THE DELETED SCENE

He kissed her, pressing her back into the soft sand and pushing her lips apart with his own. When their tongues began to dance, at first, she just lay there, relishing the moment. But gradually, the euphoria passed, and was replaced by a blinding ache. She pushed her hands between herself and the Doctor and hastily unbuttoned his suit coat and shirt pushed them down his arms. He tossed them both aside without missing a beat.

He moved down her body and pushed the linen dress up. He held it in place just below her breasts as his tongue forged crooked and winding paths across and down her smooth brown midriff. His wanderings ceased for a few seconds, and he tugged at the waistband of her stringy lavender knickers. He pulled them down her legs and she kicked them off. Soon, she felt the same winding paths of his tongue dragging across her inner thighs, first the left, then the right. Then back again, then back again. She groaned with the almost oppressive anticipation, and unable to help himself, the Doctor giggled a bit, pleased with himself.

And then, suddenly, his aimless meandering turned purposeful. From her right knee all the way up the inside of her leg, he planted ripe kisses in a straight, but maddeningly slow, ascent. When there was no more leg left, and Martha was panting, he allowed his tongue to explore the place in-between, the centre of all her pleasure. Releasing a breathy cry into the purple and gold night, she threw her forearm over her eyes in despair of this overwhelming sensation. Her body was fully ignited now, and it felt as though he was tracing the words of a long love letter with his tongue over the single most sensitive inch of her body. Twice, he felt her fingers dig in and grip his wayward hair, and then shudder beneath his touch. Each time, he brought her down gently, massaging the surrounding flesh, listening to cues from her breathing.

As he began to help her ascend for a third time, she pulled away and sat up, and they each found themselves kneeling on the blanket, staring at the other. She pushed her hands against his shoulders to indicate that she'd like him to lie down. He obeyed, and then watched as she pulled her beloved yellow dress over her head. There she was, Martha Jones, naked and spectacular against the purple sky, looking down on her Doctor with love. She leaned in and kissed his clavicle, and then worked her way down his chest. Now it was the Doctor's turn to feel that oppressive anticipation, the tightness, the hunger. Then, she kissed her way horizontally across his middle, just above the low-slung waistband of his trousers. She moved just as maddeningly slowly as he had on her, and he held his breath as she did this, and let out a frustrated puff of air as she began the process again, in the opposite direction.

Finally, she undid the button of his trousers, and kissed the flesh underneath. Then she slowly pushed the zip down, and moved to help him remove the remainder of his clothing. That done, Martha sat on her knees between his thighs and wasted no further time. She had been dying to do this ever since they first discovered their love for each other (although, if she was honest with herself, she'd wanted to do this since the night they first flew off together). And as she slid her lips over his length for the first time, she made sure to take in the feeling – the smoothness, the hardness, at long last, sailing over her tongue. She closed her eyes, and a feeling of great satisfaction came over her, which she could not explain. She listened to the moan that escaped from him, then opened her eyes to find the Doctor staring back at her. She did not break eye contact as she pulled her mouth back up again, and then repeated the downward motion, greeted again by a moan. She repeated herself over and over, each moment more quickly. She watched his face tighten with the agonising pleasure. She worked her tongue over him, worked her hands, and before long, his body tensed even further. His breathing changed, quickened, became erratic and short, and when her momentum finally gave him release, she was more than ready. She heard an exhausted groan, and felt her mouth suddenly flooded. She let the warm liquid slide down her throat, and released him from her mouth.

She kissed her way back up his body, then straddled across his middle. She leaned down, pressing her lips once more against his. One arm curled around her, while the other hand grabbed hold of the edge of the blanket. He rolled swiftly to one side, wrapping himself and Martha within the folds, and conveniently placing himself on top once more. He slid inside her, and she took in a surprised gasp, opening her eyes wide to meet his.

"If I really thought you might cease to exist..." he whispered, his eyes intense, his body moving within her.

"...it might be my last night to live..." she whispered back, eyes just as intense.

"...I'd have to go with you," he said.

"I don't think it works that way," she sighed.

"It might," he answered, kissing her behind the ear. "If I get really close to you."

She smiled at the innocence of his remark, the almost child-like quality of it. It completely undercut the fact that he has the whole of time mapped out in his brain like a blueprint, and he knew very well that if Martha ceased to exist, it would just be him left here, wrapped in a blanket in the sand.

But he held her tighter, and his movements grew more insistent. This time, they began the climb together, their bodies moving and tightening like strands of rope, their breaths coming in harried spurts, their fingers gripping, their voices chiming in chorus. And when it was all too much, their tensions were released together, mutual relief washing over them at the same time, their bodies calming each other.

After a long, chatty interval, they wrapped themselves tighter, and this time, Martha guided them both into oblivion. Several times that night, she thought that she could die then, slide right out of this life, and be happy simply to have lived. But then she would open her eyes and see the man she loved and followed to the far corners of the universe, and she clung to him. She had never so seriously contemplated death and life, welcomed the darkness but clawed at the light.