Sweet as Sugar
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,302
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,302
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dr. Who, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
8
Sweet as Sugar Chapter Eight
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather is a wondermous beta who is due a package! Huge special sparkley thanks to Gomalley and Venefican for keeping this on the straight and narrow over on Time and Chips!
You are a Time Lord. You are the Time Lord. You will not throttle these women into submission and make them give you a straight answer.
The Doctor smiled winsomely at the trio of females before him.
“This isn’t supposed to be here,” he said quietly, more to himself than the three figures sitting across from him as he gazed out over the domed cities of Venus.
“What isn’t supposed to be here?” the silvered voices replied, causing the Doctor to shiver involuntarily.
He shifted his gaze to them, their dark eyes like pools of endless night. He felt frissons of pleasure move along his spine and limbs, warm gold light made into tangible sensation. The Doctor had to close his eyes for a moment, the feeling of desire almost too strong to bear. It was over in an instant but it left him unsettled, his lips warm as if he had been kissed, his body shaking as if in the aftermath of climax.
“What are you?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Tell me your names!”
“We have no name,” they said, laughing. Their voices fell like silk, wrapping around him and pulling breath from his lungs. “We are your desire, Doctor.”
As he watched, they shifted and shimmered in the pale lilac-colored light of the tunnel between the Dome of Eros and the Temple of the Lady. The air around the trio became bright, then they blurred like chalk drawings in the rain. The Doctor blinked once, and before him sat Rose, fully clothed this time, and smiling.
“I’ll ask you once to stop doing that, stealing her form to manipulate me,” he ordered firmly, centuries of authority in his voice. His fingers curled around the marbled edge of the seat beneath him, the two-car tram the trio had said would take them to the Temple slowing to a halt. The Doctor hated himself for one instant, hated himself for seeing Rose not as a companion but as something else. He could not help himself—the desire rising in his veins was uncontrolled.
“Stop manipulating me!” he shouted, shoving himself to his feet, his fingers aching from gripping the stone seat. “WHO. ARE. YOU?”
“We are Desire,” the trio of voices came from Rose’s mouth. “You create Us. We do not choose this form. You choose it for Us.”
Taking a deep breath, the Doctor let it out in a soft whoosh of sound, frustration and annoyance, mainly with himself for losing his temper, writ large on his features.
“What I desire is to be free from this dome, to return to my ship and leave this place.” He sat back down slowly, his eyes on the figure that looked like Rose.
“Tell me about this Temple of the Lady.”
Sweet, full lips curved into a smile that was both innocent and knowing. She moved, sliding to her knees, the pale green gown that seemed to be made of gossamer shot with gold thread, billowing around her. The Doctor tensed as her hands came to rest on his knees, their warmth detectible even through the fabric of his trousers. The tram began moving again but he barely noticed. Rose’s eyes stared up at him, jewel-like and full of life. Her lips smiled at him, lips he knew to taste of sugar and warmth. Her body pressed against his legs, full and firm breasts moving with every breath she took.
“The Temple,” he repeated, dismayed to hear a catch in his voice.
“The Lady,” the voice that now sounded like Rose said softly, “is benevolent to those who deserve it.”
Sure fingers spread across the Doctor’s thighs, squeezing the muscled limbs under her palms. “She is wrathful with those who deserve it. Tonight she chooses a new champion. She will choose a female of beauty and sensuality, who is strong in mind and spirit as well as body.”
The quickening of the Doctor’s breath as she leaned back, sitting on her heels, drew a soft laugh from the figure that looked like Rose.
“Your desire is strong even now, Time Lord.”
“Rose is in Danger,” he replied, narrowing his eyes as he forced himself to be calm.
This feeling is not real, he scolded himself. They are manipulating you. You are in the Dome of Eros, you old fool! What did you think was going to happen? They’d attack you with fluffy bunnies and eggbeaters?
“Yes,” the voice replied, a trio once more. With a sigh of resignation, the form dissolved to appear as three again, sitting back on the seat of the tram.
Silence reigned in the moment it took for the transport to glide beneath an ornate arch, carved with ivy and, the Doctor noticed with some chagrin, Earthly roses. Once beneath the arch, the atmosphere around them seemed charge. The Doctor had the distinct impression that there were many others around them, moving in the same direction, but he could not see them. A soft hissing teased his hearing and seemed to excite the trio of females before him. They shifted, turning as one to look over their shoulders at the opalescent double doors that stood a short distance away. As they neared, the doors seemed to dissolve, only to reappear once they were through the portico.
“We are within the temple,” the silvered voices noted, all three faces turning to gauge the Doctor’s reaction.
“And me without my hymnal,” he murmured.
It was cold as ice now, the tunnel growing dark as they moved through it at a much faster pace than before. Without warning, the tram stopped, jolting the Doctor forward in his seat.
“No tip for you. You’re terrible drivers!”
The females stood, smoothing their hands over their skirts.
“Follow us. Do not touch anything or anyone. Do not speak. Just watch.”
“Loads of fun you lot are,” he said as pleasantly as he could manage, his hearts hammering in fear.
Rose was here, he knew. She was in danger and he did not know what kind or even if he could stop it. They lead him to a low bench, black against black, blending into the darkness around them. They were in a gallery, he realized, the space before him shimmering and revealing itself to be a window of sorts, made of Venusian glass that was nearly unbreakable. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they did, he nearly screamed.
“The Lady’s Champion,” the trio informed him, three hands moving in an elegant gesture to point to the tall, blood-soaked woman in the middle of the ring below them.
“And the current candidate.”
Rose was bloody, three wounds along her arms and stomach dripping with each movement. They were superficial wounds but nasty to see. She was naked, on her knees and obviously crying.
“ROSE!” The sound was ripped from the Doctor’s throat, raw and fierce as he leapt forward, his hands beating against the glass.
“ROSE!”
“She is fine for now,” the voices said plainly. “The blood is merely part of the ritual. The fight has not yet begun.”
A/N Rose, the champion? Or sacrifice?
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather is a wondermous beta who is due a package! Huge special sparkley thanks to Gomalley and Venefican for keeping this on the straight and narrow over on Time and Chips!
You are a Time Lord. You are the Time Lord. You will not throttle these women into submission and make them give you a straight answer.
The Doctor smiled winsomely at the trio of females before him.
“This isn’t supposed to be here,” he said quietly, more to himself than the three figures sitting across from him as he gazed out over the domed cities of Venus.
“What isn’t supposed to be here?” the silvered voices replied, causing the Doctor to shiver involuntarily.
He shifted his gaze to them, their dark eyes like pools of endless night. He felt frissons of pleasure move along his spine and limbs, warm gold light made into tangible sensation. The Doctor had to close his eyes for a moment, the feeling of desire almost too strong to bear. It was over in an instant but it left him unsettled, his lips warm as if he had been kissed, his body shaking as if in the aftermath of climax.
“What are you?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Tell me your names!”
“We have no name,” they said, laughing. Their voices fell like silk, wrapping around him and pulling breath from his lungs. “We are your desire, Doctor.”
As he watched, they shifted and shimmered in the pale lilac-colored light of the tunnel between the Dome of Eros and the Temple of the Lady. The air around the trio became bright, then they blurred like chalk drawings in the rain. The Doctor blinked once, and before him sat Rose, fully clothed this time, and smiling.
“I’ll ask you once to stop doing that, stealing her form to manipulate me,” he ordered firmly, centuries of authority in his voice. His fingers curled around the marbled edge of the seat beneath him, the two-car tram the trio had said would take them to the Temple slowing to a halt. The Doctor hated himself for one instant, hated himself for seeing Rose not as a companion but as something else. He could not help himself—the desire rising in his veins was uncontrolled.
“Stop manipulating me!” he shouted, shoving himself to his feet, his fingers aching from gripping the stone seat. “WHO. ARE. YOU?”
“We are Desire,” the trio of voices came from Rose’s mouth. “You create Us. We do not choose this form. You choose it for Us.”
Taking a deep breath, the Doctor let it out in a soft whoosh of sound, frustration and annoyance, mainly with himself for losing his temper, writ large on his features.
“What I desire is to be free from this dome, to return to my ship and leave this place.” He sat back down slowly, his eyes on the figure that looked like Rose.
“Tell me about this Temple of the Lady.”
Sweet, full lips curved into a smile that was both innocent and knowing. She moved, sliding to her knees, the pale green gown that seemed to be made of gossamer shot with gold thread, billowing around her. The Doctor tensed as her hands came to rest on his knees, their warmth detectible even through the fabric of his trousers. The tram began moving again but he barely noticed. Rose’s eyes stared up at him, jewel-like and full of life. Her lips smiled at him, lips he knew to taste of sugar and warmth. Her body pressed against his legs, full and firm breasts moving with every breath she took.
“The Temple,” he repeated, dismayed to hear a catch in his voice.
“The Lady,” the voice that now sounded like Rose said softly, “is benevolent to those who deserve it.”
Sure fingers spread across the Doctor’s thighs, squeezing the muscled limbs under her palms. “She is wrathful with those who deserve it. Tonight she chooses a new champion. She will choose a female of beauty and sensuality, who is strong in mind and spirit as well as body.”
The quickening of the Doctor’s breath as she leaned back, sitting on her heels, drew a soft laugh from the figure that looked like Rose.
“Your desire is strong even now, Time Lord.”
“Rose is in Danger,” he replied, narrowing his eyes as he forced himself to be calm.
This feeling is not real, he scolded himself. They are manipulating you. You are in the Dome of Eros, you old fool! What did you think was going to happen? They’d attack you with fluffy bunnies and eggbeaters?
“Yes,” the voice replied, a trio once more. With a sigh of resignation, the form dissolved to appear as three again, sitting back on the seat of the tram.
Silence reigned in the moment it took for the transport to glide beneath an ornate arch, carved with ivy and, the Doctor noticed with some chagrin, Earthly roses. Once beneath the arch, the atmosphere around them seemed charge. The Doctor had the distinct impression that there were many others around them, moving in the same direction, but he could not see them. A soft hissing teased his hearing and seemed to excite the trio of females before him. They shifted, turning as one to look over their shoulders at the opalescent double doors that stood a short distance away. As they neared, the doors seemed to dissolve, only to reappear once they were through the portico.
“We are within the temple,” the silvered voices noted, all three faces turning to gauge the Doctor’s reaction.
“And me without my hymnal,” he murmured.
It was cold as ice now, the tunnel growing dark as they moved through it at a much faster pace than before. Without warning, the tram stopped, jolting the Doctor forward in his seat.
“No tip for you. You’re terrible drivers!”
The females stood, smoothing their hands over their skirts.
“Follow us. Do not touch anything or anyone. Do not speak. Just watch.”
“Loads of fun you lot are,” he said as pleasantly as he could manage, his hearts hammering in fear.
Rose was here, he knew. She was in danger and he did not know what kind or even if he could stop it. They lead him to a low bench, black against black, blending into the darkness around them. They were in a gallery, he realized, the space before him shimmering and revealing itself to be a window of sorts, made of Venusian glass that was nearly unbreakable. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they did, he nearly screamed.
“The Lady’s Champion,” the trio informed him, three hands moving in an elegant gesture to point to the tall, blood-soaked woman in the middle of the ring below them.
“And the current candidate.”
Rose was bloody, three wounds along her arms and stomach dripping with each movement. They were superficial wounds but nasty to see. She was naked, on her knees and obviously crying.
“ROSE!” The sound was ripped from the Doctor’s throat, raw and fierce as he leapt forward, his hands beating against the glass.
“ROSE!”
“She is fine for now,” the voices said plainly. “The blood is merely part of the ritual. The fight has not yet begun.”
A/N Rose, the champion? Or sacrifice?