Part 2

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Phew! They hadn't been seen creeping back to the bedroom. Closing the door behind them, the Doctor eagerly requested, "Show me the knife you picked up. I can't wait to get out of these cable ties."

With a flurry, Donna withdrew the knife from her coat pocket. "Da dah!" she triumphantly pronounced.

He peered at the knife in her hand. "Is that it?"

"Why? What's wrong with it?" she asked, thinking it was typical him not to be impressed. That is she did, until she saw it herself. "It's a butter knife. I've gone and nicked a crummy butter knife."

"So I see," he confirmed. "But it needn't be the end of the world," he quickly consoled her when her expression dropped in disappointment. "Obviously a chef's knife would have been preferable. Even a cheese knife would have been an improvement; but we can get around this. It will just take a little bit more effort."

"How much effort?" she despondently wondered. "At this rate we'll have to gnaw through these binds with our teeth for days. Sorry."

He nudged her shoulder. "Hey! Where's your sense of adventure gone? We can do this, if we work together. Let's see…" He cast his gaze around the room. "If we use the bed to help us brace ourselves in opposite directions, we can pull and weaken the plastic while I attack it with the knife."

"That could take hours," she gasped in horror.

"We have hours," he drily commented. "Unless you fancy being so closely tied to me all night."

"Let's do this," she said decisively. The last thing she wanted was even more temptation. She'd been tied to him for hours now, and her control was starting to snap. Her bladder wasn't faring too well either; but so far she'd managed to avoid that embarrassment.

Wordlessly, they both kicked off their shoes as quickly as they could before climbing onto the bed, with the Doctor holding onto the headboard and Donna bracing herself as far away from him as she could manage, using her other hand to grip the plastic cord binding them together in order to give the task all her might.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she confirmed. "Don't mind me; just give it all you can."

Shifting his back leg to take a power stance, he let go of the headboard and held the knife against the cord and away from his wrist. Leaning away from her, he called out, "Go!"

Outside in the corridor, Harry Butler slowly made his way to what he thought was his hotel inspectors' room and went to tentatively knock on the door to tell them dinner was ready. As his bent fingers near the wood of the door, he heard a loud groan; then the Doctor yelling out, "That's it Donna, stretch it."

His hand still hovering to rap his knuckles, he overheard, "Pull back and give it a bend."

"That's what I am doing."

Intrigued, Harry placed his ear against the wood grain in order to hear more of this enticing pornographic drama.

There was more loud panting, joined by thumps from the bed hitting the wall. "It's getting longer," Donna excitedly stated as the plastic began to stretch, cutting into her wrist. "Bloody hell this is painful."

Harry's eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he heard the Doctor request, "Arch your back, Donna. I'm almost there! Keep going."

"Oh my gawd," Donna's voice joined the Doctor's. "I think I'm going to…"

"Just do it! Give it some welly! I'm really close now."

"ARGHHHHHH!"

A loud shriek rang out, two desperate thuds of the bed against the wall, and then the Doctor could be clearly heard to say, "I'm spent! That did the trick. Success. Are you alright?"

"No! It will take me hours if not days to be able to walk properly again," Donna wailed, clearly in pain. "Why do I let you do this sort of thing to me?"

"Because you wanted to be free," he suggested.

"Not only that," she wheezed as he helped her to her feet. "But I'm absolutely dying to use the loo." With that, she did a half stumble, half dash into the en suite bathroom, slamming the door behind her as she dashed in.

"She should have said," he joked to himself.

A gentle tap on the door drew his attention, so he cautiously opened it a few inches. "Yes? Is there a problem."

On the other side stood Harry; looking rather restless. "I came up to tell you that dinner is ready."

The Doctor broke into a wide grin. "Oh, fantastic! Molto bene!"

At that moment Donna reappeared from the toilet without knowing of their visitor. "I really needed that. You got it off just in time," she joyfully stated before spotting Harry standing in the doorway. "Oh! Is something the matter?"

"Dinner is ready and waiting for you both downstairs." To her consternation, Harry then leered at her. "I'm sure you've both worked up an appetite."

The Doctor opened the door wide in invitation for the man to leave. "Thank you. We'll be right down."

Once he'd gone, the Doctor shared a bewildered look with Donna before dashing to use the toilet himself. Except that Time Lords don't rush about like that to expel body secretions; he was merely carrying out a bathroom inspection….

#~#~#

The meal of venison pie and new potatoes was very welcome as they tucked into it with gusto. But the Doctor could not fail to see the wince of pain from Donna when she accidentally hit her right wrist against the edge of the table. "Anything wrong?" he enquired.

"Not really," she reluctantly replied and gave her skin a tender rub.

"I think there is," he dismissed, and reached across to take hold of her right hand. "I'd say that those plastic ties bit further into your flesh than you are willing to admit."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," she confessed, as he drew her hand nearer to him. What was he doing? She watched him with great interest, wondering if he was trying to distract her with some gallant behaviour; when his tongue suddenly flicked out and licked a path across her wrist. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

"I'm licking you, Donna."

"I can see that, you numpty!" she blazed, feeling rather flustered. "What I want to know is why?"

"Because I have healing enzymes within my saliva," he explained as though she ought to know already. Except that wasn't all he was doing. Instead, he was carrying out his own mini experiment on her.

"You could have said," she growled under her breath.

"I did!" he maintained. "I said it just now."

She would have thumped him on the arm, but Jean and Harry came back into the otherwise empty dining room, bringing a drink for them.

"Here you go," Jean pleasantly stated as she placed two cups, sugar, cream, and a pot of coffee onto the table. "How are you enjoying your stay so far?"

"Very nice, thank you," the Doctor answered with a smile.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" Jean continued to ask as she finished pouring out the coffee.

"Not necessarily," the Doctor replied, visually checking with Donna that that was correct. "Nothing more than perhaps a spot of telly after the busy activities we've had."

"I'm completely knackered," Donna announced to add to the story. She took a large sip from her cup. "I can't wait to get into bed."

The Doctor idly wondered why both Harry and Jean suddenly looked as though they were trying not to change their expressions. Rather pinched, is the term he would have used to describe them. Carefully, he placed his napkin on the table. "Perhaps we should have an early night. It's been a tiring day."

Jean in particular burst into a smirk before she fought to hide it. "Do you have everything you need in your room?"

"There's a couple of things I'm missing, but I can get by without," Donna sweetly answered.

Okay, the Doctor was officially suspicious now. Their hosts were definitely hiding something.

"I hope you don't mind me saying," Harry began to say as he leaned in close to the Doctor, speaking directly into his ear, "but if you are interested, the Loch Laggan Hotel apparently holds separate nights for your special tastes."

"Special tastes?" the Doctor wondered.

Harry geared himself up to explain, "For you and the misses, and others, if you receive my meaning."

The Doctor frowned. This didn't sound very scientific or planet threatening, whatever it was. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Don't mind him," Jean quickly covered her husband's words. "He doesn't know what he's saying half the time. I'll leave the coffee here for you to help yourselves; and I'll wish you both good night. We'll see you at breakfast. We serve between seven thirty and nine."

"Good night," both Donna and the Doctor bade them farewell as they disappeared from the room, leaving them alone.

Well, that was weird, they both noted. And drank the end of their coffee in confusion.

#~#~#

Now for the tricky bit; going to bed. If she hadn't felt so tired, Donna was sure the Doctor would have forced her to walk to the TARDIS immediately; but as it was, she could hardly keep her eyes open. The previous night had been a long sleepless one, so she had some catching up to do. Part of the tricky situation was that the Doctor evidently needed some sleep too, but there was only one bed, and no comfortable chair, let alone a sofa. Admittedly it was a double bed, but they would still have to share it. The leading question was: what should they wear? Should they strip down to underwear or keep their clothing on?

"I dunno about you, but I need to give my socks a rinse out," she commented as nonchalantly as she could as the bedroom door shut behind them, closing them in.

He frowned. "What about your unmentionables? Won't they need cleaning too?"

"Shush! Don't talk about them. That's why they're unmentionables," she joked, gaining the laugh she had wanted from him. Trouble was, she also wanted a bit more; but she wasn't allowed. "It'd be a bit weird, wouldn't it, if I completely stripped off and washed my smalls?"

The words 'completely stripped' hung about in his brain for far longer than they should have done. "Oh, I dunno. You can risk it if you like." Then her incredulous expression hit him in his common-sense, so he coughed and amended it to, "I could strip off too, if that helps." That expression didn't go away, instead it deepened; making him feel uncomfortable. "Or not, as the case may be."

"Daft Martian," she muttered. "You really have no idea what is so wrong about us both going to bed together in the buff, do you?"

"Erm…" He gave his head a scratch and then his neck a comforting rub. "No, unless us doing so would mean that you and I…" His whole face suddenly flushed a bright red colour while his eyes went wide. "That could lead to mating," he breathily reasoned out.

"No kidding, Sherlock," she mocked as embarrassment made her look away. There was nothing on Earth that could compel her to look him in the eyes yet. "And we all know that's the last thing you'd want to do."

"Oh I can think of…" Again his sentence halted before it was fully formed. "Yes, yes, that's perfectly the case," he mumbled. "We can share a bed without nakedness causing us problems of a carnal nature."

"Too right it won't," she snorted. "Hang on," she bit out, whirling her head around to glare at him. "Who said we would be naked?"

"You did," he cautiously replied. "I distinctly remember you suggesting completely stripping off."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as rage and something else tried to take a foothold. So she opted for the safest answer. "I said I would have to strip off IF I washed my knickers in the sink. How did that morph into us being both naked?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes these things escalate."

"Can you actually hear yourself?" she wondered. "This is fast becoming a sketch out of Benny Hill. In next to no time I'll be running around in suspenders and a bra."

"Do you really think you should, Donna? It's a bit nippy to do that," he pointed out.

So she hit him on the arm.

"Ow!" he complained. "I'm not the one proposing running about in your… your… your… your fineries."

It was time to take charge, she decided. He could take it back when they next faced some weird alien. Although the alien standing in front of her couldn't have been weirder if he tried. "Listen here, Sunshine. I am going to go into the shower room or whatever you call it, I will wash, get into bed in my undies, you will then join me and not cop a feel, or so help me God you will be wearing your balls around your neck for the rest of your life."

"A little harsh," he cautioned, feeling affronted. "But if you want to shower and wear a towel to bed, I promise similar regulations would apply."

"In my underwear," she stressed, nipping that idea well and truly in the bud despite it being quite an attractive one in the circumstances.

"Very well," he sighed, and reached up to undo his jacket buttons. "Sometimes I don't think you trust me."

"It's not that I don't trust you," she started to explain; "it's the fact that I'd rather not risk it."

He nodded his agreement, but watching her go into the en suite shower room made his hearts ache for all the injustices she had suffered at the hands of men.

When she re-emerged, he was sat on the bed wearing just the t-shirt he wore under his shirt and his boxer shorts. "I was thinking," he proposed on seeing her, "you could wear my shirt as a nightdress if you like. Would save sleeping in your bra."

She smiled in gratitude. "Thanks. That's very kind of you but, not to appear rude, you've been wearing it all day."

"It doesn't smell. Honest. Anyway, it's there if you want it," he concluded, pointing to the article now slung over a hook on the back of the wooden door. "I'll be back in a tick."

With that, he went to wash as well.

Tentatively, she walked over, picked up his shirt, and took a deep breath next to the material. Could she wear it? Would it be wrong to do so? It smelt still relatively fresh, with a strong tang of his after shave. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit it smelt gorgeous. Flicking her gaze towards the inner closed door first, she decided she would use his shirt. Yes, why not? He'd offered, and she could be surrounded by him all night long.

Turning her back just in case, she lowered her bra straps, pulled the shirt on, undid the clasp, and then flung off her bra with expert ease. The cool crispness of the cotton felt delicious next to her bare flesh. Shimmying out of the rest of her clothing, she quickly lifted the bedcovers and dived in underneath. First hurdle was over with. Now she had to cope with the rest of the night.

"Ah, I see you took up my offer," he gleefully commented as he reappeared in the now subdued lighting. Donna had left on the small bedside light to help him find his way to the bed. "I'm coming in!"

"Did you have to?" she grumbled as he practically bounced into the bed. She continued to gripe once his body crashed into hers. "Bloody hell your feet are cold! Where have you been keeping them?"

"In my socks," he answered, pouting.

He couldn't help it if she didn't appreciate his lower body temperature and she was all cosy warm in comparison. As it was he was trying to not notice the fact she was wearing his shirt; and was trying equally hard not to restrict his attention to the way the buttons of it were straining above her cleavage. Thankfully her turning the bedside light off meant that she hadn't noticed any behaviour or eye-straying that could possibly be damaging to his health.

"Just… stay over there," Donna cautiously warned him as she lay down. The feel of his hairy leg wedged up against her smoother one was both annoying and exciting for all the wrong reasons.

He felt it best to say nothing as he accidentally took in a heady aromatic mixture of the soap she had used and her own unique scent, right up until he noted that she winced again with pain when she laid her arm down on the top bed cover. So he reached out to take hold of her right hand and pulled her body slowly towards him, so that they were both rested on their sides but facing one another. "It would be best if you slept on your left side tonight and give this wrist a chance to heal. Here, let me give you some more of my healing cells."

Without waiting for her to give him a yea or a nay, he licked languidly across her wrist, but this time he added in a faint suckle on her pulse point that almost made her go completely weak at the knees as his breath fluttered onto her sensitive skin.

"Thank you," she feebly muttered. "Who knew alien spit could be so useful. What about your wrist? Shouldn't you be licking it too?"

"Don't need to," he smugly commented. "All I need is a couple of hours of healing sleep and it'll be fine, remember."

"Lucky bugger. I'd forgotten you could do that. There's one tiny problem with this position," she remarked as she noted how close they were together. Almost face to face. "If we lie like this to help our injured wrists, we'll be breathing into each other's faces."

"I have a solution for that," he brightly offered, and plumped up his pillow so that his head was slightly above hers. "That alright?"

"Erm, no," she admitted after some seconds. Her head was sort of left awkwardly without proper support. "This position isn't very comfortable."

"Hang on a tick," he murmured, and shuffled about again. This time he ended up by rolling partially onto his back, taking her and part of her pillow with them, so that she was lying directly on his chest but cushioned appropriately. "There you go. That should do it."

"This is fine," she agreed, shocked, appalled and amazed that she was partially draped over his body with their legs now intertwined.

Her head was comfortable, so the only thing against this position was the increasingly intimate nature of their postures as she became aware of the natural rise and fall of his breathing that matched the rhythm of her own. But, she reasoned, if he was fine with it, then so could she be. As her happy daydream of pretending this was reality shifted through her mind, she slowly drifted down into a pleasant and much needed deep sleep.

The Doctor sighed in contentment as he gently stroked her hair, and smoothed his right hand down her back, to rub caressing circles to aid her sleep. Once he was sure she had fallen asleep, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and allowed himself to drift into a required healing sleep of his own; a welcome one that lacked the usual nightmares.

#~#~#