Every woman has needs.

Every man has needs.

Heck, even google-eyed Martians must have needs.

Possibly even long streaks of alien nothing.

Anyway.

Needs.

People had them.

Those people included plain, overweight women far to close to 40 for their own comfort.

And while travelling with an alien (alright, a Time Lord. Really, they couldn't have come up with a more pompous named if they'd thought about it for millennia.) was utterly brilliant in a lot of ways, it didn't lend itself to a particularly active love life. Sex life. Any sort of life other than "Run for your life!".

However, Donna Noble was certain she was in for a bit of luck, finally. They had, at the Doctor's insistence, landed on a planet with "the best cocktails in the five galaxies, just wait 'til you taste the banana daiquiris, Donna Noble"and Donna fully intended to take advantage of the fact that there were bars, alcoholic drinks and hopefully, men with not too many alien bits.

She was currently sitting at a table, whereas the Doctor was off someplace, who really knew where?, leaving her dressed to the nines and alone. Perfect.

At first, she was disappointed, but after half an hour and a few of those banana daiquiris, she spotted a likely prospect.

Human (as far as she could see), lovely hands and well-muscled biceps. Dark hair, falling into his eyes (green) and very very handsome.

Donna directed her best come-hither smile at him, and he returned the greeting. He did not, however, leave his place at the bar. Deciding that she had done far more dangerous things than picking up aliens in a pub, she rose from her table and sashayed over to him, hips swinging.

Placing one hip against the bar disk, she leaned towards him.

"Hello stranger."

His eyes roamed over her body, from toes to scalp, and for a second his face was politely blank. Then his lips curled in a smirk, and she could see how he bit his cheek to keep from laughing. And suddenly, the polite mask was back in place.

"Sorry doll," he said in what the TARDIS translated into a Southern drawl. "You're not my type," and turned away from her.

Ice rolled down Donna's spine and for a minute, she thought she might faint, before hot, rolling waves of shame enveloped her.

Keep it together, keep it together, keep calm, just go, just go!The words echoed in her mind as she swallowed hard.

Stupid, stupid Donna. Who did she think she was, trying for a man like that? And really, who fell apart just because a man didn't wanna shag her? Pathetic nothings like her, that was who.

She blinked a couple of times, getting rid of a few stray tears (crying? Really?) and turned towards the door, intent on leaving this stupid bar and never return.

Only that the Doctor stood there, looking… Looking sad… Almost pitying.

The embarrassment was so acute she wanted to throw up (and how tragic was that?). Of course he'd pity her. You pitied people with no self-awareness, who didn't realize when someone was way beyond their league.

Not that the Doctor ever had that problem…

Donna stalked out of the club, not daring to look at the Doctor, just expecting him to follow her as she walked as fast as her heel-clad feet could carry her back to the TARDIS, eager to escape this stupid planet.

As they entered the TARDIS, the Doctor slammed the doors closed behind him, making Donna flinch. She finally turned to look at him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in how he looked. The pity was gone, replaced by his normal manic grin.

A little too manic.

She studied him closer. His face was flushed, something she had never seen before. Bright spots of color burned on his cheekbones, but the rest of his face was ghastly white, making his freckles stand out in sharp relief.

She took a step towards him, and their eyes met, before his left her face and roamed up and down her body in a blatant imitation of the man in the club.

Shame flooded her body once more, and then she was abruptly, irrationally spitting mad with fury. How dare he?!

"Doctor, what the hell…?" She didn't get further before he broke out into a brilliant smile and interrupted her.

"Donna, you know what?!" He sounded as excited as a little kid on Christmas Day, but didn't wait for a reply before he continued.

"You have gorgeous tits," and his smile turned into a leer, an expression she'd never seen on his face before.

"What?!" The exclamation was out of her mouth before she had a chance to control it. The Doctor had never made a sexual comment to her, never even hinted he even noticed she had girly parts…

Donna swallowed. Something was very, very wrong here.

She forced her brain to shut off and snapped into action.

Something was wrong with the Doctor.

He was acting abnormally.

Something was causing him to act this way.

Think, think…

It couldn't be alcohol, she'd seen him drink on other occasions, and it never seemed to affect him very much, other than making him even more talkative than usual. (and wasn't that saying something?)

Something on the planet then.

What were his symptoms? He was flushed, saying unusual things, and (dare she say it?) randy.

She walked up to him, ignoring the way he still leered at her and studied her cleavage as she approached him.

There!

On his wrist, a small red bulge, like a mosquito bite after you'd itched at it for hours on end. She grabbed his wrist and held it up to her eyes to examine it. His skin was far hotter than usual, burning with fever.

As her breath hit his skin, something halfway between a groan and a sigh escaped his lips.

"Doctor, you've got to tell me what this is! What bit you?"

He stared at her, brown eyes glassy.

She stomped her foot. "Doctor!"

He shook his head, and a bit of sense seemed to return to him.

"Alpyrixian mosque-mosquito. Quite deadly, too," he nodded sagely.

A cold hand clenched Donna's heart.

"Dead-deadly? Isn't there… I don't know, an antidote, some sort of alien penicillin?"

"''Tis an aphrodisiac really," he slurred, as if he'd downed 4 margaritas in one go. "Only if the victim doesn't get relief within an hour or two, the… whatchacallits, blood vessels explode. Go boom." The Doctor made a vague motion with his hands. "Blood pressure." He nodded again, looking as please as if he'd just offered her the cure to cancer.

And Donna got it. Of course she did. She'd read enough bad science fiction to get it.

Aphrodisiac. Relief. One plus one made two.

Only this was The Doctor. They were mates, they didn't… shag. They didn't think of each other that way.

The Doctor's body lolled forwards, as if he suddenly lacked the strength to hold himself upright.

Relief. Right.

Donna grabbed the Doctor by the lapels and hauled him up and when his face was close enough to hers, she brought their lips together.

At first, nothing happened. He was completely still against her. Experimentally, she moved her mouth over his, parting her lips slightly.

Nothing. A shudder ran through her. This was wrong, he wasn't in his right mind, he'd die, he'd hate her…

She ran her tongue cautiously over the seam of his parted lips and faster than she could retell it, she was spun around and pinned against a coral strut, the Doctor kissing her hard, almost brutally.

There was no tenderness in the kiss, only a desperate sort of heat. Donna shivered. It was the kiss of a dying man. His hands gripped her upper arms, hard enough that she couldn't move. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly over the fabric of his suit jacket.

Their teeth clashed, as he tried to swallow her whole. His teeth bit the tender skin of her lips, tearing it and she could taste the sharp iron of her own blood. There was no way for her to participate; she simply had to take whatever he doled out.

He abandoned her mouth, lips trailing urgently down her neck and she had to stifle a scream as he bit her shoulder, far harder than any other man she'd ever been with. His hands still gripped her arms, and she could feel the bruises forming.

The Doctor stilled at her neck, and looked up at her. His eyes were confused, and he was sweating, the red spot on his cheeks even brighter. He seemed lost, as if he couldn't remember what to do next.

And heck, what did she know? Maybe Time Lords didn't have sex the normal way. But it would just have to do.

But she knew, as soon as she saw that lost look in his eyes, that she would have to be the one to take it further. As if he'd heard her, the Doctor's grip loosened and he took a step back.

Collecting all her courage, Donna reached for him, and started to unbutton his suit jacket. He blinked at her, then started to tear at the buttons on his dress shirt, making them ping as they tore. Within seconds, he was down to his undershirt and roughly drew it over his head, leaving Donna to work in the fastenings on his trousers.

She felt strange, as if some other woman was inhabiting her body. For a second, she wanted to giggle. Donna Noble, about to shag the Doctor in the console room on the TARDIS. It seemed like a gigantic cosmic joke.

As she got his trousers undone, she had to stifle a surprised gasp as she realized he didn't wear pants underneath.

He groaned as her hands made contact with his erection, and took her wrist in a sharp grip and pumped her hand up and down his cock, hard and fast.

And then, as quickly as before, he let go, twisted and suddenly they were on the floor, Donna underneath with the iron grating digging into her back and the Doctor on top, trousers at his ankles, hampered by his trainers. He had her wrists pinned hard above her head and thrust his hips urgently against her.

Except, of course, she was still clothed, dressed up in a posh dress and posher underwear.

A frustrated growl escaped his mouth, a sound completely unlike the Doctor and for the first time, Donna felt afraid. It was no longer her taking advantage of a delirious Doctor, she was now completely out of control of the situation.

He tore at her dress, ripping the fragile fabric enough to expose her bra-covered nipples and pushing the bra out of the way, latched on to one, sucking hard.

A sudden flash of heat went through Donna's body, nipple to groin, before giving way to a sharp pain as the Doctor bit her, hard.

His mouth abandoned her breast and he threw her skirt up, exposing her knickers. Gracelessly, he pushed them down to her knees where Donna shimmied her legs, trying to get rid of them. The movement stopped the Doctor in his tracks and his frenzied eyes met hers, before he once again had her wrists pinned above her head.

Donna winced. The rough grip dug into her tendons.

"I'm not trying to get away, promise," she pleaded, trying to make him loosen hold a little. When he didn't respond, she parted her thighs, cradling his hips closer to her, and arched her hips towards him.

It was enough. Without any regard to her comfort or pleasure, he thrust into her and Donna cried out, sharply.

She hadn't been with a man in so long, and while she was wet, far wetter than she'd ever tell anyone, she wasn't prepared for such a rough entry. It burned, almost unbearably as the Doctor moved in and out of her.

Donna clenched her eyes, and ground her teeth and tried to ignore the treacherous tear that slid down her cheek. Her fists tightened and she wanted to fight and scream and get away from the terrible trapped feeling that surrounded her. She couldn't get away; he was so much stronger than her.

Donna tried to breath and control her panic. She was doing this to save the Doctor, the most wonderful man in the universe. Surely that was worth a little pain.

The pain centered, glowing brightly between her legs, on her writs and at her shoulder, where he'd bit her. She lay motionless, feeling his erection slide in and out before he suddenly stilled.

One hand left her wrists, and, gripping her chin, turned her face up. His thumb caressed her cheek, collecting the tear and she had to look at him.

His eyes were so sad Donna thought her heart would shatter. Not even on her terrible non-wedding day had he looked so devastated. Making her mind up, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and pushed her hips up.

At first, he didn't move but as she did it a second time, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, and resumed his thrusting.

It was pure animal rutting, plain fucking, starker than anything Donna had ever experienced before, but the awful claustrophobia was gone. Mercifully, after a few minutes he shuddered above her, before sighing so hard that she thought a ghost might have slipped out of his mouth. His face was still buried against her throat and she couldn't move her arms. His softened cock slid out of her, and with a little push from her shoulder, he rolled off her, body completely limp.

She sat up abruptly, horrified that she had killed him, after all. Taking his pulse, she felt the familiar double beat and realized he was only sleeping. Too afraid to leave him, even to change her clothes or clean up, she pulled her skirt down and covered herself as best as she could with the torn neckline of her dress. Grabbing his coat from the floor by the TARDIS door, she pulled it over him so that she wouldn't have to stare at his naked bum while he slept.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she leaned her aching body against a coral strut (the one where he'd pinned her and kissed her and…) waited for the Doctor to wake up.

DWDWDW

It didn't take long for him to come to, and he did that as unusually as he did everything else. One moment he was asleep and the other he wasn't.

He sat up, taking in his surroundings and centering his gaze on her. His brow creased in confusion as he took in her disheveled look. As if realizing something, he looked down at his own body, and seemed surprised at finding it naked.

Then his eyes lit up in understanding, and Donna's stomach plummeted to the ground as the understanding turned to disgust.

"What the hell were you thinking?" The Doctor tried to stand up, before toppling back when he was hampered by the trousers still around his ankles.

Angrily, he drew them up and turned around, fastening them before swiveling around to face her again.

"What did you do that for?!"

Donna stared at him, gob-smacked.

"The Alpraxi-what… The mosquito, you said it killed!"

"Not Time Lords. Which a quick search in the TARDIS data banks would've told you. Were you so eager to get a leg over that you had to take advantage of me? Trying to make up for the bloke that rejected you?" He sneered. "I guess that's the only way you'd get some."

Donna felt as though she'd been slapped across the face. No, not slapped. Punched.

She could think of nothing to say in reply, but simply remained sitting on the floor as the Doctor picked up his clothes and stalked away.