Doctor Who, Doctor/Rose, bimbos of the death sun, Part 1/2
"What is it," she shouted over the rumbling of the station's shielding swinging out into the open position, "about you and exploding suns?"
"It's not exploding," the Doctor explained, sonic screwdriver pointed firmly at the control panel. "It's just giving off unusual frequencies of radiation because of a magnetic storm. Take cover behind the communications console and shut up a minute."
"Least it's not my own sun trying to fry me this time," Rose muttered as she slid into the hollow under the console and drew her knees to her chin.
He yanked the cover off of the panel impatiently and scowled at the smoking mass of wiring. "Well, that's fried. Let me try this one." The screwdriver glowed again as he moved to the commander's console. The shields made a deep ka-choom as they finished their extension; a greenish light flooded the room.
The Doctor almost had the console panel open when a giggle came from the comm station. He looked up just in time to see Rose's jacket fly past.
"You all right?"
She laughed again, a full-throated belly laugh. Her shirt sailed out, landing a few feet from her jacket. " 'S too hot in here, now."
"The temperature hasn't changed yet." He scowled. "It can't be affecting you that fast, can it?"
"Affecting what?" Her shoes soared past; one of them clunked against the wall.
"The flare radiation from the sun out there interferes with the transmission of signals in the synapses of the nervous system. First it makes you feel like you're drunk, then it makes you stupid, then it eventually kills you if the stupid doesn't finish you off first." He flipped the panel open and began unplugging cables from their sockets. "It doesn't affect Gallifreyan physiology the same way, although eventually I'll start getting very unpleasant sunburns from it. For some reason, testosterone provides something of a chemical buffer, so it affects males more slowly. Led to devices made to simulate the radiation being used as a date-rape drug until they were outlawed."
And there went her jeans. "Don't think I'm stupid yet. I might be a wee bit on the drunk side, though." She struggled to stand up, wearing nothing but a pair of red bikini underwear and a lacy black bra.
"Rose, no!" He fused two of the cable ends together, and began frantically hunting for a load-to-ground connection. "Stay down there. The console housing is keeping you partially protected. Damn!" A sizzle of sparks jumped from the circuit board to his fingers; he popped one in his mouth.
"I love it when you do that." She tottered over to the commander's station, wobbling slightly.
"Do what?" There was a load-to-load connection; that would have to do. He snapped the ends together, and groaned as a timer came up on the flipped-up panel. Thirty minutes. Too long for comfort, but survivable, even by a human without testosterone protection. It'd be closer than he'd like, though. Too bad the path back to the TARDIS put them into a much more concentrated flow, or it'd be a better bet to make a break for it, even with the satellite's security system activated.
"Put things in your mouth. Draws attention to your lips." She reached out with a finger and traced his bottom lip.
"Stop that, Rose. Get down under the console." He laid his hands on her bare shoulders. Human skin was so warm, almost uncomfortably so.
" 'm not going by myself. I don't want you running off and leaving me here alone." She pouted, tossing her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dilated despite the glare.