Warning: Contains several references to adult themes.
Summary: A friend in need is a friend indeed! So it's a good job Donna is the Doctor's best friend and can help him out in a delicate situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, not even a tent (though my son does if that helps?).
A/N: Inspiration came from listening to a line in a televised Goon Show recording. Why is another matter? I was waking up from a migraine sleep at the time.
The tiny tent they'd been shown into was bare except for an altar and two stools.
"Tasty," Donna commented as they examined their surroundings.
"Just sit yourself down, Donna, they won't make us wait too long," the Doctor tried to console her. He picked up a scripture and sat down to peruse it.
Already bored of the small dwelling, Donna sauntered over to the altar and toyed with the various articles there. Prominently on the top was a highly decorative scarf. Donna picked it up and threaded it through her fingers as she held them high in the air. Humming to herself, she began to dance with the scarf and silently sang the words, "Oh the girlfriend of the whirling dervish…"
There was a strangled cry behind her, and she turned in time to see the Doctor jump up from the stool with a shocked and deeply pained expression as all colour drained from his face.
"What is it, Spaceman?" she had barely asked when he crumpled onto the dirt floor, landing on all fours, panting desperately. She raced to his side, running her hands over his back as she agitatedly tried to comfort him. "Tell me, Doctor! What do I do? How can I help you?"
"It's got me!" he stuttered out. "It hurts!"
"What's got you? And where does it hurt?" she tried to search his eyes for any possible answer. Seeing the way he was in a half foetal position, she asked, "Is it your stomach? Has something attacked your intestines?"
"Lower!" he managed to answer with some strain. "Much lower! I need…"
"Do you mean in your meat and two veg?" she asked hesitantly; and gave him a worried frown when he nodded.
"Not the veg part… It's making me… I need…," he struggled to say.
"Oh no! You are kidding me! You've finally gone and done it!" she roared at him in anger. "I knew this would happen one day. I just knew it!"
"What? What did you know?" he looked at her in wonder and utter panic.
"I knew you'd find a way to get us in a 'shag or die' situation eventually," she hissed at him.
His mouth open and closed in confusion and distress. "This isn't a 'shag or die' situation! I assure you nothing could be further from my mind at this precise moment! Now help me get these trousers off," he almost yelled at her.
"Why?" she eyed him suspiciously. "Why do I need to do that?"
"Because some horrible little creature is trying to eat me from the inside out!" he spat at her.
"Alright! Keep your trousers on!" she pretended to huff; both to lighten the mood and hide her embarrassment. She niftily undid the belt, button and zip before gently sliding his trousers halfway down his thighs.
"Can you see it?" he asked anxiously. "Is it apparent?"
"How do I know? I've no idea what's normal inside your trousers. And those are words I never thought I'd say. It looks like you're hiding a baby elephant inside your underpants if that's any help," she offered him.
"Is it flapping?" he asked through ragged breaths.
"Something's definitely moving… oh my God! It moved! It almost waved at me!" she shrieked.
"Get them down!" he demanded in fear. "Pull the bloody things off me!"
"Here goes," she warned him, taking hold of the elastic and tugging downwards. "Hells bells! What the heck is that? It looks like a piranha fish gone wrong!" she exclaimed in shock. "What do you want me to do to it?"
"What do you think I want you to do? Get it off me!" he almost screamed.
"That's all well and good you yelling like that at me, but how do I get it off?" she insisted on asking.
"I don't know! Think of something!" he cried, almost at his wits end now.
She examined him, trying to decide where to start. "It looks blunt, like it's taken a chunk of you already," she informed him.
He eyed her in horror, and looked carefully too, "That's normal, Donna! Just get on with it, please!"
"I thought it'd look more like a sharpened pencil. Okay, that's not helping, is it? I'll warm my hands first, shall I?" she blew on her hands and took hold of him, deliberately ignoring his gasp of shock, and placing one hand around the creature. He gave another yelp of pain. "Sorry, it won't let go!"
"You think?" he tersely replied.
She ignored his sarkiness. "I'm going to try a pincher movement; like when you stop babies feeding," she informed him as she tried to break the creatures seal on him by prodding in a fingertip. "It's not working!" she reluctantly told him. "Hang on, and I'll try something else."
"I don't have much option," he gritted out as he tried to overcome both the pain and pleasure sensations his body was streaming to his brain.
She rolled her eyes at him and then clasped the creature's head with both hands, keeping a careful hold of him, while bringing up her foot. "This might hurt," she warned, and then stamped on it while forcing its jaws open.
There was a jolt and the Doctor fell back against the floor in happy relief. "Thanks, Donna," he weakly sighed. "You can let go now."
"Oops!" she hastily released him and contemplated the 'whatever it was' in her other hand. She gave the creature a good kick as she tossed it out of the bivouac entrance for good measure; and gave him the chance to cover up his exposed flesh at the same time. She noted that he didn't sit down immediately but merely leant across a stool. "So… what was it and why did it target you?" she asked as soon as he seemed to stop visibly wincing with pain.
"It followed a scent," he began to explain. "I think the creature is called a brutuck."
"It was certainly brutal, that's for sure!" she sympathised. "Did it follow a stream of something like that fish in the Yangtze? Does that mean you've wet yourself?" she wrinkled her nose in horror at the thought of him doing that, and in front of her.
The Doctor tried to be his normal enthusiastic self, he truly did. "Yes, just like that! Except it wasn't following a urinary trace; it was…," he blushed.
"It was what?" she jumped on the chance to gain embarrassing information. "What were you doing? Come on; own up!" He mumbled something. "Nope, still can't hear you," she grinned broadly at him as he squirmed. In fact she had to lean quite close to him in the end to hear his words.
"It was following a seminal trace," he muttered finally loud enough for her to hear.
"You were dripping… Eugh! You weren't, were you?" she stepped back in disgust. "What on earth caused you to even think that way?"
He blushed again, a deeper red. "You," he murmured. "I was looking at you and it jumped up my trouser leg before I knew what was happening."
"My original question remains: why would you… react like that? What was I doing, because I'm completely puzzled now," she confessed.
"Donna! Do I have to spell everything out?" he whined, still obviously embarrassed.
"If you want me to avoid doing whatever I did again, then yes, yes you do," she retorted.
He averted his gaze. "You were dancing," he supplied reluctantly.
Donna glanced over to the abandoned scarf on the altar. "Oh that thing! I was only humming and playing about. How is that… uplifting?" she turned her piercing blue-eyed gaze on him and he was momentarily lost.
"I… erm… you were wiggling your hips and…," he broke her gaze and quickly scanned the floor of the tent for any terrestrial movement while cupping himself defensively.
She watched his movements with keen and amused interest. "I see," she replied slowly. She gave a smirk. "I never knew I had it in me!"
"Can we just talk about something else now, please," he almost begged.
"Yeah, okay, Timeboy," she smiled knowingly at him. "We'll save this one for later."
"I bet you will!" he complained just within earshot; but she let him get away with it, for now…