Chaos Theory in Vortex Orbits in Relative Dimensions in Time and Space (25/27)
Title - Chaos Theory in Vortex Orbits in Relative Dimensions in Time and Space (25/27)
Author --
earlgreytea68
Rating - Adult
Characters -- Ten, Rose, Jackie, OCs
Spoilers: Through the end of S2.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - And then there came a day when Rose said she was having a baby. Hijinks ensue from there.
Author’s Notes - The icon was created by
punkinart , commissioned by
aibhinn , who graciously offered it to me for my use.
Thanks to my usual characters:
jlrpuck for the beta; Kristin-who-won't-get-an-LJ, who brainstormed this fic with me endlessly; and
bouncy_castle79 , who gave it the first major outside-eyes read-through. Many thanks also to all three of them for being truly excellent friends over the past couple of days.
Ch.1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11 - Ch. 12 - Ch. 13 - Ch. 14 - Ch. 15 - Ch. 16 - Ch. 17 - Ch. 18 - Ch. 19 - Ch. 20 - Ch. 21 - Ch. 22 - Ch. 23 - Ch. 24
Chapter Twenty-Five
They sat for a very long time, in a heap on the floor, and Rose shed her winter jacket and leaned against the Doctor and listened as the kids told her everything they’d done, in minute detail, from the moment she’d gone missing. Or, at least, it seemed that way, Brem running through paint shades that he’d rejected for Sarah Jane’s house, sounding like Goldilocks as he relayed the choices. Athena, settled contentedly into her grandmother’s arms, kept inserting that she had chosen pink. “Mosaic Pink,” Brem kept correcting, making the name drip disgust in way that made Rose smile. She had thought she had missed them while she had been trapped in the other universe, but she was astonished to realize that she had not grasped how very much she had missed them.
She knew the Doctor was aware of her presence against him, but he was mostly preoccupied with Fortuna, not that she blamed him. He had just found out that he had another child; she expected that he should be so fascinated by her. He tugged off Fortuna’s winter coat, her mittens and hat, revealing to full effect her maternal resemblance.
“She looks like Mum,” Brem had said, brushing his hand over her fuzzy blonde hair. “How come?”
“That’s allowed,” Rose had said, exasperated.
“Wellllllll, that’s because your mum was on her own for this one. I wasn’t around to trigger all the genes. She’s still Gallifreyan, she just missed out on-“
“The impossible hair,” Rose had inserted.
She was so caught up in the wonder of her happy family, together and enjoying each other, that she didn’t bother to register the details of where they were, and who else was around. She was vaguely aware that there were more people there, but the only people in two universes who mattered to her were directly in front of her, clustered around her, for the first time in a very long time and everything else was superfluous. She didn’t want to think about anything but how happy she was.
She leaned her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, listening to him have a good-natured disagreement with Brem about whether or not dunking chocolate chip cookies in milk ruined them. She didn’t even realize she was dozing until she felt him turn his head, jostling her position, and brush his lips over her temple.
“You’re exhausted,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone who sleeps in the TARDIS.”
She smiled. “I’m not sure I want to go to sleep.”
“I don’t know how you ever want to,” he replied, lightly. “It’s a tremendous waste of time.” He glanced over at Jackie. “What about you? Are you tired? I’m sure the TARDIS’ll make up a room for you.”
Jackie shook her head. “I think Rose is finally catching up to a year’s worth of exhaustion.”
“Here you go, then.” He handed Fortuna across to her, then pulled Rose up. “I am going to put your mother to bed,” he told the kids.
“This sleeping folderol,” said Brem, in exasperation, but he gave her a fierce hug and allowed her to briefly cuddle him.
“Mum,” said Athena, as Rose kissed her cheek, “when you wake up, can we have a tea party with the dolls? And dress them up?”
Dressing them up was going to take hours. Athena was particular about their outfits to the extreme. Rose was willing to bet that the Doctor, no matter how accommodating of his daughter he may have been, had never had the patience to sit through a full-on formal tea party with her dolls, and she smiled. “Yes. We can.”
Rose reached for his hand, let him pull her into the TARDIS, and they were halfway through the control room before she had to stop walking and lean against him.
“What?” he asked, turning automatically to catch her weight fully.
“I missed you,” she said, breathless with the intensity of it. She pressed herself into him. “God, I missed you. I mean, I missed everything. I missed the TARDIS humming, and I missed the kids more than I could ever put into words, the way everything with Brem turns into a siege, just to get him not to leave random appliance parts in the hallway where I can trip over them, the way Athena needs everything to be just so, I mean, I missed everything. But I missed you like…like…”
“It was a year?” he said, his hand stroking over her hair in a gesture that made her catch her breath, exhale slowly. “A year for you?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Almost. Just about. How long was it for you?”
“Twenty-two weeks.” He kissed the hollow behind her ear. “And three days. Relatively speaking. Rose, I’m sorry it was so long.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t as long for you. I just longed to hear you ramble on about something stupid, something I didn’t care about, something that was not at all what I wanted you to talk about. Never stop babbling at me.”
“I think I can manage that,” he said, and then did something she could never recall him doing, not while she was able to actually walk on her own. He was not a man who suffered from lush romantic impulses, but he lifted her into his arms and carried her into their bedroom, over to their bed.
She looked around her. The room had not changed at all, was exactly as she had left it, right down the tube of mascara she’d left negligently on the dresser the morning of the day everything had fallen apart. The bed was rumpled, and she tried to remember if she’d made it before she’d left the TARDIS, or if he’d slept on it since then. He set her down beside the bed and pulled her jumper over her head with infinite gentleness, as if he were undressing Brem or Athena, following it with the long-sleeved T-shirt she’d been wearing under it. He knelt, reaching under her jeans to find the laces of her boots and to tug and loosen them until she could wriggle out of them, and she rested her hands in the thicket of his hair as she shifted. He was moving with a measured purposefulness, his face as intent as if he were performing a solemn ritual.
He straightened, unbuckling the belt she was wearing and pulling it out of its loops slowly. She felt it slide around her waist, and watched his face, his dark eyes concentrating on what his hands were doing. He unbuttoned her jeans, rasped down the zipper, and pushed her jeans down, until she stepped out of them.
She glanced down at what she was wearing, and wished she’d donned something better for him, something more than basic white bra and knickers. He glanced at her, from under his eyelashes, their gazes meeting for just a moment, before he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, sliding it forward and off her shoulders. He hooked his thumbs into her knickers, pulling them down the length of her legs in one slow motion, until she stepped out of those as well.
He put his hands on her waist, and watched as he crawled them slowly up her ribcage, skimming over the sides of her breasts, onto her shoulders. He paused, caressing her neck, and smiled for the first time, almost a private joke.
“What?” she whispered.
“I have missed,” he whispered back, “this one fervid, little pulse here.” He turned his hand over, brushed a knuckle tenderly over the racing pulse point, then picked up her pendant, pulsing bright yellow.
She looked at it. “Is that the kids?”
He smiled faintly, as he watched it as well. “What makes you think that?”
“You’d have it scarlet by now.”
He looked at her then, his eyes so deep and solemn, and she could not believe how much she had missed those eyes. “We are so happy, your three Time Lords. No, four Time Lords. We are so happy, this pendant may never be able to pick up any other emotion, because our happiness will drown everything else out.”
She took a step forward, away from the tangle of her discarded clothing and toward him, reaching for his tie. He dropped the pendant and watched her hands as they loosened the never-tight knot, pulling at it until she pulled it out from around his collar. His gaze on her made her even more aware of the wondrous importance of this. She hoped desperately that she was making him feel as much like a worshipped, adored being-a beingwho she was honoured to be undressing--as he had made her feel. She pushed his suit jacket off, and began unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt.
It seemed harder than it used to, and she realized in shock that she was out of practice with this. She had once undressed him unthinkingly, taking the act for granted, mostly impatient with the layers of clothing he forced her to wade though. She unbuttoned each button now slowly, pushing it through its hole and parting the shirt as she worked her way down. She pulled it out of his trousers as she finished unbuttoning, then turned her attention to unbuttoning his cuffs. He held his hands up for her, as she tackled the last few buttons and then pushed the shirt off of him.
Mirroring him, she knelt to untie his Converse, and he stepped out of them. She stayed kneeling to work on his fly. The muscles of his abdomen quivered in a slight flinch, and she realized that he was tense, that if he let himself go she’d probably find herself under him before she could draw a breath. She thought of Brem’s storm of sobs and wondered how much emotion was dammed up in the Doctor-emotion that needed to be let loose, released from being buried deep within him--as she pushed his trousers down and followed them with his pants. She forced herself to go as slowly as he had, not to increase the pace just because he was clearly aroused and made a small noise, like a clamped-down groan in the back of his throat, as she moved.
He stepped out of everything, and stayed still while she flattened her palms over his chest, one heart pounding under each of them. And then she smiled at him. “And I missed these two hearts,” she said.
He smiled back, covered her hands with his own and then took a step closer to her. She thought he was going to kiss her, closed her eyes for it and was surprised when he fell short, moving instead to just breathe over the hair that had fallen over her temple. When he brushed his lips over the same spot, his touch was so gentle she could barely feel it. He whispered kisses over her hairline, her eyebrows, down the bridge of her nose, both cheekbones, let his tongue trace the shell of each of her ears. He ghosted kisses along her jaw line, from one ear to the other, pressed his lips against the throb of her pulse. Rose tipped her head back, lifting her hands to his hair, hearing her panting breaths loud in the room. He breathed into the hollow at the base of her neck, and Rose suddenly pulled him up, hard, by the tufts of his hair she had grabbed, and kissed him hard, nipping at his lips, slipping her tongue behind the barrier of his teeth, drawing his taste deep into her, where it pulsed warmly, a tight ball in her belly. His hands tangled into her hair, kissing her back just as fiercely, flooding her.
He turned, clasping her to him, and then, with a gentle shove, he pushed her to the bed. She scrambled onto it, barely settled before the Doctor stretched out over her, recapturing her mouth. She reached for him, running her hands down his body, but he suddenly moved down her, just enough to throw off the path of her hands. He drew paths of wet endless kisses down the length of each of her arms, each finger, and it surprised her. She tried to remember if he’d ever spent so much time nibbling at the inside of her elbow. Surely she’d have remembered how divine it felt, how it made her make an embarrassing sound like a squeak that turned his lips into a smirk against her.
He pressed rows of kisses along her collarbone, moving down infinitesimally toward her breasts. She became aware suddenly that he was speaking, a long slow murmur between his kisses, a language she didn’t understand, that the TARDIS wasn’t translating. Gallifreyan, she thought, as the syllables of the foreign words rose and broke over her. He finally reached her breasts, curling his tongue around one nipple, then the next, sucking until she succumbed and arched into him with a cry, and then he moved on, a long slow path down the plane of her abdomen, always keeping up his persistent mumble into her skin.
She moved slowly, restlessly, feeling languorous and adored. Beloved. He paused at the juncture of her thighs, and she coiled in anticipation. He probably felt the sudden clench of her fists in his hair, because his lips, when they pressed into the top of her thigh, were quirked into a smile. She thought she’d hate him a little more if he wasn’t so very, very good at this.
He attacked with sudden flashes of teeth and tongue, and she gasped. It was like flipping on a light switch that had been off for far too long, the blinding brilliance of the pleasure that licked through her. She whimpered his name, clutching at the bedspread now, as everything inside her tightened, focused completely on him. He hesitated, just as she reached the knife’s edge of the climax, and she started to protest until his tongue produced the perfect push over the edge and she felt her blood go incandescent with bliss. She may have shouted, although she wasn’t sure. She was just sure that she’d completely forgotten how amazing he could make her feel.
The Doctor was still until she relaxed back into the hold of the mattress, and then resumed mapping her body, moving down the length of her left leg to her foot, his tongue scraping up the sweat that he’d coaxed. When he hit her left foot, he pulled her sock off, and it was only then she realized she still had them on. He pulled the right sock off, began his journey up her right leg. He continued breathing words into her skin, in that foreign language, so it was almost a shock to hear him say, in English, “Turn over.” He’d raised his voice a bit to say it, and his voice was raspy with arousal, and she turned, feeling spellbound.
He worked his way up the backs of her legs, alternating between them, lavishing attention on the back of her knees, where he knew she was ticklish. It was after the line of his kisses had moved past her rear, had begun to scatter over her spinal cord, that she swallowed thickly and forced herself to ask, “What are you saying to me?”
She could not see him, facing away from him, so she had to sense the long moment of hesitation.
Then he planted a line of three more kisses, toward the base of her neck, before whispering in her ear, hoarsely, “Vows. They’re Gallifreyan vows.”
Of all the answers she would have expected that was not one of them. They were still, together, for a long moment, before she wriggled a bit. He took the hint, moving off her, and she rolled over, pushing him onto his back.
“Tell me them,” she said.
“Rose-”
“No, it’s my turn to say them to you. Say them. I’ll repeat after you. I can do it.” She swung her leg over him to straddle him, began feathering kisses over his face the way he had done to her.
He did not begin to speak until she had begun to nibble on his throat, and then he began saying them slowly, overenunciating the syllables so she could catch them. She repeated them carefully, not wanting to destroy the vow, to accidentally say something ridiculous. She delivered her vows to him, as she kissed his arms and his fingers, as she brushed her lips across his chest and belly. The syllables he was feeding her grew more laboured, were said between gasps, and she allowed herself her own smile as she scraped her teeth below his navel. But she skirted his erection, moving instead down his legs, still echoing his words. He had his socks still on, too, and she pulled them off as he had done to her.
“Turn over,” she said, pausing in her recitation and waiting for him to obey.
He did turn over, but he did it only after surprising her by pulling her to him and flipping her underneath him. His eyes met hers, boring through her, as he said a few more words. She repeated them, her breath catching in the middle of the phrase as he drove inside her. He closed his eyes for a moment, before forcing them open, forcing himself to continue to deliver vows to her. She forced herself to continue repeating them, as she met his impossibly slow, impossibly deep thrusts. Their words were breathless now. It required more concentration than she would ever have imagined to keep her voice even. When it was his turn to speak, she leaned back her head to gulp at air.
There came a time when he did not deliver her another line, and she looked at him in surprise.
“That’s it,” he said. “The end of the vow.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “Rose Tyler. I love you.”
She smiled at him. “Quite right, too.”
He paused in the rhythm he was setting, a small frown flickering across his face. “Not the response I was quite hoping for.”
“I love you, too,” she said, seriously, fingertips on his lips.
“Much better,” he grinned, and then thrust into her again, increasing the rhythm, until she was quite sure she couldn’t bear it anymore. The climax, as it grew inside of her, washed over her in more and more devastating waves, until it suddenly shattered her into a million pieces. When he followed her, her name on his lips, she had the impression that he was gathering each and every one of these pieces and burying them inside himself so they could never be fully separated ever again.
Next Chapter
Author --
earlgreytea68
Rating - Adult
Characters -- Ten, Rose, Jackie, OCs
Spoilers: Through the end of S2.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - And then there came a day when Rose said she was having a baby. Hijinks ensue from there.
Author’s Notes - The icon was created by
punkinart , commissioned by
aibhinn , who graciously offered it to me for my use.
Thanks to my usual characters:
jlrpuck for the beta; Kristin-who-won't-get-an-LJ, who brainstormed this fic with me endlessly; and
bouncy_castle79 , who gave it the first major outside-eyes read-through. Many thanks also to all three of them for being truly excellent friends over the past couple of days.
Ch.1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11 - Ch. 12 - Ch. 13 - Ch. 14 - Ch. 15 - Ch. 16 - Ch. 17 - Ch. 18 - Ch. 19 - Ch. 20 - Ch. 21 - Ch. 22 - Ch. 23 - Ch. 24
Chapter Twenty-Five
They sat for a very long time, in a heap on the floor, and Rose shed her winter jacket and leaned against the Doctor and listened as the kids told her everything they’d done, in minute detail, from the moment she’d gone missing. Or, at least, it seemed that way, Brem running through paint shades that he’d rejected for Sarah Jane’s house, sounding like Goldilocks as he relayed the choices. Athena, settled contentedly into her grandmother’s arms, kept inserting that she had chosen pink. “Mosaic Pink,” Brem kept correcting, making the name drip disgust in way that made Rose smile. She had thought she had missed them while she had been trapped in the other universe, but she was astonished to realize that she had not grasped how very much she had missed them.
She knew the Doctor was aware of her presence against him, but he was mostly preoccupied with Fortuna, not that she blamed him. He had just found out that he had another child; she expected that he should be so fascinated by her. He tugged off Fortuna’s winter coat, her mittens and hat, revealing to full effect her maternal resemblance.
“She looks like Mum,” Brem had said, brushing his hand over her fuzzy blonde hair. “How come?”
“That’s allowed,” Rose had said, exasperated.
“Wellllllll, that’s because your mum was on her own for this one. I wasn’t around to trigger all the genes. She’s still Gallifreyan, she just missed out on-“
“The impossible hair,” Rose had inserted.
She was so caught up in the wonder of her happy family, together and enjoying each other, that she didn’t bother to register the details of where they were, and who else was around. She was vaguely aware that there were more people there, but the only people in two universes who mattered to her were directly in front of her, clustered around her, for the first time in a very long time and everything else was superfluous. She didn’t want to think about anything but how happy she was.
She leaned her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, listening to him have a good-natured disagreement with Brem about whether or not dunking chocolate chip cookies in milk ruined them. She didn’t even realize she was dozing until she felt him turn his head, jostling her position, and brush his lips over her temple.
“You’re exhausted,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone who sleeps in the TARDIS.”
She smiled. “I’m not sure I want to go to sleep.”
“I don’t know how you ever want to,” he replied, lightly. “It’s a tremendous waste of time.” He glanced over at Jackie. “What about you? Are you tired? I’m sure the TARDIS’ll make up a room for you.”
Jackie shook her head. “I think Rose is finally catching up to a year’s worth of exhaustion.”
“Here you go, then.” He handed Fortuna across to her, then pulled Rose up. “I am going to put your mother to bed,” he told the kids.
“This sleeping folderol,” said Brem, in exasperation, but he gave her a fierce hug and allowed her to briefly cuddle him.
“Mum,” said Athena, as Rose kissed her cheek, “when you wake up, can we have a tea party with the dolls? And dress them up?”
Dressing them up was going to take hours. Athena was particular about their outfits to the extreme. Rose was willing to bet that the Doctor, no matter how accommodating of his daughter he may have been, had never had the patience to sit through a full-on formal tea party with her dolls, and she smiled. “Yes. We can.”
Rose reached for his hand, let him pull her into the TARDIS, and they were halfway through the control room before she had to stop walking and lean against him.
“What?” he asked, turning automatically to catch her weight fully.
“I missed you,” she said, breathless with the intensity of it. She pressed herself into him. “God, I missed you. I mean, I missed everything. I missed the TARDIS humming, and I missed the kids more than I could ever put into words, the way everything with Brem turns into a siege, just to get him not to leave random appliance parts in the hallway where I can trip over them, the way Athena needs everything to be just so, I mean, I missed everything. But I missed you like…like…”
“It was a year?” he said, his hand stroking over her hair in a gesture that made her catch her breath, exhale slowly. “A year for you?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Almost. Just about. How long was it for you?”
“Twenty-two weeks.” He kissed the hollow behind her ear. “And three days. Relatively speaking. Rose, I’m sorry it was so long.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t as long for you. I just longed to hear you ramble on about something stupid, something I didn’t care about, something that was not at all what I wanted you to talk about. Never stop babbling at me.”
“I think I can manage that,” he said, and then did something she could never recall him doing, not while she was able to actually walk on her own. He was not a man who suffered from lush romantic impulses, but he lifted her into his arms and carried her into their bedroom, over to their bed.
She looked around her. The room had not changed at all, was exactly as she had left it, right down the tube of mascara she’d left negligently on the dresser the morning of the day everything had fallen apart. The bed was rumpled, and she tried to remember if she’d made it before she’d left the TARDIS, or if he’d slept on it since then. He set her down beside the bed and pulled her jumper over her head with infinite gentleness, as if he were undressing Brem or Athena, following it with the long-sleeved T-shirt she’d been wearing under it. He knelt, reaching under her jeans to find the laces of her boots and to tug and loosen them until she could wriggle out of them, and she rested her hands in the thicket of his hair as she shifted. He was moving with a measured purposefulness, his face as intent as if he were performing a solemn ritual.
He straightened, unbuckling the belt she was wearing and pulling it out of its loops slowly. She felt it slide around her waist, and watched his face, his dark eyes concentrating on what his hands were doing. He unbuttoned her jeans, rasped down the zipper, and pushed her jeans down, until she stepped out of them.
She glanced down at what she was wearing, and wished she’d donned something better for him, something more than basic white bra and knickers. He glanced at her, from under his eyelashes, their gazes meeting for just a moment, before he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, sliding it forward and off her shoulders. He hooked his thumbs into her knickers, pulling them down the length of her legs in one slow motion, until she stepped out of those as well.
He put his hands on her waist, and watched as he crawled them slowly up her ribcage, skimming over the sides of her breasts, onto her shoulders. He paused, caressing her neck, and smiled for the first time, almost a private joke.
“What?” she whispered.
“I have missed,” he whispered back, “this one fervid, little pulse here.” He turned his hand over, brushed a knuckle tenderly over the racing pulse point, then picked up her pendant, pulsing bright yellow.
She looked at it. “Is that the kids?”
He smiled faintly, as he watched it as well. “What makes you think that?”
“You’d have it scarlet by now.”
He looked at her then, his eyes so deep and solemn, and she could not believe how much she had missed those eyes. “We are so happy, your three Time Lords. No, four Time Lords. We are so happy, this pendant may never be able to pick up any other emotion, because our happiness will drown everything else out.”
She took a step forward, away from the tangle of her discarded clothing and toward him, reaching for his tie. He dropped the pendant and watched her hands as they loosened the never-tight knot, pulling at it until she pulled it out from around his collar. His gaze on her made her even more aware of the wondrous importance of this. She hoped desperately that she was making him feel as much like a worshipped, adored being-a beingwho she was honoured to be undressing--as he had made her feel. She pushed his suit jacket off, and began unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt.
It seemed harder than it used to, and she realized in shock that she was out of practice with this. She had once undressed him unthinkingly, taking the act for granted, mostly impatient with the layers of clothing he forced her to wade though. She unbuttoned each button now slowly, pushing it through its hole and parting the shirt as she worked her way down. She pulled it out of his trousers as she finished unbuttoning, then turned her attention to unbuttoning his cuffs. He held his hands up for her, as she tackled the last few buttons and then pushed the shirt off of him.
Mirroring him, she knelt to untie his Converse, and he stepped out of them. She stayed kneeling to work on his fly. The muscles of his abdomen quivered in a slight flinch, and she realized that he was tense, that if he let himself go she’d probably find herself under him before she could draw a breath. She thought of Brem’s storm of sobs and wondered how much emotion was dammed up in the Doctor-emotion that needed to be let loose, released from being buried deep within him--as she pushed his trousers down and followed them with his pants. She forced herself to go as slowly as he had, not to increase the pace just because he was clearly aroused and made a small noise, like a clamped-down groan in the back of his throat, as she moved.
He stepped out of everything, and stayed still while she flattened her palms over his chest, one heart pounding under each of them. And then she smiled at him. “And I missed these two hearts,” she said.
He smiled back, covered her hands with his own and then took a step closer to her. She thought he was going to kiss her, closed her eyes for it and was surprised when he fell short, moving instead to just breathe over the hair that had fallen over her temple. When he brushed his lips over the same spot, his touch was so gentle she could barely feel it. He whispered kisses over her hairline, her eyebrows, down the bridge of her nose, both cheekbones, let his tongue trace the shell of each of her ears. He ghosted kisses along her jaw line, from one ear to the other, pressed his lips against the throb of her pulse. Rose tipped her head back, lifting her hands to his hair, hearing her panting breaths loud in the room. He breathed into the hollow at the base of her neck, and Rose suddenly pulled him up, hard, by the tufts of his hair she had grabbed, and kissed him hard, nipping at his lips, slipping her tongue behind the barrier of his teeth, drawing his taste deep into her, where it pulsed warmly, a tight ball in her belly. His hands tangled into her hair, kissing her back just as fiercely, flooding her.
He turned, clasping her to him, and then, with a gentle shove, he pushed her to the bed. She scrambled onto it, barely settled before the Doctor stretched out over her, recapturing her mouth. She reached for him, running her hands down his body, but he suddenly moved down her, just enough to throw off the path of her hands. He drew paths of wet endless kisses down the length of each of her arms, each finger, and it surprised her. She tried to remember if he’d ever spent so much time nibbling at the inside of her elbow. Surely she’d have remembered how divine it felt, how it made her make an embarrassing sound like a squeak that turned his lips into a smirk against her.
He pressed rows of kisses along her collarbone, moving down infinitesimally toward her breasts. She became aware suddenly that he was speaking, a long slow murmur between his kisses, a language she didn’t understand, that the TARDIS wasn’t translating. Gallifreyan, she thought, as the syllables of the foreign words rose and broke over her. He finally reached her breasts, curling his tongue around one nipple, then the next, sucking until she succumbed and arched into him with a cry, and then he moved on, a long slow path down the plane of her abdomen, always keeping up his persistent mumble into her skin.
She moved slowly, restlessly, feeling languorous and adored. Beloved. He paused at the juncture of her thighs, and she coiled in anticipation. He probably felt the sudden clench of her fists in his hair, because his lips, when they pressed into the top of her thigh, were quirked into a smile. She thought she’d hate him a little more if he wasn’t so very, very good at this.
He attacked with sudden flashes of teeth and tongue, and she gasped. It was like flipping on a light switch that had been off for far too long, the blinding brilliance of the pleasure that licked through her. She whimpered his name, clutching at the bedspread now, as everything inside her tightened, focused completely on him. He hesitated, just as she reached the knife’s edge of the climax, and she started to protest until his tongue produced the perfect push over the edge and she felt her blood go incandescent with bliss. She may have shouted, although she wasn’t sure. She was just sure that she’d completely forgotten how amazing he could make her feel.
The Doctor was still until she relaxed back into the hold of the mattress, and then resumed mapping her body, moving down the length of her left leg to her foot, his tongue scraping up the sweat that he’d coaxed. When he hit her left foot, he pulled her sock off, and it was only then she realized she still had them on. He pulled the right sock off, began his journey up her right leg. He continued breathing words into her skin, in that foreign language, so it was almost a shock to hear him say, in English, “Turn over.” He’d raised his voice a bit to say it, and his voice was raspy with arousal, and she turned, feeling spellbound.
He worked his way up the backs of her legs, alternating between them, lavishing attention on the back of her knees, where he knew she was ticklish. It was after the line of his kisses had moved past her rear, had begun to scatter over her spinal cord, that she swallowed thickly and forced herself to ask, “What are you saying to me?”
She could not see him, facing away from him, so she had to sense the long moment of hesitation.
Then he planted a line of three more kisses, toward the base of her neck, before whispering in her ear, hoarsely, “Vows. They’re Gallifreyan vows.”
Of all the answers she would have expected that was not one of them. They were still, together, for a long moment, before she wriggled a bit. He took the hint, moving off her, and she rolled over, pushing him onto his back.
“Tell me them,” she said.
“Rose-”
“No, it’s my turn to say them to you. Say them. I’ll repeat after you. I can do it.” She swung her leg over him to straddle him, began feathering kisses over his face the way he had done to her.
He did not begin to speak until she had begun to nibble on his throat, and then he began saying them slowly, overenunciating the syllables so she could catch them. She repeated them carefully, not wanting to destroy the vow, to accidentally say something ridiculous. She delivered her vows to him, as she kissed his arms and his fingers, as she brushed her lips across his chest and belly. The syllables he was feeding her grew more laboured, were said between gasps, and she allowed herself her own smile as she scraped her teeth below his navel. But she skirted his erection, moving instead down his legs, still echoing his words. He had his socks still on, too, and she pulled them off as he had done to her.
“Turn over,” she said, pausing in her recitation and waiting for him to obey.
He did turn over, but he did it only after surprising her by pulling her to him and flipping her underneath him. His eyes met hers, boring through her, as he said a few more words. She repeated them, her breath catching in the middle of the phrase as he drove inside her. He closed his eyes for a moment, before forcing them open, forcing himself to continue to deliver vows to her. She forced herself to continue repeating them, as she met his impossibly slow, impossibly deep thrusts. Their words were breathless now. It required more concentration than she would ever have imagined to keep her voice even. When it was his turn to speak, she leaned back her head to gulp at air.
There came a time when he did not deliver her another line, and she looked at him in surprise.
“That’s it,” he said. “The end of the vow.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “Rose Tyler. I love you.”
She smiled at him. “Quite right, too.”
He paused in the rhythm he was setting, a small frown flickering across his face. “Not the response I was quite hoping for.”
“I love you, too,” she said, seriously, fingertips on his lips.
“Much better,” he grinned, and then thrust into her again, increasing the rhythm, until she was quite sure she couldn’t bear it anymore. The climax, as it grew inside of her, washed over her in more and more devastating waves, until it suddenly shattered her into a million pieces. When he followed her, her name on his lips, she had the impression that he was gathering each and every one of these pieces and burying them inside himself so they could never be fully separated ever again.
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