lip. "Which, really, is a pointless endeavour when you have the capability of being able to sate any restlessness you may feel in that regard with some privately undertaken autoerotic stimulation engaged in before bed."

Martha's eyes were wide as the Doctor continued.

"Where there aren't any actual feelings of genuine physical or emotional attraction, and the act is not for the purposes of procreation, I hardly see the point in actively hunting a member of the gender by which you want to enjoy a good rut with, and risking the myriad of emotional and physical maladies that come with …" he twisted his hand in the air in a gesture that suggested he was looking for the right words. "With that kind of thing."

"I take it you've never had a one-night stand?"

He actually coughed out a rough sound of utter indignation. "I most certainly have not," he barked. His hand then flew to the back of his neck, where it shifted up and down in a sheepish kind of rub. "At least not one I've actively pursued. There might have been one or two circumstances over the centuries where I found myself caught up in some rather unfortunate compromising situations."

"Oh?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away from her. "Yes. Well. Moving on."

"Oh," she answered with a deep and throaty chuckle. "This is a side of you I've never seen. Anyone I might have heard about?"

He stepped away from her – enough to pull her off his arm – and then dropped his arm to clutch at her hand with a tightness that was uncomfortable. "You want to get into this club, Martha Jones?" He asked with the grin of a man who was taking on a challenge. "I'll get you into that club. We won't even need to wait in line."

She let out a squeal of thrill when he tugged her into a run across the road.

"You just wait, Martha Jones," he hollered excitedly as he spun to skip sideways and waved to a driver of a car that skidded to a stop to avoid hitting them. "Oh. So sorry. Cheers for stopping. Much appreciated."

Martha gave her own wave to the driver as she was pulled up over the short curb and onto the sidewalk. "Sorry! We're British! We're used to traffic on the other side of the road!"

The Doctor pulled her to a stop and looked toward a stoic and unmoving bouncer as he waited for Martha to catch her breath. "Oh. He's a big fella, isn't he?"

Martha stepped in close to the Doctor and pressed her chin into his arm as she peered across his shoulder. "So how do you plan on getting in," she queried with a smile.

The Doctor grinned and held up a flat brown leather wallet. He flipped it open and looked at her as best he could with her standing practically to his rear. "With the psychic paper, of course."

"Oh," she sang excitedly as she stepped around him to stand at his side, her hand in his. "And just who are we going to be this evening, Doctor?"

He started to walk and leaned down slightly to speak at her with a husky whisper. "Who do you want to be, Martha, Jones?"

"Surprise me," she answered back with a smile.

That made him laugh. "Then don't get upset with me if you don't like who I –" He yelped when the wallet was snatched out of his fingers with a yoink against his ear. He gasped to watch Martha march forward with his psychic paper in her fingers. "Martha Jones! Come back here with that."

~~oooOOOooo~~

The Doctor had to admit that the interior of the club wasn't quite what he was expecting. But then again, it really was. As expected, it was full of barely dressed women all undulating with deliberate sexuality to loud thumping music with enough bass that had the vibrations of the sub woofers tickling up through his chucks and into his groin. Oh, but perhaps that was the point, then. Drive a man to arousal before he could inhale the pheromones of a passing female. The desperation to sate the growing need inside a man's trousers would certainly lead to several drinks being bought for any and all females he might consider attractive, which would increase bar revenue.

He sniffed in through one nostril that lifted his lip lightly when a light-skinned brunette wearing a skin tight halterneck top with leather pants strode by leaving a wave of pheromones in her wake. She winked at him and then looked at her drink as though asking for another.

Superior. Time Lord. Biology.

She'd have to get her free drinks from someone else tonight. Her game wasn't going to work on him.

He looked back into the main club and inhaled a centering breath. Martha had taken off to the bar to get herself a cocktail as soon as he'd found himself a good viewing platform. This position served two purposes. One: People watching – and oh, how he did love to do that. And two: He found that the vibrations from the floor seemed somewhat lessened (or redirected away from his groin) if he crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned over the railing to look at the dance floor below.

The club had a very classy feel to it, despite the obvious sexuality of the place. It could have done without the scantily dressed women dancing on tabletops, but it did seem to add to the allure of the venue. It was sinful as much as it was regal. Luxurious on all fronts, really. The clientele was very attractive. Although there didn't appear to be a single celebrity in amongst the crowd, he couldn't see a single reveller that wouldn't have been able to grace the cover of GQ magazine.

He also couldn't see a single reveller that was obnoxiously drunk. It seemed that every person in the club was either drinking very responsibly, or had enough experience in drinking copious amounts of alcohol to have given themselves a certain tolerance to the drink to not to fall down blindly intoxicated…

…Either that, or the security staff were highly efficient in ejecting anyone who crossed the line from being happy to being completely drunk.

"Wow these drinks are expensive," Martha practically panted as she appeared at his side with a martini in each hand. She passed him one. "A $20 mix of Vodka and Vermouth, and no free TV."

…Or, it appeared, it was too expensive to have a few too many.

The Doctor gave her a smile as he took the glass from her hand and sniffed at its contents. "Shaken and not stirred?"

Martha shook her head and bumped his hip with hers. "You're not dressed like Bond," she chided him with amusement. "So no talkin' like him."

He shrugged and took a small sip, allowing the drink to wash across his tongue before swallowing. He winced a little at the burn of alcohol down his throat. He never was a Martini drinker. His voice was slightly croaked. "Nice. Thanks."

"Yeah, well you better make it last," she crooned after a small sip of her own. "We didn't exactly bring along a lot of money. Cover change took almost half of what we bright with us."

"I've got us covered," he assured her with a soft smile. "So enjoy yourself without worrying about the cost, okay?"

She watched a handsome and well built man walk along the floor slightly below them and let out an appreciative breath through her pursed lips. "Oh. I intend to."

His brow arched at the way her posture shifted to allure in the man's presence. He let his eyes fall to the man, all of six-feet tall, dark skin, and an almost ethereal air to his stride. He looked to Martha with warning. "Just so you know. We arrived here together, and we will leave in the same way. Both of us walk away from here, your hand in mine, back to the TARDIS."

She nodded, but seemed distracted by the handsome stranger.

"I mean it, Martha," he warned darkly. "We are in your century, but not your actual timeline. I am not going to let you get into any trouble that will…"

"I know," she promised him with an innocent, and appreciative smile. "I'm not here to play around. But that doesn't mean that I am not going to appreciate what is actually on offer here tonight." Her expression shifted to longing. "God knows I've had nothing but you to look at for the last little while. It's nice to see something different."

"I'm really trying hard not to be offended by that," he remarked with a petulant lift in his lip.

She lifted her eyes to his. "Are you jealous, maybe?"

"Time Lords don't get jealous," he remarked coolly.

"Oh course not," she breathed. She inhaled deep to talk inaudibly beneath the music. "Just possessive, and flirtatious, and unavailable…"

"What was that?"

A very smooth, and very suave British voice crooned from behind them. "I believe the lady is lamenting the fact that her companion this evening is somewhat out of touch with what it is she truly desires."

The Doctor spun quickly and stepped a single half-stride forward to put himself in between Martha and whoever it was that had approached him. His expression and his posture was one of warning.

"Can I help you?"

"No," their stranger said with a pearlized smile surrounded by dark and artfully crafted stubble. He looked between the pair with a knowing expression. "But I believe I might be able to help you."

"Unlikely," the Doctor challenged with a tip in his head as he tried to analyze the unidentifiable aura surrounding the man. "I mean to say that it's usually me who does the helping, and I am not in any need of assistance right now."

"I beg to differ," he argued smoothly as he smiled over the edge of a short tumbler of whiskey, neat. "There are always needs and desires that aren't always …" he looked toward Martha with a smooth smile. "Met."

Martha giggled with light embarrassment at the leering look of admiration from the man and ducked her head with a blush.

The man looked back toward the Doctor and shifted his face close as he looked piercingly into his eyes. "You have them. Don't you? Desires. Needs. What is it that you need most. What do you desire more than anything."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. He captured the man's look and offered an equally piercing stare of his own. "Your mind games won't work with me," he warned darkly. "I'm not as weak minded as the rest of the humans you have in your bar."

"Club," he corrected as he straightened and looked down toward the Doctor with a glint in his eye. "Humans? Well. That's a term you don't nearly often enough hear enough these days when describing others."

The Doctor nodded slowly. It was clear that he was sizing up the man in front of him. "I'm the Doctor," he said finally with a smile across his cheeks and a thrust of his hand into his trouser pocket. He sipped at the Martini and gave him an expression of challenge. "And just who might you be."

"The owner," he answered with a smile.

"I'm not up to date on the current social scene," the Doctor said with a disinterested shrug. "So you will have to forgive me if I have to ask you again. Just who might you be, then?"

"Lucifer," he answered as he extended a hand in greeting. "Lucifer Morningstar." He grinned widely at Martha's hitched breath. He leaned down with a cheeky smile. "You are welcome to consider me the Devil if you wish."