The road less travelled...

Title: Friends or Strangers – Play Time
Author: katherine_b
Rating: Adult (the last scene anyway)
Characters: The Doctor (John Smith)/Donna Noble
Summary: A change is in store for Donna Noble.
A/N: This is an additional scene for Friends or Strangers which makes mention of the time that the Doctor (John Smith) and Donna “spent an hilarious two days decorating the rooms” of his apartment. cnd83, as part of my current Timestamp meme, asked for the full scenes and also “Donna and John Smith 'first time'. Who decides to take the relationship further? I imagine it'd be Donna, because she doesn't seem to be very patient, and John is kind of shy...but maybe I'm wrong...;).” Hope this satisfies!

Another of those strange, almost familiar moments strikes Donna again as she watches John slide the key into the door of his apartment and throw open the doors, letting her go in first.

“It's empty,” she says as soon as she steps inside, eyeing the large living space that is devoid of furniture.

“Well, aren't you on the ball?” he says with a grin as he closes the door behind them. “Want to tell me how we're going to paint the walls if we've got to work around everything?”

“Am I supposed to hold you up to do the corners then?” she demands. “Because I don't think you could do the same for me!”

“Hey!” He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her against him, the index finger of his other hand coming to rest against her lips. “Cut that out. You know I won't have you putting yourself down like that!”

She smiles and kisses his finger before disentangling herself from his hold. John removes his coat and hangs it on one of the hooks just inside the front door before taking her bag and hanging that and her coat up next to his.

Donna glances back at their coats before following him into the living room. There's something very comfortable and almost domestic about the sight of her brown leather jacket next to his by-now all-too-familiar brown duster. She smiles as she walks into the lounge room to see the ladders and tins of paint, brushes and rollers lying on top of them.

“Oh, all right,” she says, understanding the smug grin on his face. “You win.”

“You know I like being prepared, Donna,” he tells her with a wink, before picking up a bundle of white material and shaking it out. “And I got this for you. Didn't want to ruin that grey top of yours by covering it with paint.”

“Aren't you going to put something on?” she asks as she pulls the white overalls over her clothes.

“I have!” he says in obvious surprise, gesturing at his clothes.

She eyes him and, for the first time, realises that he's not wearing his brown suit, but a blue one.

“Oh!” She can hear the surprise in her voice. “I haven't seen you wearing that before.”

He smiles slightly, but says nothing, only kneeling down beside the paint tins and making room for her beside him.

“Want to see the colours?”

“Ooh, yes!” She drops to her knees beside him and watches as he pries open the lids with a screwdriver he has clearly been keeping for just that task. “Oh, it's lovely!” she exclaims as she sees the colour in the tins – a bright, sunshiny yellow.

“Glad you like it,” John says lightly as he opens the rest of the tins. “I was hoping you would.”

Suddenly a little suspicious, although she can’t quite put her finger on the reason, she glances up at him, but John's expression is free of the cheeky look that means he's planning something.

“Come and have a look at what I've got in mind for the bedroom,” he suggests, standing up and giving her hand a gentle tug.

Getting her to feet, she follows him into the other room, which has a doorway leading off it that is clearly a small bathroom. This room, too, is empty, but with a variety of tins on the floor beneath the window.

She settles beside him and her breath catches as, with a sideways glance at her, he opens the tins and shows her the colour.

The paint is a beautiful lilac, almost the exact same colour as the walls of the bedroom she now occupies on the ground floor of her mother's house.

“What d'you think?” John asks, before she can express the suspicions that are continuing to grow in her.

“My favourite colour,” she replies. “As I think you know.”

“Then you won't mind visiting every now and then,” he suggests with a smile. “Shall we get started?”

She grabs his arm before he can get to his feet, applying gentle pressure so that he won't pull away.

“John,” she says slowly, “what's going on?”

The smile becomes somewhat anxious, a little nervous as he meets her gaze. His free hand comes up and tugs at his ear, clearly uneasy by what he's about to say.

“We-ell,” he begins, “I thought, perhaps, you might be interested in seeing these rooms more than just on an occasional visit. That, maybe, you could – move in with me?”

“Move in with you?” she echoes, almost disbelieving, and trying to ignore the joyful leap her heart makes in her chest.

“Only if you want to, of course,” he says quickly, and she knows he's about to start babbling as he always does when he's nervous or trying to work something out. “I mean...”

“John,” she interrupts. “Yes. Of course I will. Yes, please!”

And then she wraps her arms around him as he pulls her against him. She only just suppresses a shriek as he lifts her and spins her in the air, his delighted laugh booming in her ear.

* * *
Decorating the apartment suddenly becomes ten times more interesting when Donna knows that she's going to be living there. She insists on taping newspaper over the door- and window-frames to protect the white surfaces before they start work. Once that’s finished, Donna busies herself with the delicate task of painting the walls around plastic-covered light-switches and the lamps above the fireplace.

John, meanwhile, tackles the larger wall surfaces with the roller on an extended handle. The windows are standing open so that the paint fumes don't become overpowering, and sunshine is streaming onto the drop-cloths they have spread out over the timber floor. A small radio, which John fetched out of one of the cupboards, is playing cheery music in the corner, although it's not loud enough to deter conversation.

“How long have you been planning this then?” Donna asks suddenly. “And,” she adds, her happiness dimming a little as she thinks of this, “what's Gramps going to say about me leaving home?”

“It's all right.” There's a soothing tone in his voice that acts to calm her nerves. “I've already talked to him about it – and your mother. Wouldn't want to spring this sort of thing on them without warning.”

“You went to talk to my mother?” she teases, relief washing over her. “What, without me to protect you?”

He chuckles. “Oh, I've faced a few frightening things in my time, Donna. Your mother doesn't quite come up to the worst of them!”

“You should tell her that,” she suggests. “I'm sure she'll be disappointed!”

“And your grandfather said he might come and admire our handiwork later, and maybe help a bit,” he goes on. “Do you need more paint in that little tin you've got?”

When she agrees, he carries one of the larger cans over to top it up, giving her a quick kiss before going back to the wall he's painting. Smiling, she finishes the careful line along the top of the mantelpiece before turning back to face him, feeling suddenly nervous.

“I don't... I won't have a lot to bring with me. I don't know why, exactly, but I don't seem to have much to make a home.”

John props the roller against the wall and crosses the room to put his arms around her. “There's only one thing you have to bring with you,” he says softly, resting his forehead against hers.

“What's that then?”

“You,” he tells her, his tone allowing for no doubt, and then kisses her so fiercely that she feels herself pushed back against the wall.

“This better not be damaging my painting,” she murmurs against his lips, letting the brush fall to the floor as she locks her hands around the back of his neck.

“That's what second coats are for,” he replies, kissing her again.

“Aye, aye, knew it was a mistake to come and see you two lovebirds,” says a gruff voice in the doorway, and they spring apart, guilt written all over John's face, which Donna is certain must also be on her own.

“Gramps!” she exclaims, smoothing her hair, which John's hands had freed from the ponytail she put up that morning.

“Wilf!” John says in similarly scandalised tones. “I, uh, thought you were coming later!”

“Thought I'd drop in and check on you, didn't I? Maybe I should have called first, but you did say 'any time', John.”

“I did,” John agrees, straightening the collar of his shirt, which Donna's hands had crumpled. “Sorry, we should have been a little more hospitable. It was just – unexpected, that's all.”

“Oh, don't worry about it, son. It isn't that many years since I felt the same way.”

“Oh.” Donna can't help being amused at the fact that John seems, for once, to be speechless. “Oh,” he says again, “well, good. Come in,” he says, warmth creeping into his voice. “Come in properly. I'll give you the grand tour. That should take all of five minutes anyway. Donna – oh, I've just remembered! I've got no milk! Could you dash out and get some for us, darling? We can't give Wilf his tea without it.”

“You are hopeless, aren't you?” she asks rhetorically, but takes her coat and bag off the hook. “Should I get us something for lunch, too?”

“Good idea!” He nods as she opens the front door, and as she leaves, she hears him say to her grandfather, as he opens a door, “Now, Wilfred, I know you'll like this...”

* * *
“He's going to miss me,” Donna says almost wistfully as Wilf closes the door of the apartment behind him.

The Doctor has an all-too-familiar struggle with the words he'd like to say, fighting to suppress the urge to tell her that Wilf has already spent time without her, but, as always, he succeeds in controlling his tongue and only gives her a sympathetic smile as he reaches out to take Donna's hand.

“It's not as if you're going that far away,” he reminds her. “You could go back home and see him every day if you wanted to. Or,” he can't help adding, although he feels a momentary flash of panic, “you could stay at home. I mean, you don't have to move in.”

“But I want to,” she reminds him, adding, with a cheeky grin, “So if you've changed your mind and want to retract that invitation, you'd better tell me sooner rather than later.”

“Never,” he says with sincerity, giving her fingers a squeeze as he stands up. “Come on then, let's get on with it. We should be able to give the living room that second coat before we call it a day.”

“Oi, not before we do the dishes,” she tells him. “Come on, you wash and I'll dry. That way we won't have to do it later.”

He chuckles and gives in, turning on the taps and letting hot water rush into the sink. Donna collects the plates and carries them over to him, letting her hand stroke the lowest part of his back as she passes behind him to get the tea-towel hanging on the oven door.

Snapping on the gloves, he froths up the detergent in the sink, collecting a pile of bubbles in his hands – but as he turns to Donna, he sees a grim look in her eyes, one finger pointed at him.

“Don't even think about it, mate. I'm warning you!”

“Oh, you're no fun,” he grumbles, but lets the pile of foam drop back into the sink before dropping the cutlery into the soapy water and starting to scrub them clean.

“I'm just not five years old at times, that's all.” She gives him a nudge. “Get on with it or you'll have – hold on!”

“What?” He hears the anxiety in her voice and glances at her as he places the first handful of gleaming cutlery onto the draining board. “Donna, what is it? What's wrong?”

“Well, it's just – ” she waves a hand around at the empty apartment, “where were you planning to sleep until this place is finished? You can't stay here – can't bring a bed in with all the paint fumes! You'll wake up with two heads or something.”

“Could be an improvement,” he says with a wink.

“Oi!”

“It's all right, Donna.” He smiles at her over his shoulder as he finishes the cutlery and begins on the plates. “I've got somewhere else to stay.”

“You sure? You don't... I mean... You don't want...”

“Donna,” he says gently, “I'm not trying to impose myself on you. I really have got somewhere else to spend the next few days.” He smiles. “We'll get this place absolutely perfect – and then we'll move in together. Yes?”

She wraps her arms around him and he has to restrain himself from hugging her back so that he doesn't leave wet marks on her clothes.

“Yes,” she says, her voice full of warmth and delight, the way he loves it best. “Yes, please.”

* * *
“Oh, thank you!” the Doctor declares breathlessly as he steps through the cupboard door into the TARDIS – only to find that his ship has moved the heaviest pieces of furniture closest to the doorway leading back into the apartment.

It's a strange sight, seeing an open doorway right next to the console that leads into the living room. Still, it means he can push one end of the couch onto a piece of the drop-cloth they used to protect the floor from the paint and drag it into place in front of the fireplace. He randomly scatters several of the cushions along the couch. Donna loved them when she was on the TARDIS, and it serves to make the room feel more lived-in and homely.

The television is already set up in the corner, a few sneaky zaps of the sonic screwdriver having connected it up to the aerial. One of the rugs from the library fits neatly in the empty floor space. The Doctor picks a small selection of books and a few ornaments, placing them haphazardly along the mantelpiece and on the two shelves that the sonic screwdriver had up on the wall in moments. He props several paintings along the walls so that Donna can help him put them up later.

The dining room table and chairs fit perfectly in the niche next to the doorway leading to the kitchen, which is already decked out and complete. Only the bedroom remains and they have to finish painting it first.

Just as he brings in the last thing from the TARDIS, however, there's a knock on the door of the apartment.

“What?” he demands under his breath. “What?!”

He knows that Donna is at work, so it can't be her.

Wilf simply walks in without knocking. The Doctor can't quite help thinking that Wilf is hoping for another glimpse of his granddaughter in the arms of the man she loves.

He gulps somewhat nervously at the realisation that that only leaves one person.

“Mrs Noble,” he says, in what he hopes is an enthusiastic voice, as he opens the door. “How good to see you!”

The blonde woman casts a tight smile at him. “How are you?” she asks as she enters the apartment.

The Doctor smothers a smile as he moves aside to let her in and then closes the door. So far, Sylvia Noble has kept her end of the bargain. The word 'Doctor' has never crossed her lips, but she only calls him 'John' or 'Mr Smith' when Donna is in the room. At other times, she goes to great lengths to avoid calling him anything at all. He knows it's because she's as uncomfortable as he is with the deception they are practising.

“What can I do for you, Mrs Noble?” he asks as he waves her in the direction of the living room.

“I wanted to see what sort of a place you've got set up for Donna here,” she tells him. “Wouldn't want my daughter living just anywhere.”

“Of course.” The Doctor lets himself smile at this obvious sign of love from Donna's mother. “Well, as you can see, this is the living room. Not too big, but there are only going to be two of us.”

He glances at Sylvia – and curses inwardly as he sees the look of shock on her face. Her eyes are focused on the open cupboard door, through which the interior of the TARDIS is clearly visible.

“What's – that?!” she demands, her voice tremulous.

“That's, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “that my – spaceship.”

He can't help remembering when he said those words to Donna, after she first appeared on board the TARDIS. However he has no time to reminisce, as the fires of hell are launched on him the next second in the form of a furiously angry Sylvia Noble.

“I knew it!” she exclaims triumphantly, turning to poke a sharp finger into his chest. “You're planning to drag her away again, aren't you? Kidnap her?”

“No!” he exclaims indignantly, rubbing the sore spot on his ribs, although he's at least grateful she hasn't slapped him like Jackie or Francine. “Of course not!” he continues. “Just – let me show you. It's not what you think. Look.”

He closes the door and then turns to her.

“Open it.” He nods as she hesitates. “Really, I mean it. Open the door. It's the same thing that will happen when Donna opens it.”

She reaches past it and turns the handle, her jaw dropping when she sees shelves laden with sheets, towels and baskets containing various odds and ends.

“But – what did...? How did...?”

“It's a little trick of mine,” he tells her, gesturing at her to close the door again. “Another one,” he has to admit, knowing that Sylvia has already seen several others of his ‘little tricks’. “Sometimes this is a cupboard, and sometimes it's,” he opens the door to reveal the console room, “my ship.”

“Donna can't stumble through that doorway by mistake?”

“Definitely not.” He turns to her, his voice softening. “Mrs Noble, I really did mean it when I told you I was going to look after Donna. With her being here like this, the TARDIS is helping to protect her. If the worst happens, the TARDIS would care for Donna while I tried to find a way to save her.” He runs his hands through his hair. “She’s actually safer here than she would be at your house.”

Sylvia nods slowly, her eyes travelling around the apartment and into his ship. The Doctor waves at the large coral-coloured space on the other side of the doorway.

“Let me show you,” he suggests. “Let me introduce you to the TARDIS.”

* * *
The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS into light rain and a sky that is slowly lightening in the east as the sun rises. He’s been away saving yet another world from an attempted invasion and aimed his return for Saturday morning so that he could finish the painting and begin moving the furniture in before Donna came to help.

They’ve decided that tomorrow will be the day Donna moves in.

And even though that will be a Sunday, the Doctor can’t wait.

Half-smiling, he's about to turn back inside and use the spatio-temporal hyperlink to get up to the apartment when he happens to glance in the direction of the apartment and freezes.

Surely that's not a light?

No one else can be inside. The TARDIS has used its link to the cupboard to render the actual apartment as overlooked as the TARDIS itself, except for those people who need to see it, so no one should have any desire to go inside.

He can't help feeling anxious as he dashes out into the rain and then inside the apartment building, leaping up the stairs, thee at a time, until he gets to the landing.

The door is standing slightly ajar.

As silently as he can, he nudges it open, steps inside – and gasps, with a mixture of confusion and amazement, at the sight of Donna busily applying a second coat of paint to one of the bedroom walls. Her hair is gradually working its way loose from her ponytail, one long lock hanging down her back, and she's humming cheerfully.

For a moment he simply stands and watches her, that sense of contentment he always feels around her sitting warmly in his chest. There's something so wonderfully homely and, dare he even think it, domestic in the fact that she's doing this for him – for them.

At that moment, she turns to refresh the roller and catches sight of him, a smile creeping across her face as she turns fully to face him.

“Are you just going to stand there while I do all the work, John?”

“I wouldn't dare,” he tells her, shrugging out of his duster and hanging it up before coming over to kiss her. However he's only given her a quick peck before a thought occurs to him and he arches an eyebrow as he leans back to look down at her. “How did you get in?”

“You gave me a key.” Donna lifts a chain that is hanging around her neck so that he can see a familiar object hanging from it.

He inhales silently at the realisation that he did indeed give her this key – but that it's the key for the TARDIS that he gave her when the Sontarans invaded.

And he made sure to take it with him when he left her behind in Chiswick.

“Well, I assume it was for me,” she admits, slightly reluctantly. “I mean, it was hanging on the hook under my bag last night, so I just took it.” There's obvious anxiety in her eyes as she looks up at him. “Was it wrong?”

“No,” he says softly, smiling as he strokes her cheek, “of course it wasn't.”

He tightens his grasp, holding her against him, and, as he feels her drop the key to work her arms behind his back, he lets himself enjoy it. For the first time, he's forced to accept that the TARDIS is as much involved in the progress of this relationship as he is, and that he might as well let her play a role, as he knows she's longing to.

She's definitely as fond of Donna as he is.

* * *
“It's funny,” Donna says suddenly, and looks up to see John watching her, an eyebrow raised.

“What is?” he asks, stroking his fingers along her arm as they lie beside each other on the couch, his long legs applying light pressure on top of hers, his sock-clad feet projecting several inches beyond her bare toes.

“Well, I keep thinking I should suggest that it's time to go home,” she admits, almost reluctantly, resting her head back against his chest.

“You are home,” he reminds her, his breath cool against her neck. “This is home now, remember?”

“I know.” She looks up to see a worried look in his eye and presses herself more firmly against him to convince him that she isn't having second thoughts. “I do know it, John, but it still seems strange.”

“Of course it does.” He strokes the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Just so long as you get used to it eventually, that's the important thing.”

“Mmm.” She nods. “It's just – I suppose I hadn't thought about it until now, but – there's only one bed.”

“We talked about that, Donna.” His voice is soft with understanding, and perhaps he can hear the anxiety in her voice. “But if it's a problem for you, I'm happy to sleep here on the couch.”

He draws away a little as he speaks, and she can't help missing his presence even though she knows he's still beside her.

“No,” she protests immediately, almost surprised by the sound of her own voice.

“'No' what?” he asks gently. And then, as she remains silent, “Do you know what you want?”

“I – I don't think I do,” she's forced to admit.

John turns off the television and places the remote control on the coffee table before standing up and offering his hand.

“Come with me,” he says softly, his dark eyes glowing.

She slides her fingers into his, feeling somehow reassured by his touch. He leads her into the bedroom, where she sees that the lamps on the bedside tables are lit. With the curtains closed, the room has a warm, cosy, intimate look, and she can't help relaxing a little at the sight and feel of her surroundings.

“Donna.”

John's voice is soft in her ear, and she turns to face him, nervousness boiling in the pit of her stomach. It's strange, because she's been with men before, but she's never felt this way about any of them. Perhaps it's because of the love she can see in John's eyes. She knows that none of those other men have ever looked at her in the way that he does.

His free hand is resting on her waist, his long fingers providing light pressure against her hip.

“We don't have to go anywhere with this unless you want it, until you're ready.”

She nods, appreciating the fact that he's not trying to rush her or guilt her into something she's not ready for.

But she feels ready. She just doesn't know how to say it. Perhaps he reads it in her eyes, though, because he moves slightly closer, his arm passing around her waist.

“If you don't like this, or you don't want it,” he tells her, “all you have to do is say 'stop', all right?”

Again she nods, finally feeling able to move. She lifts her free hand and slides her fingers into his hair. He lowers his head, and she's waiting for the touch of his lips on hers, but he ducks his head even further so that his mouth comes into almost tantalisingly light contact with her collarbone, which is just visible beneath the open collar of her shirt.

That touch frees something inside her and she lets go of that reassuring hold on his fingers to slide her hand inside the collar of his shirt, lightly stroking the skin on the nape of his neck as he continues to press his lips to her shoulder. Then she finds that her hands have moved to her own top, undoing the buttons so that John can have more access to her bare skin.

He hesitates, lifting his head so that his eyes are on a level with hers.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his arm around her waist loosening, giving her a chance to change her mind.

“Yes.”

There's no hesitation in her voice now and she slides her hands around to the front of his shirt, gently undoing the first buttons and letting her fingers explore his chest as he pulls her closer to him again.

She slides her hands down to his waist as he begins pressing light kisses down towards the parts of her chest still covered by her shirt. She arches her back so that the movement increases the pressure of his touch against her and feels as he chuckles against her.

“Are you a bit impatient, Donna?”

Unable to help grinning, she slides her fingers around to the belt hanging around his waist, firmly undoing the buckle before tackling the buttons and letting his pants drop to the floor. John, however, is no slower, as she can feel him untucking her shirt and then sliding his hands up her back to her bra.

He undoes the hooks with astonishing ease, but even more surprising is that, for the first time, she's finding even the simple act of him undressing her strangely sensual. Usually she doesn't feel anything until they get further along, but perhaps it's the slow, deliberate way that John is treating her, which makes her feel almost as if he's waited his whole life for this moment.

At that moment, Donna realises that her legs are pressed against the mattress and John is applying gentle pressure so that she sits down. He kneels in front of her almost reverently, removing her shirt and then delicately sliding her bra off first one arm and then the other. His fingertips follow the trail of the lacy fabric back along her skin, lightly stroking her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the darkened skin of her nipples before he applies his lips to the same areas that his fingers have just explored.

Donna sinks her fingers into his hair, almost massaging his scalp as she feels pleasure wash over her, gasping at the warm, wet feeling of his mouth against her skin. His fingers are tracing firm patterns over her naked back as his mouth explores, finally leaving her breasts to dot those light, tantalising kisses down her stomach. His hands support her as she lies back on the bed, stealing kisses from her lips as his hands try to push down on the waistband of her pants.

She takes pity on him, chuckling softly as she undoes the concealed hook at the waist and then raises her hips off the mattress. However she gives a muffled squawk as he slides both her pants and her knickers off in one move.

He chuckles in her ear and presses a kiss to the side of her neck, his fingers suddenly absent from her skin, but then she can feel that he has taken advantage of the moment to remove the last of his clothing before he lies down beside her.

“Oh, my Donna,” he says softly, his eyes glowing as he strokes the hair away from her face. “My precious, beautiful Donna.”

She smiles, kissing him fiercely, almost hungrily, as she takes over for the first time, pushing against his shoulder so that he rolls onto his back and she can settle on top of him. Reaching between his legs, where she can feel firm pressure against her thigh, she wraps her fingers around him, guiding him inside and feeling as she tightens around him.

“Oh, God, yes,” she groans as she feels herself reacting to his movements.

“Yes, Donna,” he echoes, thrusting against her, his moves becoming more regular, settling into an even rhythm that brings Donna to the peak of ecstasy, so that she can only clutch him to her, calling his name.

She loses all sense of time and space and feeling, apart from John's gentle strength anchoring her to him, his name almost a prayer on her lips and his voice speaking her name and meaningless words of love in her ear, his tones ragged and breathless.

And slowly, as it ebbs away and she collapses limply into John’s strong arms, she looks up into the bottomless, dark pools of his eyes, which sparkle as if the stars themselves made their homes there, and she feels as if she's found something vital to her being without even knowing that anything was missing.