How To Turn on a Time Lord: Lesson Two, Chapter 1 (of 2)
Chapter One
The Doctor meant to take a nap, but Rose made that absolutely impossible by showering. How could he be expected to sleep when Rose was showering in the en suite? He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling and listened to the water running and tried not to think about how Rose was most probably showering naked. That would be just like her.
He frowned at the ceiling. Showering naked. Just to torture him. All that skin for him to press up against, absorbing her pheromones, shuddering with pleasure. Cheeky, saucy, unbearable minx.
He heard the water shut off and steadfastly did not think about how Rose was now probably drying herself off, still naked. The fact was that he had’t realized that Rose could, well, control her pheromones enough to pitch them in just such a manner to drive him mad. It was one thing to be overwhelmed by Rose’s general feelings about him. It was quite another thing to have Rose focus, single-mindedly, on making him lose control.
He wanted her to do it again.
Immediately.
He fisted his hands into the bedspread and stared at the ceiling and steadfastly refused to let himself beg Rose to come and touch him-anything, just the press of a fingertip against his shoulder-while thinking whatever brilliant thoughts she’d been thinking earlier.
For the first time, the Doctor’s head cleared enough to wonder just what Rose had been thinking. He frowned at the ceiling. It was possible she didn’t even know herself, he decided. The pheromones were more connected to feeling, after all. And if she felt, well, attracted to him, yes, surely that was what-
The door to the en suite opened, abruptly cutting off the Doctor’s train of thought. He heard Rose move into the room. Ask her to come over to the bed, he told himself. Surely you can distract her from this ridiculous pub quiz idea.
No, he countered. Don’t be so absurd. You are fully in control of your libido. In fact, you’re not even thinking about sex at all. Prove to her you’re not thinking about sex.
“This ceiling is very…high,” commented the Doctor.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” said Rose. “Did you have a nice nap?”
The Doctor stared at the ceiling. “Do you shower naked?” he asked.
There was a moment of silence, in which the Doctor could sense her surprise. “Yes,” she answered, slowly. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he sighed, sadly, thinking of all his skin directly against all her skin.
“What are you doing?” asked Rose. “Are you ready to go?”
The Doctor considered. He’d pulled on clothing before attempting to nap, thinking that his being clothed would lessen the temptation that came from the knowledge that Rose wasn’t clothed. He supposed he was as ready as he was ever going to be. He gathered himself and sat up.
And blinked in astonishment at what Rose was wearing: a tiny jean skirt that might as well have been non-existent, stilettos that made her seem towering, and a scrap of fabric that may have been called a shirt by some people but certainly not by him. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he demanded.
She grinned, tongue between her teeth. “Yeah. You like it?”
He considered the expanse of skin visible to him, distracting him with the knowledge that all he had to do was brush against her and it would feel divine. “Not really,” he said. “No. That is, don’t you think we should stay in?”
“Absolutely not,” said Rose. “Hurry up now. If you’re late you’ll upset my mum.”
The Doctor reluctantly followed her out of the TARDIS.
“There you are!” Jackie exclaimed, catching sight of them. “Are you ready? Where’d you get that shirt? I love it.”
“You love that shirt?” said the Doctor. “It isn’t even a shirt! It’s a…It’s a…Not a shirt.”
Jackie lifted her eyebrows. “Well, I think it’s darling.”
“Picked it up at a fake vintage shop thingy on this Earth-obsessed planet we went to. I think it’s a one-of-a-kind.” Rose did a little twirl to show off her outfit.
“Now, then. You.” Jackie turned to the Doctor. “Don’t you go doing anything embarrassing.”
“Oh, he won’t,” said Rose, taking his hand. “The Doctor is brilliant at pub quizzes.”
The Doctor was busy realizing that Rose was holding her pheromones in. He’d braced to be overwhelmed by the brush of her hand, but she’d somehow turned them off. He was unaccountably disappointed by this.
It was a short walk to the pub, quiz night being a standard occurrence at Jackie’s local, and Rose’s mum was greeted like the regular she was. Well, the regular he assumed she was-she always seemed to be going out, meeting the girls down the pub, going on dates there. At least, that’s what she always told Rose when they visited the flat. At any rate, everyone there seemed to know Jackie, and he didn’t miss the way everyone eyed him appraisingly, measuring him against whatever it was Jackie had told them. He felt rather like a Uuuuu’lip up for auction, truth be told; he suddenly had a great deal more sympathy for the creatures, fanged and furry though they be.
Rose was still controlling her pheromones as they sat together in the small, dingy booth; he suspected the wood of the bench seat might possibly be fossilized, so firm was it against his back and bum. He was grateful he had his coat to sit on, and briefly grimaced as he considered the shortness of Rose’s skirt.
“D’you want to sit on my coat?” he whispered, leaning against her. She still had her feelings in check, blast her.
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked, mystified.
“Because the bench is filthy, and you’re wearing…” He trailed off as he noted Jackie watching him with a thundering gaze. “No reason, none at all. Just wanted to prove chivalry’s not dead,” he finished hurriedly. Jackie resumed chatting with her friends-Mel and whomever else comprised ‘the girls’, and he released his breath.
Rose smiled, leaning into him. “Thank you, though.” She drifted a hand over to rest on his thigh, and squeezed lightly.
He felt a flash of heat pass through his body; she…had she just done that? Through his clothes?
“Did you just do that?” he squeaked.
“Do what?” Her eyes were wide, her voice innocent: Rose Tyler portraying the ingénue.
The minx.
Jackie returned her attention to the two of them, and he forced himself to concentrate. Drinks were brought over-he glanced at the fruity drink in front of him with ill-concealed disdain-and pieces of paper handed around.
“How’s this work, then?” he asked, looking round the crowded booth.
“You from another planet? Everyone knows how this works!” one of the ‘girls’ replied.
“As a matter of fact-”
“He doesn’t get out much,” Jackie interjected, a conspiratorial tone to her voice. She gave the woman a ‘men-can’t dress themselves’ look, and received a knowing nod in response.
He hmph’d, and prepared to sulk. Rose, however, was having none of it. She leaned into him again, her hand sliding along his leg, up his hip, along his back, between his shirt and jacket. He fought to keep his eyes open as her touch tickled him; he wondered if she was going to…
He gasped as she worked his shirt out of his waistband, sliding her fingers under his vest, gently resting them against the skin at the small of his back. He nearly groaned at the sensation. She was doing it again.
She lightly kicked him under the table, and he opened his suddenly-closed eyes to find Jackie staring at him suspiciously. “What was that for, then?” she asked, a shrill note to her voice.
“What was…”
“You groaned,” Rose hissed in his ear.
“Well, I bloody well wouldn’t have if you hadn’t…weren’t-”
“I dropped a book on his toe the other day.”
The booth fell into sudden silence, three sets of eyes staring at he and Rose.
“A book?” Jackie finally asked.
“I had asked him about…something…and we were in the library, and he handed it to me and I dropped it.”
Rose was a terrible liar, at least when it came to lying to her mum. He’d seen her bluff the best liars in the universe, under literally life-or-death circumstances-but Jackie seemed to render that ability useless. Interesting.
Jackie wasn’t buying it, that much was certain. “Did you now?”
“She did. Weighed a bloody ton, that. I apologize; I think I may have taught your daughter some new curse words.”
Jackie peered at him suspiciously before deciding it was probably best she didn’t pursue the line of questioning.
He sighed in relief as Rose’s mum returned to chatting up her mates…and had all of his work undone when Rose lightly stroked her fingers against his skin again.
She leaned up into him, her breath hot against his ear. “Don’t groan again, Doctor.” Her voice was low, sultry, pitched only for him, and he felt her pheromones flood his body.
“Rose…this…don’t….” he gasped in response, his voice soft. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, to make sure Jackie didn’t turn and catch them at it…whatever it was. Foreplay, he supposed, but it was so much more than that. The sensation of touch, the sharing of pheromones and emotions, was an integral part of sex for his people; Rose knew it only as a turn-on for him, but there was so, so much more to it than that.
He had the sudden sneaking suspicion that Rose learning to control her feelings for him was rather like giving an infant a loaded gun.
Rose was resting just the tips of her fingertips against him, and he wondered when she had figured that out, that that tiny touch was torture, made him want to squirm against her, grab for the allure of her bare leg and pull it against him.
Abruptly, her pheromones faded. He knew he should have been relieved, because now he could concentrate, and the people at the table seemed to be writing something, and Jackie was frowning at him, but he really wanted to beg Rose to do whatever she did to make them turn back on. Then she did turn them back on, flooding through him abruptly, and he clamped down on a strangled sound. Everyone at the table looked at him. Primarily Jackie.
“That toe,” said Rose. “Really hurts him.”
Her pheromones had faded again. “You’re supposed to be writing the team name, Doctor,” she said, mildly, as if she had been doing absolutely nothing untoward to him.
“Am I? What’s the-” The pheromones rushed back over him, and he squeaked.
He heard Jackie answer him, vaguely, through a haze. Because it became clear what Rose was doing, as the wave of her pheromones receded again. This control of hers, he thought, it really had to be stopped, immediately, because it was…
Well, it was divine. He was riding the undulating waves of her pheromones, as she pulsed them off and on, over and around and through him, a rhythm that was drowning him, and he wanted to turn and kiss her senseless, drag her on top of him, taste her, drink her, press against her and into her and he held his breath to keep from doing it. He couldn’t help the fact that he leaned back, into her hand, desperate for more than just her fingertips against him, her palm flattening between his back and the wall behind them, and-
“That’s it,” said Jackie, and grabbed him by the lapel of his coat so roughly that he almost got whiplash from the speed at which Rose’s touch and pheromones deserted him, as Rose jerked her hand out from under his shirt and back to her lap, adopting innocence. “I’m separatin’ you two.” Jackie dragged him bodily off of the bench.
“Ow,” he complained. “There’s no reason to-”
She shoved him down into the seat she vacated and took his seat. “Behave yourself,” she told him, sharply.
“But I wasn’t doing anything,” the Doctor pouted. “I wasn’t-I was-”
“Just answer the trivia question and keep your hands to yourself.”
“I wasn’t-My hands were-”
“I think the answer’s three, right?”
The Doctor stared at the woman across from him. Answer? To what question? He just wanted Rose back. The pleasant buzz he’d gleaned off her pheromones had faded almost completely now, but he was no less aroused, and he was irritated by their distance. He reached for the drink in front of him to distract him.
“Oi,” said Jackie, and grabbed it out of his hand before he could drink it. “This one’s yours.” She nudged the fruity concoction over to him.
He glared at it. “Who thought I’d drink that?”
“Rose said you can’t hold your liquor.”
The Doctor looked at Rose. “That’s not true! It was Gyunn liquor, that’s different, it’s potent.”
Rose was frowning at him, eyebrows drawn tightly together. He regarded her in confusion, and then realized the issue: She didn’t know she needed to be touching him. She was probably furiously projecting pheromones at him, and he couldn’t sense any of them.
It was a bad idea to touch her, he thought. A very, very, very, very bad idea. A whole suitcase full of bad. His arousal would fade eventually, and he should just focus on this quiz, whatever it was, and win them some drinks, and then he could take Rose home and make love to her until they fell into oblivion, peel those scraps of clothing off of her and rip his off of him and stretch out against her and let her wash over him and he moved his leg, questing, wanting just to brush it against hers.
Jackie yelped and kicked at him hard. “And now you’re trying to play footsie under the table?”
The pain was very effective at doing away with the lingering arousal, he had to give Jackie credit. Irritated, he shifted in his seat and tried to listen to the question. Something silly about who was Prime Minister in 1858, which everyone would know, so he didn’t know the point of that-
Rose’s bare foot suddenly slid under the cuff of his trousers, against his leg, bringing with it a shock of pleasure so intense that he slid completely off his seat and under the table.
Which brought a rather abrupt halt to the pub quiz. Which was unfortunate, as he’d hoped no one would notice that he was rather humiliatingly positioned under the table. With an absurdly good view up Rose’s skirt. To her lack of knickers.
He would have gaped at that for a while, except that Jackie poked her head under the table at him.
“You look daft. Get up here and sit back on the seat.”
He clambered back onto the seat, finding it incredibly difficult to do so with any sort of élan. The quiz resumed, several of the participants shaking their heads and tutting at him. Jackie’s friends were looking at him as though he’d just dribbled on himself-as though he were Mickey-and he felt any remaining effects from Rose’s touch fade into oblivion.
Chapter Two