Her language, her anger and urgency, her legs wrapped around his waist, they all guaranteed that he was iron-hot, hard, and could no longer reason with himself nor anyone else.

He moved his mouth down to the tender part of her neck, and she leaned back and moaned. He responded with a similar, visceral sound. With that, he grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up over her head, to find her deliciously bare underneath, except for a pair of white cotton knickers. He tossed it over her shoulder onto the other side of the doughnut-shaped control board.

Then he took half a step back and began unbuttoning his jacket, eyes locked on her.

"No," she said, grabbing his hands. "Now."

He raised his eyebrows. "Like, right now?"

"Yes," she replied, pulling him back in with her ankles against his bum. "You're wearing a suit. It takes too long." She grabbed his tie and tugged him back down for a kiss.

"Let me at least lose the jacket," he breathed, as she went for his waistband and popped the button loose.

"If you must," she replied, concentrating now on the zip. "Just hurry."

He fumbled with the last two buttons, and practically ripped his pin-striped jacket down his arms and threw it on the floor. By the time he was finished doing that, Martha had her hand wrapped around his length, and was leaning back against the other hand. She was ready. Now, and now.

He looked her in the eyes first, to find her looking back with a pressing need, and still a little bit of anger. He could not bring himself to worm away from her again, even if it was to remove more clothes, so he pushed her knickers aside and buried himself inside her. She pushed forward against him, bringing him in deeper. She leaned against her hands behind her for leverage, and moaned again, from somewhere, it seemed within the depths of her soul. She closed her eyes momentarily, but not for long. If this was going to happen, she wanted to be in the moment – she wanted to watch.

Maybe you can try to answer the question again after you've fucked me blind, she had said. So he planted his hands on her hips and drove in, not very gently, with his sights set on giving her what she'd said she wanted. Both of them gritted their teeth against the impact, and Martha growled a few encouragements at him. Her eyes darted back and forth between his face, and the heated space between them. This spurred him on to aggressive, faster thrusts that truly made him wish she had allowed him to undress a bit more. Sweat was starting to gather, and run down his back as he pushed harder and harder at every moment.

Suddenly she sat up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clenched her thighs round his waist.

"You all right?" he asked, now bracing his hands against the control board, though he could not have stopped driving into her if a train had hit him.

She didn't say anything, but rather dug her fingernails into his shirt, at his left scapula, and he received his answer. She moaned hard, and he could feel her insides begin to bubble, as though she'd literally reached the boiling point. She whispered his name with a hiss, then added an expletive, and seemed to come forever. She grasped harder at him in her release – all parts of her seemed to pull tighter with each wave of ecstasy she felt. He stopped moving and relished the feeling of her pleasure surrounding him, her hot breath against his neck, a little bit of pain as she withdrew her fingernails from his back.

"Don't stop," she demanded, disengaging her arms and leaning back once again. She locked eyes with him, commanding him to continue.

He obeyed, by grasping her calves and pulling them up to his shoulders, one on either side of his head, forcing her to lie back even further. With that, he continued, harder and faster than before.

"Ah!" she cried out.

"All right?"

Gasping, she replied, "You're hurting me."

"Want me to stop?"

"God, no," she told him. "Don't you dare. Not until my vision goes blurry!"

With that, she heaved herself back up to a semi-sitting position, her hands braced against the control board behind her. She caught the Doctor's eye, and narrowed her own, challenging him to drive the wind out of her.

So he stopped for a moment, and narrowed his eyes in return, bit his lower lip and responded to the challenge. He drove in with force that frightened him a little – would she be able to…

And then there was a click, and a whoosh.

"Shit!" the Doctor spat.

"Oh, I know," she said, throwing her head back.

"No, no…" he said. "It's the… ugh, never mind!"

"What?" she wanted to know as he continued on his quest. He plunged forward hard, and she squeaked a little.

"Shhh," he told her. "Just… brace yourself."

He grabbed her hips again, and began moving not only himself, but also her. He pulled both of their bodies back and forth in tandem, impaling her over and over, much to her constant cries – sometimes words, sometimes just high-pitched exhalations. She again threw her head back and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were glazed over now, and her rich magenta lips hung open in disbelief.

He found himself about to bite his tongue off, in his own passion. He disengaged it by saying, "Martha… I'm close, I can't hold back for much longer."

"All I see is fog…" she replied. He saw tears spill out the sides of her eyes.

"Good, because…" he said, and then lost control. He let out a hard, blunt groan as he spilled over inside her, and she responded with a few short screams. He couldn't tell if she was coming again, and at this moment, he couldn't really be bothered to care. He created big white handprints on her skin, he held on so tightly as he thrust again, then again, each time with more exhausted momentum, emptying everything he had within her.

After a quick pause, she sat up and draped her arms around him. This time, they just held each other, and as they worked their way down from the intoxication. Martha's vision slowly returned to normal and the Doctor's mind churned with turmoil.

Though not over what he had done with her, but over what they had done to their situation.

"What?" she asked, sensing his discomfort, pulling back and looking at him.

"Look," he told her, gesturing with his eyes to the area behind her.

She turned, trying not to let him slip from inside her, and gasped. Behind her, the other side of the doughnut control board had disappeared, as had the other entire half of the room. There was only a blank wall and the horseshoe-shaped board she was sitting on.

The TARDISes had been knocked offline from each other while its occupants had been using the control board in a capacity for which it had not been intended.

"Is that what you were cursing about?" she asked meekly.

"Yep."

She sighed. "You threw my t-shirt over there."

"Mm-hm," he said. "Sorry about that."

"I'll have to go back to my room in only my knickers and flip-flops."

"And that is just problem number one."