Fic: To Err is Human (5/?)
Fic: To Err is Human (5/?)
Author: Lilac Summers
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R, sexual situations
Category: Humor, angst/drama
Characters: Donna/John Smith/Doctor
A/N: Let the angst begin! Please note the rating change. I promised this chapter quickly, didn't I? Thank you to all you commenters! It's always great to hear your thoughts. I'm a little unsure if the rating is correct.
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
Part 3 here
Part 4 here
Part 5:
The routine that had, at first, seemed harmless enough began to wear on Donna.
Time began to blur. Her nights were spent sleepless, tense and worried against the Doctor's warmth. His dreams were becoming more vivid, his movements more pronounced against her, his touch more proprietary. One night he cried out “detox!” and levered himself over Donna, pressing his lips hungrily to hers and no, that had not been John's shy touch she felt. She spent hours shaking off unwanted arousal and staring at the ceiling then, calling herself a sentimental, overly-hormonal cow.
Her days were spent counting time, aware of each second that passed, wishing for it to go faster so the farce would end. But then she'd feel guilty. He needed this time, and he'd never before asked for anything else from her. She castigated herself constantly, telling herself to buck up, stop being a pansy. Here she was getting all worked up because her best mate liked to cuddle. Her friend, who had taken her out of a directionless life and shown her the universe, and she couldn't handle a few weeks of cooling her heels. Each evening she resolved to try harder; by each morning that resolve had crumbled.
But a few days more and Donna was climbing the walls. She felt shut in, stifled. There was nothing to do to take her mind off her problems or disperse her restlessness. Now that she had figured out how to cheat her way out of cooking there really were just too many hours in the day. She would get up in the morning, sleep-deprived, wait for the Doctor to leave so she could go back to bed but then, in that evil way that exhaustion works, her body would refuse to sleep. She knew it was because she was used to being active - constantly looking for jobs in London, and later running for her life on the TARDIS. Her system wasn't used to just sitting anymore.
And that's all that was expected of her here. Keep her home tidy, care for her Doctor, knit, mend, sit sit sit. The monotony was only ever broken by infrequent, quick trips to the TARDIS to dispose of the containers of futuristic food and pick up some more. She was scared of spending too much time out only to return to find out that the Doctor had run into trouble while she was gone.
She was petrified of returning to the flat to find Nurse Redfern in her space again.
Joan was pretty, after all, in that insipid blonde way the Doctor preferred. And she was vulnerable, a widow who was so obviously lonely. Donna would have pitied her if it weren't for the fact that she was trying to move in on her husband. And with Donna keeping him at arm's length, what if at some point he should turn to someone else for...
Wait no, that was wrong. Not her husband. Just the Doctor. Just the Doctor playing at being human and it didn't matter what he did with anyone else; they'd be leaving in the end.
She was making herself crazy. She was obviously too tired, to be thinking like that. What did she care that Joan was interested in the Doctor?!
She was obviously off her game, constantly on guard for an attack that never came. The days left her exhausted in her inactivity, the nights even more so in growing frustration as the Doctor became increasingly restless in his sleep.
She wanted to scream. She wanted something to happen so she could at least be forced to move. Just something!
And with her tempting fate this way, of course something did.
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It was another morning, like all the others that had passed her in a blur. Unable to lie in bed even one extra second with the Doctor's weight beside her, Donna had risen early enough to bathe, dress, and fix breakfast before the Doctor came out and ate, ready for classes.
She was running on fumes, hardly noticing the taste of the instant oatmeal in front of her, and barely aware of the Doctor's hands as they settled - a little too warm, a little too long - on her shoulders.
On autopilot, she lifted her face to accept the customary goodbye kiss. She was prepared for the innocent pecks she had gotten used to. He kissed her fleetingly, a butterfly touch, and drew away. She was lowering her face already when suddenly his hand was on her chin, lifting her face again, and his lips were on her once more. Another brushing of lips, and another, and yet another, sinking down to her and she was completely unprepared. The wanting hit her with an unexpected, fierce blow. Before she knew it she was kissing him back, leaning forward towards him, parting her lips and angling her head, tangling her fingers in his hair.
He made a low sound of surprise, his hands gripping her shoulders, pulling her out of her seat.
And Donna - tired, frustrated Donna - just... forgot. Forgot she wasn’t supposed to do this, forgot that she was in charge of making sure the Doctor didn’t do something he would regret… because it was too hard. It was too hard to keep saying no when it felt so good and he seemed so sure to want this and god, she wanted it too.
He parted his own lips to fit with hers; with mounting passion she invaded his mouth with her tongue and felt him freeze in complete shock. She was fuzzily trying to work out why, some niggling voice whispering 1913, and this is John, shy, inexperienced John but she ignored that and instead teased his tongue with hers until he was tentatively reciprocating, copying her and learning ever so quickly until he was overtaking her with his enthusiasm.
Any stray bit of reason left her because he tasted so good - no anchovies and ginger beer here, no - just warm and moist (the faintest traces of maple from the oatmeal) and god she’d been waiting for this…
She tugged harder on his hair, bending him closer to her, pressing her body against his. He broke away, gasping, staring at her with eyes gone wide and dilated and before she knew it he was attacking the buttons on her blouse and she was helping him, baring neck and shoulders, the lacy chemise underneath that she had always found so pretty if impractical at containing her breasts, and the corset that she hated so much but cinched her in and pushed up an indecent amount of creamy skin.
His hands were immediately drawn to all that flesh pushing against the paper-thin chemise. He brushed the pads of his fingers gently (oh, god, too gently) against the dark shadows her nipples cast through the linen, watched them tighten with glazed eyes. With a groan he buried his face against her, tasted her skin as his hands learned the weight of her breasts, tongue ghosting over throat and clavicle until his mouth settled with sudden ferocity on the grouping of freckles on her shoulder that had so captivated him that first night.
Donna could only clutch at his coat. Everything was just too much. His touch was colored with the desperation of someone who had been denied something they have craved, needed, for far too long, to suddenly find it all within reach.
She was taking gasping breaths, trying to force air into lungs that were suddenly so constrained by heat. She heaved against the corset and the Doctor’s eager fingers. “Can’t breathe,” she moaned, and he quickly reached around her for the laces of the undergarment. He tangled them in his inexperience as Donna strained against him.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chanted , his lips against neck and shoulder once more as he pulled at the ribbons in mounting frustration, practically tearing at them. Donna was seeing stars -- he was holding her so tightly and inadvertently tightening the corset as he fought to get it off her -- she was both starved for air and inundated with sensation.
The Doctor gave a half sob, half growl, but managed to loosen the corset the fraction she needed to breathe before another knot destroyed him and he gave up on trying to get the garment off her. Instead he danced her backwards, pushing her against the wall and pinning her there with his body so his hands could begin a fevered exploration of her body through the layers of clothing. He gripped her hips to push himself against her desperately; she could feel him, hard, long and aching even through the layers of skirt.
His lips returned to that favored spot on her neck, moving in hungry appeal around her throat. "I want you so much. I need you so much." She barely heard him, her ears were ringing and all she could focus on was his weight against her.
His hands moved to clutch handfuls of dress, hauling up yards of fabric until her skirts frothed at her waist and she obligingly lifted a leg to wrap around his waist. Her name was a strangled sound on the back of his throat as his busy hands settled on her bare thighs. At encountering her skin, those hands froze, then flexed on her, fingers digging into her flesh.
"You're not wearing pants," he breathed, equal parts scandalized and euphoric.
And she wasn't. There was no way she was going to wear flippin' knee-length pants under several layers of skirts already, and who would have known, anyway?
She wasn't sure if he expected an explanation and didn’t think she had the mental faculty to think of one, but dismissed the thought as his hands immediately continued their exploration. One hand gripped the leg around his waist, long fingers skimming her inner thigh; the other ran ticklishly along her other leg, up up up her thigh only to pause uncertainly.
“Ahhhh," she gasped against him, a pleading noise, drawing him closer as her leg tightened around him.
“Oh, can I…can I please…” he begged faintly.
“Yes,” she groaned, almost undone by his careful movements and his endearing fumbling. She reached down, grasped the wrist of one hand and gave it that nudge it needed to touch her where she most wanted.
They both groaned as his fingers found her, wet and slick. Careful fingers explored, gaining confidence with every moan and gasp she was unable to hold back. He panted in time with her, excited beyond comprehension by the feel of her, the smell and sound and taste. His open mouth found the top of her breast, latched on and pulled against the delicate skin.
There was a little voice somewhere in her head, screaming at her, you aren’t supposed to let this happen. You’re supposed to protect John. But it was so hard to think, and it wasn’t just John's but the Doctor's sure hand, calloused and strong, cupping her with just the right amount of pressure to make her tremble. His quick, clever fingers dipping inside her, moving in sure strokes in and out until she clenched around his hand, a low keening escaping her throat. His sly mouth and his tongue, with that delightful oral fixation, tasting her breasts, laving, nipping, teasing.
And when she came she did so with a wordless scream, because she dared not call out the wrong name, either way.
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She came back to earth to find herself pressed against the Doctor, his damp hands on her still and his dark eyes gazing at her in proud astonishment. She could still feel tremors move through her. Her knees had buckled; he was holding her entire weight, both legs wrapped around him now.
“You’re so beautiful,” he managed before claiming her lips again with all the skill she had just taught him.
Hands were fumbling between them. They might have been hers, maybe his, readying to unbuckle his trouser. For Donna, everything was soft around the edges, floating on the dregs of her orgasm.
But reason was trying to reassert itself. You can still stop this. It’s not too late. But he was so hard against her and made her feel-
“Master Smith? Master Smith are you in there?”
They both froze, the Doctor in his determined bid to move forward, Donna in her confused indecision.
“Master Smith, are you well? You’re late for classes. Mrs. Smith, are you home? Is your husband-“ the Headmaster’s insistent voice spoke through the front door, doorknob rattling when he didn’t get a response.
“I’m here, sir,” the Doctor finally called out loudly, his forehead dropping to hers, eyes closing as he took deep breaths. “I apologize. I’ll be down presently.”
The Headmaster called out a baffled agreement and then there was silence. The Doctor looked down at Donna with an expression of frustrated agony. "Darling, I.."
“You’d better go,” said Donna shakily. The Doctor nodded regretfully, and gently untangled himself from her, smoothing down her skirts. He dropped a long, lingering kiss on her hair.
“I’ll be back later,” he promised with a gleam in his eyes.
Donna said nothing, just watched him throw on his teacher’s robe (which hid a multitude of sins), grab his hat and walk out the door.
Her unsteady legs gave out and she sunk to the floor. She felt as if her entire body had been submerged in freezing water. Her heart was thudding and she broke out into a cold sweat all over as panic finally overtook her.
She had wanted something to happen. Oh god, what...
What had she done?!
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Next: Donna is repentant; freakage ensues.