I'm obsessed with the many, many nuances of the Doctor and Martha's relationship. I love them both, and I love angst [and smut]. Come along with me on this journey of smangst and surprises. Be warned, though - there's a lot of darkness to be found here.
This is both a Ten/Martha and a Ten/Rose story!
I cannot for the life of me figure out how to tag Ten in two separate pairings on this god-forsaken website. If you detest either character (and/or don't wish to keep an open mind about them), please do not read any further. My depression is plenty crippling enough as is, trust me.
(While I love Ten — the precious, broken thing — this is not my usual Ten. He's a bit of a bastard at times throughout this story. Just thought you should know!)
Starts off between 'The Lazarus Experiment' and '42'; ignores the Master arc.
Beta: bronzeagepizzeria
Fresh on the heels of heartbreak, a Time Lord who'd been down on his luck found himself on planet Earth, where he met a lovely young woman by the name of Martha Jones.
Martha was the perfect distraction. Kind and driven; brilliant and beautiful.
The Doctor wasn't interested in his new companion, of course. Time Lords didn't concern themselves with sex or romance or any other primitive concept.
Rose was a fluke.
A breathtaking, wonderful, glorious fluke; his best-mate-turned-soulmate-turned-oh-wonderful-she's-been-sucked-into-another-bloody-dimension.
Though he'd gone and allowed himself to fall in love with her, he'd been too thick to tell her as much—and he'd likely regret that mistake for the rest of his lives.
Lovely as Martha Jones was, she never stood a chance when she came aboard… but the Lonely God had grown volatile in his grief. Vulnerable. Downright injudicious, and Martha was a source of comfort. She'd go along with just about anything; put up with him at his absolute worst.
He could project every ounce of his venom towards her, drag her away from her priorities, deny her prolonged residency on the TARDIS, and nearly get her killed all in time for dinner, and somehow, she would be the one apologizing to him.
And he'd let her.
He might not deserve her, but blimey, did he need her.
He'd been so lonely and hollow before. Reckless. He was still all of those things, but Martha was his special little buffer. The protective layer between sanity and the hell dimension that made up the bulk of his thoughts since the howling Void. He reveled in that aspect of their relationship, certainly, but...
The thing is: She really fancied him.
From the first day he met Martha, he knew it. One genetic transfer was all it took for her to turn into a walking plume of pheromones, though if he were honest with himself, it'd been going on since she first saw him in the hospital that morning.
It only got more intense the more time they spent together.
Sure, he'd once mentioned that he wasn't interested in her in that way, but human women could be tricky, and—well. It was also some time ago that he'd said it.
It didn't help that he was more than a bit fit in this particular incarnation, and perhaps he did flirt—harmlessly—with her on occasion, and as far as her memory served, he'd kissed her the first day he met her. Kissed her and asked her on a "date".
He'd insisted it wasn't a date, but again… Human women. Tricky, tricky.
In addition to the pheromones, Martha's agreeability took a front seat almost instantly when they met—almost like she yearned to please him. Not that uncommon with companions, especially at first, but…
Then there was the fawning. The fawning which, bless her, she seemed to think she was being surreptitious about. He'd regularly catch her staring, always pretending he hadn't seen. Her gentle smiles were marked with reverence, she was always touching him, and, well, there was that flirting thing; flirting that he wasn't exactly stellar at keeping one-sided.
Lastly… Rose.
Bloody hell.
Any mention of his former companion would occasionally set his current one on a little jealous fritz that, frankly, could rival that of a secondary school student (not that Rose was much better, where jealous behavior was concerned).
(And not that either of them was much older than a secondary school student, but still.)
Put in basic terms, it was textbook infatuation.
Even if none of that had been going on, even if she'd been a remarkable actor, her pheromones would betray her every single time.
Ever since the night they'd been trapped inside of Lazarus' machine, practically pressed together in a tight, tiny space under the threat of death, there'd been a dramatic uptick in just how often and how intensely his new companion would grow, erm… excited around him.
That'd also been the night he allowed her to come aboard full-time, which certainly didn't help, but now they couldn't so much as be in the same room together without her body calling out to him with persistent determination.
Even if he couldn't sense her, her desires were not subtle. It was glaringly obvious, especially as time went on, that she had needs that weren't being met as a result of her life on the TARDIS—and it was getting worse.
Most recently, she'd begun to grow tetchy and short with him over seemingly nothing at all, retiring to her room each night in a quiet huff only to greet him the following day as though nothing ever happened. Business as usual.
Such incidents were even more prevalent on days where they'd wind up having to spend an extended amount of time in close quarters. On nights like those, she'd just about run to her bedroom when they got back to his ship.
The writing was on the wall. The Doctor might have been a genius, but he certainly didn't need to be one to see what was going on.
She wanted him.
He knew he couldn't (wouldn't) just expel her from the TARDIS, ta-ta, all the best, fairly well. Infatuation aside, he adored Martha. He needed her and she needed him, and he was so very lonely. He didn't have the energy to find someone new to share the stars with; to start over with all of his little lessons and explanations and the tricky bits in between. He didn't want to.
Also… it really wasn't a good time for him to consider being alone.
So, despite how reckless and absurd he knew it to be, he allowed his mind to tiptoe into dangerous territory: imagining what it might look like if he were to invite a reality where all of his companion's needs were being met.
By him.
It wasn't long before he found himself making an honest attempt to weigh the pros and cons.
Even he could recognize the "cons" list was… substantial, but the Doctor was selfish—perhaps a bit manipulative—and he assumed Martha would understand.
Plus, he'd never had sex in this body, and it was a bloody waste of his most attractive incarnation (and cock, frankly) not to share it. Might as well indulge with someone he genuinely cared about—one who would actually appreciate it.
Particularly since the woman he'd hoped to possibly one day share himself with no longer even existed on the same dimensional plane.
Looking at the pros, he was surprised by how quickly and easily he conceded that sex with Martha would probably be a lot of fun. Why wouldn't it be? She wasn't just an attractive woman, she was also a great friend whose company he enjoyed keeping. He wouldn't have asked her along if he felt differently.
He could use the distraction, she could use the shag, they both could use the stress relief, and they'd be able to continue their work together with clearer heads on their shoulders.
He would just need to establish some rules, is all. And stick to them.
It'd be a mutually beneficial arrangement, provided she was mature enough to agree to his terms. It was just a matter of deciding whether or not he could, or would, go through with it.
x
Less than a week after the Doctor had begun to humor the concept of pitching a physical relationship to his companion, inspiration arose in the form of a repeat of history.
It was about a month after taking Martha aboard full-time. The pair had been enjoying an adventure that'd gone awry, and for the second time, they'd wound up in a tight space together, hiding from certain death.
It'd been another tux, another dress, and another cute pair of shoes; except this time, instead of blinding white light, they'd been tucked away in the dark.
When finally, they escaped (after the Doctor's 'all clear', which he'd inadvertently whispered right against the shell of her ear), Martha was in a bit of a state. She'd been out of sorts since they slipped into that tiny alcove, then there was that adrenaline they'd worked up getting back to the ship…
By the time they'd gotten settled in, safe and sound on the TARDIS, she hastily bid him goodnight and headed back to her room without another word.
The Doctor went ahead and shipped them off to the Vortex, surprised to find that he too was a bit knackered. They'd had quite the long and tumultuous day, after all.
It seemed like a good time to curl up on the library couch with a book and read until he was ready to catch a few z's, which he fully intended to do—right after he grabbed a light and nutritious snack.
Wandering back through the TARDIS corridors, he headed towards the galley, stroking the wall affectionately along the way as he approached his destination at a leisurely pace.
The lights were dimmed in the room when he entered, having automatically adjusted to mimic Martha's perception of 'night'. His ship was courteous that way. She'd even done the same thing for R-...
He shook his head quickly, then he sighed, clearing his thoughts. It wasn't the best time to get sentimental.
He could never fall asleep if he was thinking about her.
There was a perfectly ripe banana waiting for him on the counter, which he swiped at once, beginning the process of peeling the fruit as he made his way back into the hall.
About three bites into his snack, he was just passing by Martha's bedroom when he distinctly heard his name coming from the other side of the door.
He stopped with his foot still lifted halfway, in the process of taking another step when it occurred to him that she sounded like she might be hurt.
Springing into action, he swallowed the bite he'd just taken as he turned around and rushed to her door. He reached for the knob.
That's when the Doctor was hit with a cloud of hormones and pheromones so powerful that he was nearly knocked back.
There were only two things that could lead to that particular chemical cocktail drifting out in such a plume, and as far as he knew, only one was possible at that moment.
It's not that he wasn't aware of the potential for… such things to be happening aboard his ship at any given time, and it's not that he hadn't connected certain dots prior to that evening, but this was his first time realizing the extent of it.
He heard her again, high-pitched and breathless, just a second later:
"Doc—tor—please—please—ahhhh—"
His hearts skipped; possibly stopped altogether.
Right—yes—he knew he should have moved; given her privacy; been bloody respectful, but the nature of what was taking place before him was so surreal and jarring that he found his trainers soldered to the spot.
Staring wide-eyed at the door with one hand hovering over the knob and the other holding the remaining half of his banana, he was suddenly made privy to the most forbidden sound of all: his companion utterly breaking apart in ecstasy, breaths scattered and desperate with his name on her lips.
Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes and pulled an unsteady breath of his own.
He knew he had to have looked properly daft: hearts pounding as he stood in the psychological wake of what he'd just inadvertently intruded on, but he was... fascinated.
Fascinated... and inspired.
It was one thing to know Martha fancied him, but hearing her enthusiastically touching herself to thoughts of him...?
Evidently, her attraction went even deeper than he thought.
While he felt a bit filthy and rude for eavesdropping on such a private moment, he intended to make up for it in the near future, because just like that, his mind was made up.
He would go through with his pitch after all.
He'd have to establish firm boundaries, of course. The concept of "friends with benefits" was fairly popular on Earth, but Martha was so young, and on top of that, she seemed rather taken with him.
Put simply, the margin of error was minuscule at best.
The Doctor was confident, though. He and Martha had a fairly strong friendship at that point, and the girl was proper brilliant. On her way to becoming a doctor herself, even. What's a bit of sex between mates to ease one man's emotional strain and one woman's physical needs?
As he made the trek down the corridor to his planned location, he noticed a bit of a spring in his step. He couldn't remember ever being that excited about the prospect of sex before. Maybe that would've been cause for alarm in some people, but he was a Time Lord, for god's sake. He'd been through countless hardships and lost everything that meant anything to him besides his TARDIS.
Martha was all he had left, come to think of it—and she wanted him. Honestly, it'd be ridiculous for him not to consider asking if she'd like to have sex. She was wanting, he was willing, and they had all of the time in the multiverse, so...
What could possibly go wrong?
After a few moments, the Doctor arrived at his destination with a huge, almost smug grin on his face, feeling confident as he stood outside of a big door he'd requested be red when he arrived.
He could sense the gentle waves of concern from his ship as he reached for the knob, kindly brushing them off in favor of moving forward.
The Old Girl was only looking out for him, of course- but he knew what he was doing.
This was a good idea. Of that, he was certain.
He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
If you're going to continue reading, please do so with an open mind! I don't intend to spoil the future of this fic, so I just hope that- if you're usually a fan of my stories- you'll stick around and trust in me to deliver ❤️