Fandom: Doctor Who / Torchwood
Pairing: The Doctor (Ten)/Suzie Costello
Word Count: 1,707
Rating: R for sexuality
Summary: The Doctor follows a human weakness, and it leads him to Torchwood, yet again.
This isn't the kind of person he is. He's stable, he's calm, and he loves life, the Earth, the universe.
He's not like this.
He doesn't wallow in his own despair, he doesn't pity himself for a companion saying "no" to traveling with him, and he most certainly does not desire comfort to cover pain. He buries it, he hides it, he doesn't relish it. Not in the way humans do.
Yet here he is. He's spent the last few hours at a bar, getting rather blazingly drunk---Timelord metabolism and all, he decides that getting drunk is what he wants, and he goes for it. She grins at him across the bar, slides up to him and runs her hands down his arms, across his face, asks him what his name is. He lies, of course, but that's something he always does.
He's not sure how he ended up back at her place. Not sure how his mouth stays pressed so firmly to hers, and he's still rather confused as to where his clothing went, but he'll be damned if he can care. She feels good and tastes good and is some form of comfort in a whole lot of pain he's been wading in since he lost the first love he'd had in his life for centuries, watched her pulled away from him into another universe.
She's far from Rose. She's all coarse dark hair and olive skin wrapped around a stick-thin body that's still soft underneath his work-worn hands. Her business clothes are all but thrown and she tosses her gun and holster to the side as if they mean nothing. To her, instruments of death are just tools, and she's killed before, he can taste it as he slides his tongue along her collarbone. She's like him, in that way. Effort, sweat and blood, and that's what she tastes like. It's rather intoxicating.
And like that, she pushes him onto her bed and straddles him, takes him into her and claims him. Bites his shoulder and scratches his back, and the physical pain feels good because it's real and human and he would rather be that than what he is, right now. She dominates him, controls each thrust, pins down his hands when they don't go where she wants them, and for once, he enjoys not having to be in control. It feels amazing, she feels amazing.
She cries out someone else's name when she comes, but he doesn't mind, after all, he has another name on his lips when he does.
For all the violence of their tryst, he's surprised the woman he picked up still curls herself up on his chest, still demands a moment of his time.
It's all right, though. He can't think to care. She's warm and comforting, and the way she breathes reminds him that he can't quite give up on that just yet.
"John Smith is a very terrible alias," she says, pressing her small---and as he's discovered, particularly talented---mouth on the skin above his left heart.
"Yeah, well, I don't even remember what you told me your name was, so I guess we're even on that one," he replies, smirking a bit at his own inconsiderate tactic. Oh, well, he's never been very good with names anyway.
"You also said you were a doctor," she said, "You didn't have to try and impress me. You're cute, I'd have fucked you anyway."
He chuckles a bit, "I am a doctor. You said you were a...what, a secretary or something? You've got a gun, so you're either the secretary at the NRA or you're lying."
She doesn't seem to take that badly, in fact, she laughs a bit against his skin, "Yes, well, I am a bit of a liar, can't help it, it's part of my job."
He presses his lips to the crown of her head, taking a deep breath of her hair---cigarette smoke, car fumes, and magnolias. "I know what you mean."
"I had a feeling you did," she says, gently scraping a long nail against his chest, "That's why I brought you home rather than just stabbing you in the back alley." She says the words with flippancy, but he can't help but wonder if they're true. He doesn't know this naked woman in his arms---they could be.
"I save the world," he says, "All the time. Throw myself into danger, pull people down with me. Like it's nothing." He lets out a rueful chuckle, especially as he feels her shift uncomfortably against him, "I don't stop. I don't know how to stop. And in the end, the world is saved, but people are lost. Good people."
"Sounds like you've got quite the life, Mr. Smith."
"Doctor Smith, sorry." She rolls her eyes a bit, and he smirks at that.
"Just the Doctor," he says, "I don't...do well. With names, uh, that is."
"Just the Doctor," she smirks against his skin, "I'm Suzie."
"That your real name?"
"Would you care if it was?"
"Then it is."
"All right, Suzie." He moves to kiss her again, and she responds most eagerly, bruising his mouth with hers and shifting to settle atop him, one long, lean leg on either side of his waist, pinning him in place.
He has no doubt she could be very dangerous. But, then again, isn't that what he craves? Toss himself into the middle of danger? It isn't very often that danger was this....satisfying.
He's nearing orgasm for a second time (he's lost count of the number of times she's cried out---she even managed to cry out "Doctor" once, which only made him more aroused) when her cell phone goes off.
"Leave it," he commands, but she clearly won't listen. "Leave it."
Staying atop him, she reaches across to her phone, snatching it up, "Suzie Costello."
Apparently, she wasn't lying about that. That is comforting, at least. Something between them that wasn't a lie besides their sex. In retaliation to the conversation, however, he thrusts up into her deeper, and she bites her lip to keep from gasping into the phone.
Her nails rake across his chest as her voice slips back into work-talk, "Right, where did it land? Uh-huh. Did they find any lifeforms on board? Right, make sure to call Jack Harkness at HQ, and I'll be there shortly."
His thrust stops at the name, and it's everything in him not to blurt out, Jack Harkness? Lifeforms and landing objects and there was no way it is just a coincidence.
She flips shut the phone and looks down at him, one eyebrow raised, almost expectantly.
"I suppose you're leaving for work, then?"
Her small lips curl into a smirk, "Oh, in a few minutes, I should think."
He slides his tie around his neck, letting it hang loosely from his throat. What had he just done? Taken a woman home from a bar and shagged her, not even knowing her name until later. The most frightfully stupid and human thing he'd done in ages.
It is all that need, buried inside of him. Comfort, which in the human language often translates to sex, and other things. He was so...disgustingly like them at times.
Suzie's hair is pulled tight into a ponytail, and she already has her suit and heels on before his plimsoles are tied.
"I'm not normally so rude as to rush someone out," she says, rummaging through her papers, "But work calls, and I can't just leave you here, so you'll have to---"
She scribbles down a number on a slip of paper and hands it to him, "You can call me though, Just The Doctor. You know, instead of wasting your time at a bar." The smile she gives him is devilishly sexy, and with the paper is the promise of free sex and comfort in the arms of a very delightfully dangerous woman, should he ever desire it.
While his fingers accept the paper, he discards the promise with his words: "You work for Torchwood, don't you?"
He keeps his eyes on the small paper, easily memorizing the numbers---just in case she snatches it back---and not looking at the sudden horror he knew would wipe away that very sexy smile of hers. That realization that taking home a stranger and even having work hang over them for an instant could blow any cover she was going for.
"Who are you?" she demands, and he knows she's looking for where her gun and holster were dropped.
He looks up at her, "Someone who knows the business, is all. You know I'm not armed, I'm not going to hurt you." His voice has a note of almost defeat to it. Bloody Torchwood. Took Rose away from him, nearly killed Donna, and now here it is again, the employer of his one-night-stand from a crummy bar in Cardiff.
"Are you from Torchwood Manchester?" she asks, and there's a note of hope in her voice at that. One of them. Like them, not an enemy. Maybe he was a better shag than he'd thought, for her to be so hopeful. Or maybe she was just afraid because she was unarmed and she didn't know what he was capable of.
An out? Yes, it's an out. An easy out, an easy lie, and she'd accept it.
"Manchester, right, yes, that's me." He shifts to his feet and pulls out the psychic paper, "Imagine the coincidence, eh? Two lonely Torchwood employees at the same bar, doesn't happen too often, does it?"
Her gaze is skeptical at best, but she nods very slowly, glancing quickly at the paper. Torchwood employees are trained against things like this, but her gaze is too quick, she's almost too willing. Perhaps she doesn't want to have made as grave and dangerous an error as she has.
"I'm not lonely," she says, swallowing a bit and looking up at him defiantly.
He smiles down at her and lays a hand on the hipbone his teeth grazed not too long ago, "Of course you're not." A pause, and he glances away from her and towards the door, "So, take me to this crash site?"