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crack_van2009-06-11 11:22 pm
sonatine.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-11 11:22 pm
Entry tags:
Nothing but Flowers, by vali (NC-17)
I'm off for vacation, so posting will be light to non-existent for the next week.
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing: Ten/Martha
Length: 23000
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
violetisblue
Author Website: fic archive
Why this must be read: This is the most amazing Ten/Martha story I've ever seen. It gets at the heart of how the Doctor's trolleys of emotional baggage, defense mechanisms, and previous relationships (more old-school references than you can shake a stick at, but they don't impede enjoyment of the story if they fly over your head) affect what he has with Martha, who is smart, perceptive, ten kinds of awesome (the kind of Martha that saves the world), and calls him on his shit. The dialogue is phenomenal, and the sex is hot, and I really wish there were more stories like this in any fandom.
"I never seek those sorts of situations out, I swear, they just seem to happen--"
"Helpless as a kitten up a tree, are we?" She searched for a napkin, finally wiping her fingers on the white paper bag. "Not very surprising."
"You really do think I seek that sort of thing out." He took a swallow of coffee, looking equal parts indignant and intrigued. "Exactly how long have we been contemplating these matters, exactly?"
"We wouldn't have any idea what you seek out," Martha retorted, shaking crumbs from her T-shirt, "we are barely awake--and I didn't lose any sleep over it, before you ask. It just seems like something you'd do, engineering yourself a thrilling time while letting the other person think they're really making all the decisions."
A shot in the dark, that was, but judging from the sputtering it engendered she'd hit her mark. "Well, this is lovely," he declared, as she attacked the beignet in earnest. "So all this time I thought I was showing you the universe, quite selflessly sharing a galactic splendor or eighty you'd never have known existed, you've just been waiting for me to abandon you on the edge of the Canis Major so I can pop out and get my arse sliced to ropa viejo by Mistress Ilsa von Smegslapper? And here I thought we were friends."
"We are friends, Mr. Smith," Martha said, patting his hand with only the slightest mockery. "Friends are honest with each other, or at least they should be. Right, then, you don't like it rough. You say. So do you like it at all?"
As soon as the question left her lips, she wondered just how long she really had been contemplating it. As it was friends you were meant to be honest with, not yourself, she pushed the thought aside. "Seriously, though. Do you have sex?"
He stared at her. She supposed she was meant to blush or falter, and the supposition made her impatient. "It's not a come-on, for heaven's sake, it's a perfectly straightforward question."
"Is this because of what happened at the Elephant? Would've thought you had your hands full with Bill the Bard--"
"It is not because of the Elephant. I really just want to know."
"All in the interests of the ragtag collection of the blazingly obvious that you lot call 'science'?"
"All in the interests of my being interested." She folded her arms. "So do you?"
He ran a hand through his hair, looking seriously discomfited. "Weeell, reports rather vary, depending on whom you consult--well, they do," he insisted, as she shook her head laughing. "What are you sniggering about?"
"Look, just say you're not answering, that I'm a horrible rude bint and I don't get any more sweets--"
"I didn't say I wasn't answering, just didn't know the question was tormenting you so." He cocked an eyebrow at her, hair fanning straight up from his scalp like a featherdress. "I mean, I must have sex, right? What's the alternative?"
"How about asexual reproduction, just for starters? Parthenogenesis. Gemmules. Cell regeneration, there's a obvious guess--"
"Darling wee itsy-bitsy time-babies woven on great big clackety-clacking looms--"
"Go ahead and take the piss. You didn't say I was wrong, did you?" She folded the beignet paper with methodical fingers, ignoring his smirk. "I just meant I don't presume you have sex or that you want to or that you have it the same way we do, because that'd be…presumptuous." The tiny paper airplane, translucent with grease, bounced off his cheek and nose-dived into the sheets. "And I don't presume it's rude to ask, either. For all I know it's a perfectly conventional question in your culture--'Good morning, have you had sex?' Like the way the Chinese ask if you've eaten yet."
Nothing but Flowers
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing: Ten/Martha
Length: 23000
Author on LJ:
violetisblueAuthor Website: fic archive
Why this must be read: This is the most amazing Ten/Martha story I've ever seen. It gets at the heart of how the Doctor's trolleys of emotional baggage, defense mechanisms, and previous relationships (more old-school references than you can shake a stick at, but they don't impede enjoyment of the story if they fly over your head) affect what he has with Martha, who is smart, perceptive, ten kinds of awesome (the kind of Martha that saves the world), and calls him on his shit. The dialogue is phenomenal, and the sex is hot, and I really wish there were more stories like this in any fandom.
"I never seek those sorts of situations out, I swear, they just seem to happen--"
"Helpless as a kitten up a tree, are we?" She searched for a napkin, finally wiping her fingers on the white paper bag. "Not very surprising."
"You really do think I seek that sort of thing out." He took a swallow of coffee, looking equal parts indignant and intrigued. "Exactly how long have we been contemplating these matters, exactly?"
"We wouldn't have any idea what you seek out," Martha retorted, shaking crumbs from her T-shirt, "we are barely awake--and I didn't lose any sleep over it, before you ask. It just seems like something you'd do, engineering yourself a thrilling time while letting the other person think they're really making all the decisions."
A shot in the dark, that was, but judging from the sputtering it engendered she'd hit her mark. "Well, this is lovely," he declared, as she attacked the beignet in earnest. "So all this time I thought I was showing you the universe, quite selflessly sharing a galactic splendor or eighty you'd never have known existed, you've just been waiting for me to abandon you on the edge of the Canis Major so I can pop out and get my arse sliced to ropa viejo by Mistress Ilsa von Smegslapper? And here I thought we were friends."
"We are friends, Mr. Smith," Martha said, patting his hand with only the slightest mockery. "Friends are honest with each other, or at least they should be. Right, then, you don't like it rough. You say. So do you like it at all?"
As soon as the question left her lips, she wondered just how long she really had been contemplating it. As it was friends you were meant to be honest with, not yourself, she pushed the thought aside. "Seriously, though. Do you have sex?"
He stared at her. She supposed she was meant to blush or falter, and the supposition made her impatient. "It's not a come-on, for heaven's sake, it's a perfectly straightforward question."
"Is this because of what happened at the Elephant? Would've thought you had your hands full with Bill the Bard--"
"It is not because of the Elephant. I really just want to know."
"All in the interests of the ragtag collection of the blazingly obvious that you lot call 'science'?"
"All in the interests of my being interested." She folded her arms. "So do you?"
He ran a hand through his hair, looking seriously discomfited. "Weeell, reports rather vary, depending on whom you consult--well, they do," he insisted, as she shook her head laughing. "What are you sniggering about?"
"Look, just say you're not answering, that I'm a horrible rude bint and I don't get any more sweets--"
"I didn't say I wasn't answering, just didn't know the question was tormenting you so." He cocked an eyebrow at her, hair fanning straight up from his scalp like a featherdress. "I mean, I must have sex, right? What's the alternative?"
"How about asexual reproduction, just for starters? Parthenogenesis. Gemmules. Cell regeneration, there's a obvious guess--"
"Darling wee itsy-bitsy time-babies woven on great big clackety-clacking looms--"
"Go ahead and take the piss. You didn't say I was wrong, did you?" She folded the beignet paper with methodical fingers, ignoring his smirk. "I just meant I don't presume you have sex or that you want to or that you have it the same way we do, because that'd be…presumptuous." The tiny paper airplane, translucent with grease, bounced off his cheek and nose-dived into the sheets. "And I don't presume it's rude to ask, either. For all I know it's a perfectly conventional question in your culture--'Good morning, have you had sex?' Like the way the Chinese ask if you've eaten yet."
Nothing but Flowers