(no subject)
Title: Lost and Found.
Author: Iby.
Rating: Adult.
Genre: Romance, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, smut.
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Note: Written at five this morning, re-written at eleven tonight. So, you know - aplogies! This fic is an exploration into the notion of lost senses. I've temporarily rendered Rose blind and deaf. Fear not, it's not cliched. It's a look at how Rose would need to touch to feel safe and how the Doctor would go about making love to her in such a state. Until he can get her back to the TARDIS. Established relationship.
Summary: Separated on a war-torn planet, the Doctor searches desperately for Rose. When he finds her, how will he comfort her?
Hope rose, constricting and painful in his chest; painful because he feared that it would come to nothing, as it had all morning.
No. Mustn’t give up.
This was the fourth hall he’d visited and like the others before it, it had been converted into an emergency hospital and sanctuary for the homeless and injured. Make-shift beds were piled on top of each other and blankets were strewn around on the floor haphazardly. Here and there, doctors and nurses scurried about, but they were few and far between.
A cursory glace told him that nobody in the immediate area seemed hurt; those in need of surgery were probably behind the curtain at the back of the hall.
Pushing his hands into his pockets with a sad sigh, he made his way to the far wall where people were milling about, searching desperately for familiar faces in amongst the missing posters. Hundreds of pairs of eyes looked out at him from their photos.
Like he had at the last three halls he moved in amongst the crowd and searched, eyes straining, not because he couldn’t see but because he was trying to convince himself that something that wasn’t there was.
A volunteer was scurrying frantically around, matching up photos that had been taken at the hospital to photos that were tacked to the wall, scribbling down known locations. All around him, joyous cries rang out as loved ones were found.
Photo after photo after photo. She wasn’t on the board.
Next came the worst part of the search, the trek to the other wall, where photos of those confirmed dead were pinned. Hope rose of a very different kind as he made his way to this wall, desperate not to see her face looking out on him.
His hearts beat frantically in his chest as he searched, but after every photo was scanned, he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t there. He was just turning away to see if there was anything he could do for those behind the curtain when something caught his eye and tickled at the back of his mind.
The TARDIS key. It was bundled up into a plastic bag along with a pair of light blue jeans, a white coat, smeared and bloody and the pair of purple chucks that he’d bought her for her twenty-third birthday; Rose’s personal belongings.
He practically flung himself at the bag and dug it out from amongst dozens of others, ignoring the protests of the volunteer who’d been charged with organizing them. He held it to his chest tightly, as if it was tangible proof of her continued life. After a second, he turned it to read the name that had been hastily scrawled on the label stuck to it; Rose Tyler.
He fought down the urge to yell, to demand that she be returned to him. All those around him were hurt and rushed off their feet and he couldn’t place himself above them. With more politeness than he thought himself capable of, he asked the volunteer where he could find the owner of the bag.
The volunteer consulted his chart wearily, flipping through page after page after page. His finger roved over the list, stopped when he found what he was searching for and then pointed towards the curtain.
The Doctor dashed towards the back of the hall, flinging the curtain aside with a grand sweep of his arm. It was a little quieter in here, not only because there were less people but because they were more severely injured. There was a small table, at which a nurse sat consulting several books on anatomy. Sheets were hung from rails and ropes that were attached to the ceiling, creating make-shift rooms.
He prowled amongst them quietly. Each room had a name tag pinned to it, detailing who was in it. Eventually, her name caught his eye. Her room was in the far corner of the hall, separated from all the bubbub by a corridor. It was quieter here, there were less people scurrying around and yelling.
Fingering her name tag gently, he rubbed his thumb over the R before pulling her curtain back.
For a second, he forgot to breathe.
She was curled up on her side on a bed that sat in the middle of the room. Her knees were almost brought up to her chest and her cheek was resting on her hands. She was dressed in a dark blue cotton nightgown that fell to her knees, but in her current position, he could see most of her thighs. She looked impossibly small and fragile, but, confusingly, completely unharmed.
“Rose!” he yelped, dropping her bag to the floor and dashing over to her, quivering with the restrained desire to pounce on her and cling to her for the foreseeable future.
She didn’t respond and panic clawed through his chest. She couldn’t be dead! Surely, they wouldn’t have just left her here, exposed to the world, would they? A doctor hurtled by, needing to be in eighty different places at once and he found himself unsure of the answer.
Almost hysterically nervous, he reached to press his fingers to her neck. At the merest touch, she cried out and scuttled backwards. He reached to grab her, wrapping his arms around her just as she was about to tumble off the bed. He sat on the bed to gain enough leverage to pull her back onto the mattress.
She twisted in his arms, writhing against him, desperate to free herself. “Get off! Get off!” she cried.
“Rose, it’s me!” he shouted desperately.
She didn’t respond and thoughts formed at the back of his mind like newly born stars. Unsure of what to do, he kissed her exposed shoulder, the only part of her that he could really get to. She calmed down slightly but still squirmed occasionally, making faint noises of protestation against his neck, where her lips rested.
He caught her hand in his, laced his fingers tightly through hers and brought it up to his lips. She paused, seeming to consider both his lips and his hand.
She must have decided that they were familiar, because, quick as lightening she collapsed against him and began to sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. He could hear her crying his name into the material of his coat.
“Rose? Rose, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t flinch or turn or pull back or show any indication of having heard him. He yelled again. Nothing.
She was deaf.
Gently, he slipped his free hand to the back of her head and shifted her away from him slightly to study her, to catch her gaze.
Her eyes were blank, directionless; she had no gaze to catch.
She was blind.
He cuddled her to him tightly, wanting her to feel as safe and secure as possible, even as his hearts thundered fretfully in his chest at how frightened she must be. He silently cursed having lost the sonic screwdriver; he couldn’t do anything to help her until he got her back home.
He slipped his fingers to her temples, projecting thoughts of comfort and love and reassurance that he could heal her, as soon as they were back in the TARDIS.
He was about to paint her a scene of their surroundings, when her hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket. She drew him to her and pressed her lips to his neck, kissing him frantically. Up, up and up her kisses travelled until they landed somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth. He turned and tilted his head to align their lips and kissed her passionately, desperately, slipping his tongue into her mouth with a moan.
He almost shook with the feelings her warm and familiar mouth elicited; she was alive. His hands caressed her back and sides, both because he needed to touch her and because he needed to check her for any other injuries. She seemed to be physically alright, and he could only assume that the doctors had put her back here away from the crowds to keep her from panicking.
She moved again and nearly slipped off the bed, misjudging where she was sitting on it. Their lips were wrenched apart and her chin connected with his shoulder in a way that made her teeth clench.
She gave a frustrated half-sigh, half sob, and he gathered her up into his arms before settling her squarely in the middle of the bed. Sat beside her, he leant forward over her and rested a hand beside her hip. She stared up at where she approximated him to be, but was in fact looking at the ceiling. He could see her panic grow with each second that he wasn’t touching her, so he cupped her cheek, rubbed his thumb over her temple and leant forward to kiss her.
Her hands shot up to wrap around him, but her left connected painfully with his throat. Immediately, she withdrew it, almost shy, but he grasped it and guided it to his side. “Sorry,” she whispered against his lips. He kissed her again.
When he started to sit up, her arms tightened around him, holding him to her. With a sigh, she shifted her legs apart, as if to make room for him.
She wanted him to make love to her.
He hesitated; Rassilon knew that they’d slept with each other in many unusual places and under many unusual circumstances, but never in the middle of a hospital and never one in which she was a patient.
She looked around desperately, blankly, waiting for an answer. She wanted this. She wanted to feel him, because she couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him.
He wanted to make love to her too, not just because that was part of his natural state of being; she was hurt and afraid and he’d do anything to keep her pressed to him, safe and warm and secure. Already, he could feel his body responding to her.
“Please?”
His mind was made up before he’d even thought it through; he couldn’t deny her any more than he could deny himself. Carefully, gently, so as not to startle her, he moved to settle between her legs and propped himself up on his elbows over her.
Her hips arched up to meet his almost instantly. She brought her legs up into a deep bend, the insides of her thighs pressed against his hips and her nightgown pooled up around her waist to reveal plain white underwear.
“I can feel you,” she whispered against his neck, incredulous. “I can feel your hands.”
He shifted off of her slightly, transferred all of his weight to one arm and slipped his free hand to her waist. Hooking his fingers underneath the nightgown, he pushed it up to reveal her stomach, settling it just below the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, purely out of habit.
His fingers were everywhere, tracing circles around her belly-button, curling protectively around her side and caressing her stomach.
“I can feel your lips.”
Moving to cover her once more, he slipped his arms between her back and the mattress and held her shoulders. He shifted up her body, kissing what he could of her collar bones before moving to her neck. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat before trailing around to her pulse point.
The erratic thrum of her life-blood brought home the worries of the day and almost undid him. He sucked and licked and nibbled the skin, pulling away with a wet sound. A sprinkling of burst blood vessels was already making itself visible and he smiled, resting his chin on her shoulder and his forehead on the pillow.
“I can feel how much you want me.”
She rocked against him experimentally and he drew in a sharp breath, felt himself grow harder with every second. He pushed back against her and nibbled on her ear. At her gasp, he slipped an arm out from beneath her and caught her hand in his. She went to lace her fingers through his, but he stopped her by adjusting his grip on her wrist. Slowly, he guided their hands down to his hips and shifted slightly to allow her to reach between their bodies. She cupped him gently through the thin cotton of his trousers and he pushed his hips into her hand.
She cupped and stroked and caressed his erection through his trousers until being so confined grew too uncomfortable to bear. He squirmed under her touch, and began to wish that there weren’t as many clothes.
He kissed her deeply and pushed up from her body. Frantic divesting of clothes, as was their usual way, wouldn’t be an option here, lest somebody get hurt.
He stood and moved to the foot of the bed. Making sure to maintain physical contact, he rested a hand on her ankle.
“It’s ok.” He got the impression that she’d meant to whisper, but unable as she was to judge her decibel she spoke rather loudly. Uncannily, she looked right at him and he was momentarily arrested by how beautiful she was, sprawled in the middle of the bed. Her hair framed her face, the nightgown was pushed up to sit below her breasts and revealed her flat stomach, which he hoped would one day be much rounder, and the white underwear was all that stood between him and making love to her.
He cast a glance at the curtain to make sure that it was tightly shut and tilted his head to listen for any traffic outside. Distant chatter from the hall filtered in, but nobody was near.
Under her sightless gaze, he slid his tie from his neck and set to undoing the many buttons that made up his jacket and oxford shirt. His Henley was next, and then all three garments were dropped carefully onto the floor in the corner of the room.
He crouched and undid the laces of his shoes; experience (how many times he’d made love to her still shod in his chucks he didn’t know) had taught him that toeing them off was impossible. Next came the socks.
Eventually, he stood and his fingers fell to the buttons of his trousers. He flicked them open and slid down the zip. He hooked his fingers underneath the band of his boxer shorts and slid both them and his trousers down his legs. His erection bobbed out from beneath the material; he breathed in deeply and Rose, the little minx, smiled knowingly as if she'd heard the sound.
It was her first smile since he’d found her, and he hurriedly kicked his clothes aside. A few steps brought him beside her once more. He rested his fingers on her ankles and trailed his hands up her legs, caressing behind her knees and sliding between her thighs to rub at the smooth skin there. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and she raised her hips to let him slip them down. He guided her feet through them and turned to throw them on top of his own pile of clothes, careful not to let them fall on the floor.
When he turned back to her, she’d sat up and was pulling her nightgown over her shoulders. She dropped it beside the bed and held a hand out to him. He took it.
In no time at all, he'd crawled over her, settled between her spread legs and pressed his chest to hers, pushing her into the mattress. He slipped a hand to the back of her right knee and drew her leg up into a deep bend. His penis rubbed slickly against her, slipped between her folds and he breathed in deeply at the sensation.
She wrapped her arms around him and he wrapped his arms around her; her hands flat against the small of his back and his curled around behind her shoulders.
She pushed her hips up against him seeking pressure; her sightlessness didn’t affect her ability to tell where he was pressed against her and he slipped an inch inside of her. He gasped, his lips rasping over her skin to settle into the curve where her shoulder met her neck.
She slipped a hand to his bottom, pushing him towards her and finally, after so many hours of searching desperately for her, he slid into her. He felt her inner muscles take him in, adjust around him until hips touched hips and the space between them was unquantifiable.
For a moment, they held perfectly still, clinging to each other, but when she squeezed his bum he grinned against her neck and pulled out of her.
At first they moved slowly, incredibly slowly; it took him longer to push into her body than it did for him to kiss her and break for air. He freed a hand from beneath her and slipped his thumb to her temple, drawing a picture in her mind of what they looked like, pressed against each other so intimately.
She trailed her fingers in lazy patterns up and down his back, sometimes going further down to cup his bum, sometimes slipping higher to rub his scalp and curl into his hair.
When a voice from outside filtered in, he realized that perhaps they didn’t have all the time in the world. He slipped a hand to the back of her knee and gently pushed it closer to her chest, angling it away from their bodies to give himself more room to move.
His thrusts grew in speed and she responded in kind, arching her hips to seek pressure at just the right moment.
Rose felt like she was on fire. Unable to see him, hear him nor the noises that they made, all she could focus on was his body.
The world had narrowed down to how his skin felt against hers. How his fingers felt, roaming over her body in a way that was impossibly tender. How his flesh, warm and surprisingly ample considering how skinny he was, felt under her hands. How his weight pushed her into the mattress, kept her warm and covered her. How his hips, more angular than they’d once been, felt pressed against hers. How he felt full and hard inside of her, as if he was filling her up and anchoring her to him.
Another voice filtered in from down the hall and when he paused in his movement, distracted, she cupped the back of his head, turning him to face her. She nodded. “Now.”
She couldn’t see him nod in response but she felt it, his chin resting on the curve of her shoulder moving up and down. His fingers quested between their bodies, sliding into her folds, twirling around in the slippery substance of her arousal and tracing around where he was connected to her, before moving to her clit. One, two, three quick strokes and she came with a cry, squeezing her thighs against his hips, one foot pressing into the flesh of his bum.
She suspected, by the way he slipped his lips to hers and kissed her, that’d she’d come rather more loudly than he’d expected. At least a little too loudly given where they were. She was always pretty quiet, but in her current world of silence she couldn’t be too sure.
When the world returned, she rocked her hips against him, encouraging him to resume movement. She had to rely solely on her knowledge of his body to tell how close he was; she couldn’t listen for how desperately he panted, how deeply he moaned, couldn't look into his eyes nor watch him bare his teeth from tension. The way he trembled against her, clung to her as if holding on for dear life and the erratic nature of his next few thrusts told her that he was close.
Sure enough, a few seconds later he pushed into her impossibly deeply, squeezed her to him and stilled, every muscle tense. She waited and eventually, he collapsed onto her.
The Doctor wondered, as Rose wrapped her arms around him comfortingly, just when this had become as much about her taking care of him as it had become about him taking care of her. He suspected that she knew just how sick with worry he’d been and she, ever loyal and loving had managed to push aside some her own panic at being deaf and blind to take on some of his.
He would have happily slept there curled around her forever but footsteps echoed down the corridor. With a deep sigh to replenish his lungs, he slipped from her and set about getting them both dressed.
. . . .
“I'm not leaving her here,” the Doctor said darkly to one of the nurses.
Beside him, Rose stood, clinging onto his arm for comfort and balance.
The nurse sighed angrily. “You can’t go hauling her around the countryside. She’s in no condition for long walks and, more than likely, you’ll be set upon by the rebels or blown up.”
At the mere mention of the blasted bombs that had left Rose so hurt, the Doctor seethed.
“Besides,” the nurse added, “how’re we supposed to know you’re up to any good?”
The Doctor clenched his jaw tightly and tried to remind himself that the nurse was only trying to help. He turned to Rose, slipped his fingers to her temple and sent a general request for help her way.
Rose immediately threw her arms around him, her chest pressed to his side and her cheek squashed against his arm, as if to prove to all and sundry that he was to be trusted.
The nurse sighed and relented, holding her clipboard out to him. “Sign here, then.” The Doctor gently extracted himself from Rose’s arms, scribbled a signature beside the x and handed the nurse the clipboard back. He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly. “Thankyou.”
With a swift nod and a small smile, she turned and made her way back behind the curtain to resume her work.
The Doctor wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulders, holding her tight against his side and stooped to kiss her cheek. With a smile, he guided her through the hall and back home, to the TARDIS.
....
Gah! So, there it is! I'm not too sure what to make of it. I haven't written anything really adult in a while.
I'm thinking about writing a second part, where Rose is regaining her vision and is curious about the Doctor's search for her.
Oh! Here's a question that I turned over in my mind for longer than was probably necessary:
The Doctor - boxers or briefs? I thought he'd perhaps wear those tight boxers, but couldn't for the life of me figure out what they were called!
Aaaaaanyway, I hope that you liked it!
Author: Iby.
Rating: Adult.
Genre: Romance, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, smut.
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Note: Written at five this morning, re-written at eleven tonight. So, you know - aplogies! This fic is an exploration into the notion of lost senses. I've temporarily rendered Rose blind and deaf. Fear not, it's not cliched. It's a look at how Rose would need to touch to feel safe and how the Doctor would go about making love to her in such a state. Until he can get her back to the TARDIS. Established relationship.
Summary: Separated on a war-torn planet, the Doctor searches desperately for Rose. When he finds her, how will he comfort her?
Hope rose, constricting and painful in his chest; painful because he feared that it would come to nothing, as it had all morning.
No. Mustn’t give up.
This was the fourth hall he’d visited and like the others before it, it had been converted into an emergency hospital and sanctuary for the homeless and injured. Make-shift beds were piled on top of each other and blankets were strewn around on the floor haphazardly. Here and there, doctors and nurses scurried about, but they were few and far between.
A cursory glace told him that nobody in the immediate area seemed hurt; those in need of surgery were probably behind the curtain at the back of the hall.
Pushing his hands into his pockets with a sad sigh, he made his way to the far wall where people were milling about, searching desperately for familiar faces in amongst the missing posters. Hundreds of pairs of eyes looked out at him from their photos.
Like he had at the last three halls he moved in amongst the crowd and searched, eyes straining, not because he couldn’t see but because he was trying to convince himself that something that wasn’t there was.
A volunteer was scurrying frantically around, matching up photos that had been taken at the hospital to photos that were tacked to the wall, scribbling down known locations. All around him, joyous cries rang out as loved ones were found.
Photo after photo after photo. She wasn’t on the board.
Next came the worst part of the search, the trek to the other wall, where photos of those confirmed dead were pinned. Hope rose of a very different kind as he made his way to this wall, desperate not to see her face looking out on him.
His hearts beat frantically in his chest as he searched, but after every photo was scanned, he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t there. He was just turning away to see if there was anything he could do for those behind the curtain when something caught his eye and tickled at the back of his mind.
The TARDIS key. It was bundled up into a plastic bag along with a pair of light blue jeans, a white coat, smeared and bloody and the pair of purple chucks that he’d bought her for her twenty-third birthday; Rose’s personal belongings.
He practically flung himself at the bag and dug it out from amongst dozens of others, ignoring the protests of the volunteer who’d been charged with organizing them. He held it to his chest tightly, as if it was tangible proof of her continued life. After a second, he turned it to read the name that had been hastily scrawled on the label stuck to it; Rose Tyler.
He fought down the urge to yell, to demand that she be returned to him. All those around him were hurt and rushed off their feet and he couldn’t place himself above them. With more politeness than he thought himself capable of, he asked the volunteer where he could find the owner of the bag.
The volunteer consulted his chart wearily, flipping through page after page after page. His finger roved over the list, stopped when he found what he was searching for and then pointed towards the curtain.
The Doctor dashed towards the back of the hall, flinging the curtain aside with a grand sweep of his arm. It was a little quieter in here, not only because there were less people but because they were more severely injured. There was a small table, at which a nurse sat consulting several books on anatomy. Sheets were hung from rails and ropes that were attached to the ceiling, creating make-shift rooms.
He prowled amongst them quietly. Each room had a name tag pinned to it, detailing who was in it. Eventually, her name caught his eye. Her room was in the far corner of the hall, separated from all the bubbub by a corridor. It was quieter here, there were less people scurrying around and yelling.
Fingering her name tag gently, he rubbed his thumb over the R before pulling her curtain back.
For a second, he forgot to breathe.
She was curled up on her side on a bed that sat in the middle of the room. Her knees were almost brought up to her chest and her cheek was resting on her hands. She was dressed in a dark blue cotton nightgown that fell to her knees, but in her current position, he could see most of her thighs. She looked impossibly small and fragile, but, confusingly, completely unharmed.
“Rose!” he yelped, dropping her bag to the floor and dashing over to her, quivering with the restrained desire to pounce on her and cling to her for the foreseeable future.
She didn’t respond and panic clawed through his chest. She couldn’t be dead! Surely, they wouldn’t have just left her here, exposed to the world, would they? A doctor hurtled by, needing to be in eighty different places at once and he found himself unsure of the answer.
Almost hysterically nervous, he reached to press his fingers to her neck. At the merest touch, she cried out and scuttled backwards. He reached to grab her, wrapping his arms around her just as she was about to tumble off the bed. He sat on the bed to gain enough leverage to pull her back onto the mattress.
She twisted in his arms, writhing against him, desperate to free herself. “Get off! Get off!” she cried.
“Rose, it’s me!” he shouted desperately.
She didn’t respond and thoughts formed at the back of his mind like newly born stars. Unsure of what to do, he kissed her exposed shoulder, the only part of her that he could really get to. She calmed down slightly but still squirmed occasionally, making faint noises of protestation against his neck, where her lips rested.
He caught her hand in his, laced his fingers tightly through hers and brought it up to his lips. She paused, seeming to consider both his lips and his hand.
She must have decided that they were familiar, because, quick as lightening she collapsed against him and began to sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. He could hear her crying his name into the material of his coat.
“Rose? Rose, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t flinch or turn or pull back or show any indication of having heard him. He yelled again. Nothing.
She was deaf.
Gently, he slipped his free hand to the back of her head and shifted her away from him slightly to study her, to catch her gaze.
Her eyes were blank, directionless; she had no gaze to catch.
She was blind.
He cuddled her to him tightly, wanting her to feel as safe and secure as possible, even as his hearts thundered fretfully in his chest at how frightened she must be. He silently cursed having lost the sonic screwdriver; he couldn’t do anything to help her until he got her back home.
He slipped his fingers to her temples, projecting thoughts of comfort and love and reassurance that he could heal her, as soon as they were back in the TARDIS.
He was about to paint her a scene of their surroundings, when her hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket. She drew him to her and pressed her lips to his neck, kissing him frantically. Up, up and up her kisses travelled until they landed somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth. He turned and tilted his head to align their lips and kissed her passionately, desperately, slipping his tongue into her mouth with a moan.
He almost shook with the feelings her warm and familiar mouth elicited; she was alive. His hands caressed her back and sides, both because he needed to touch her and because he needed to check her for any other injuries. She seemed to be physically alright, and he could only assume that the doctors had put her back here away from the crowds to keep her from panicking.
She moved again and nearly slipped off the bed, misjudging where she was sitting on it. Their lips were wrenched apart and her chin connected with his shoulder in a way that made her teeth clench.
She gave a frustrated half-sigh, half sob, and he gathered her up into his arms before settling her squarely in the middle of the bed. Sat beside her, he leant forward over her and rested a hand beside her hip. She stared up at where she approximated him to be, but was in fact looking at the ceiling. He could see her panic grow with each second that he wasn’t touching her, so he cupped her cheek, rubbed his thumb over her temple and leant forward to kiss her.
Her hands shot up to wrap around him, but her left connected painfully with his throat. Immediately, she withdrew it, almost shy, but he grasped it and guided it to his side. “Sorry,” she whispered against his lips. He kissed her again.
When he started to sit up, her arms tightened around him, holding him to her. With a sigh, she shifted her legs apart, as if to make room for him.
She wanted him to make love to her.
He hesitated; Rassilon knew that they’d slept with each other in many unusual places and under many unusual circumstances, but never in the middle of a hospital and never one in which she was a patient.
She looked around desperately, blankly, waiting for an answer. She wanted this. She wanted to feel him, because she couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him.
He wanted to make love to her too, not just because that was part of his natural state of being; she was hurt and afraid and he’d do anything to keep her pressed to him, safe and warm and secure. Already, he could feel his body responding to her.
“Please?”
His mind was made up before he’d even thought it through; he couldn’t deny her any more than he could deny himself. Carefully, gently, so as not to startle her, he moved to settle between her legs and propped himself up on his elbows over her.
Her hips arched up to meet his almost instantly. She brought her legs up into a deep bend, the insides of her thighs pressed against his hips and her nightgown pooled up around her waist to reveal plain white underwear.
“I can feel you,” she whispered against his neck, incredulous. “I can feel your hands.”
He shifted off of her slightly, transferred all of his weight to one arm and slipped his free hand to her waist. Hooking his fingers underneath the nightgown, he pushed it up to reveal her stomach, settling it just below the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, purely out of habit.
His fingers were everywhere, tracing circles around her belly-button, curling protectively around her side and caressing her stomach.
“I can feel your lips.”
Moving to cover her once more, he slipped his arms between her back and the mattress and held her shoulders. He shifted up her body, kissing what he could of her collar bones before moving to her neck. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat before trailing around to her pulse point.
The erratic thrum of her life-blood brought home the worries of the day and almost undid him. He sucked and licked and nibbled the skin, pulling away with a wet sound. A sprinkling of burst blood vessels was already making itself visible and he smiled, resting his chin on her shoulder and his forehead on the pillow.
“I can feel how much you want me.”
She rocked against him experimentally and he drew in a sharp breath, felt himself grow harder with every second. He pushed back against her and nibbled on her ear. At her gasp, he slipped an arm out from beneath her and caught her hand in his. She went to lace her fingers through his, but he stopped her by adjusting his grip on her wrist. Slowly, he guided their hands down to his hips and shifted slightly to allow her to reach between their bodies. She cupped him gently through the thin cotton of his trousers and he pushed his hips into her hand.
She cupped and stroked and caressed his erection through his trousers until being so confined grew too uncomfortable to bear. He squirmed under her touch, and began to wish that there weren’t as many clothes.
He kissed her deeply and pushed up from her body. Frantic divesting of clothes, as was their usual way, wouldn’t be an option here, lest somebody get hurt.
He stood and moved to the foot of the bed. Making sure to maintain physical contact, he rested a hand on her ankle.
“It’s ok.” He got the impression that she’d meant to whisper, but unable as she was to judge her decibel she spoke rather loudly. Uncannily, she looked right at him and he was momentarily arrested by how beautiful she was, sprawled in the middle of the bed. Her hair framed her face, the nightgown was pushed up to sit below her breasts and revealed her flat stomach, which he hoped would one day be much rounder, and the white underwear was all that stood between him and making love to her.
He cast a glance at the curtain to make sure that it was tightly shut and tilted his head to listen for any traffic outside. Distant chatter from the hall filtered in, but nobody was near.
Under her sightless gaze, he slid his tie from his neck and set to undoing the many buttons that made up his jacket and oxford shirt. His Henley was next, and then all three garments were dropped carefully onto the floor in the corner of the room.
He crouched and undid the laces of his shoes; experience (how many times he’d made love to her still shod in his chucks he didn’t know) had taught him that toeing them off was impossible. Next came the socks.
Eventually, he stood and his fingers fell to the buttons of his trousers. He flicked them open and slid down the zip. He hooked his fingers underneath the band of his boxer shorts and slid both them and his trousers down his legs. His erection bobbed out from beneath the material; he breathed in deeply and Rose, the little minx, smiled knowingly as if she'd heard the sound.
It was her first smile since he’d found her, and he hurriedly kicked his clothes aside. A few steps brought him beside her once more. He rested his fingers on her ankles and trailed his hands up her legs, caressing behind her knees and sliding between her thighs to rub at the smooth skin there. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and she raised her hips to let him slip them down. He guided her feet through them and turned to throw them on top of his own pile of clothes, careful not to let them fall on the floor.
When he turned back to her, she’d sat up and was pulling her nightgown over her shoulders. She dropped it beside the bed and held a hand out to him. He took it.
In no time at all, he'd crawled over her, settled between her spread legs and pressed his chest to hers, pushing her into the mattress. He slipped a hand to the back of her right knee and drew her leg up into a deep bend. His penis rubbed slickly against her, slipped between her folds and he breathed in deeply at the sensation.
She wrapped her arms around him and he wrapped his arms around her; her hands flat against the small of his back and his curled around behind her shoulders.
She pushed her hips up against him seeking pressure; her sightlessness didn’t affect her ability to tell where he was pressed against her and he slipped an inch inside of her. He gasped, his lips rasping over her skin to settle into the curve where her shoulder met her neck.
She slipped a hand to his bottom, pushing him towards her and finally, after so many hours of searching desperately for her, he slid into her. He felt her inner muscles take him in, adjust around him until hips touched hips and the space between them was unquantifiable.
For a moment, they held perfectly still, clinging to each other, but when she squeezed his bum he grinned against her neck and pulled out of her.
At first they moved slowly, incredibly slowly; it took him longer to push into her body than it did for him to kiss her and break for air. He freed a hand from beneath her and slipped his thumb to her temple, drawing a picture in her mind of what they looked like, pressed against each other so intimately.
She trailed her fingers in lazy patterns up and down his back, sometimes going further down to cup his bum, sometimes slipping higher to rub his scalp and curl into his hair.
When a voice from outside filtered in, he realized that perhaps they didn’t have all the time in the world. He slipped a hand to the back of her knee and gently pushed it closer to her chest, angling it away from their bodies to give himself more room to move.
His thrusts grew in speed and she responded in kind, arching her hips to seek pressure at just the right moment.
Rose felt like she was on fire. Unable to see him, hear him nor the noises that they made, all she could focus on was his body.
The world had narrowed down to how his skin felt against hers. How his fingers felt, roaming over her body in a way that was impossibly tender. How his flesh, warm and surprisingly ample considering how skinny he was, felt under her hands. How his weight pushed her into the mattress, kept her warm and covered her. How his hips, more angular than they’d once been, felt pressed against hers. How he felt full and hard inside of her, as if he was filling her up and anchoring her to him.
Another voice filtered in from down the hall and when he paused in his movement, distracted, she cupped the back of his head, turning him to face her. She nodded. “Now.”
She couldn’t see him nod in response but she felt it, his chin resting on the curve of her shoulder moving up and down. His fingers quested between their bodies, sliding into her folds, twirling around in the slippery substance of her arousal and tracing around where he was connected to her, before moving to her clit. One, two, three quick strokes and she came with a cry, squeezing her thighs against his hips, one foot pressing into the flesh of his bum.
She suspected, by the way he slipped his lips to hers and kissed her, that’d she’d come rather more loudly than he’d expected. At least a little too loudly given where they were. She was always pretty quiet, but in her current world of silence she couldn’t be too sure.
When the world returned, she rocked her hips against him, encouraging him to resume movement. She had to rely solely on her knowledge of his body to tell how close he was; she couldn’t listen for how desperately he panted, how deeply he moaned, couldn't look into his eyes nor watch him bare his teeth from tension. The way he trembled against her, clung to her as if holding on for dear life and the erratic nature of his next few thrusts told her that he was close.
Sure enough, a few seconds later he pushed into her impossibly deeply, squeezed her to him and stilled, every muscle tense. She waited and eventually, he collapsed onto her.
The Doctor wondered, as Rose wrapped her arms around him comfortingly, just when this had become as much about her taking care of him as it had become about him taking care of her. He suspected that she knew just how sick with worry he’d been and she, ever loyal and loving had managed to push aside some her own panic at being deaf and blind to take on some of his.
He would have happily slept there curled around her forever but footsteps echoed down the corridor. With a deep sigh to replenish his lungs, he slipped from her and set about getting them both dressed.
. . . .
“I'm not leaving her here,” the Doctor said darkly to one of the nurses.
Beside him, Rose stood, clinging onto his arm for comfort and balance.
The nurse sighed angrily. “You can’t go hauling her around the countryside. She’s in no condition for long walks and, more than likely, you’ll be set upon by the rebels or blown up.”
At the mere mention of the blasted bombs that had left Rose so hurt, the Doctor seethed.
“Besides,” the nurse added, “how’re we supposed to know you’re up to any good?”
The Doctor clenched his jaw tightly and tried to remind himself that the nurse was only trying to help. He turned to Rose, slipped his fingers to her temple and sent a general request for help her way.
Rose immediately threw her arms around him, her chest pressed to his side and her cheek squashed against his arm, as if to prove to all and sundry that he was to be trusted.
The nurse sighed and relented, holding her clipboard out to him. “Sign here, then.” The Doctor gently extracted himself from Rose’s arms, scribbled a signature beside the x and handed the nurse the clipboard back. He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly. “Thankyou.”
With a swift nod and a small smile, she turned and made her way back behind the curtain to resume her work.
The Doctor wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulders, holding her tight against his side and stooped to kiss her cheek. With a smile, he guided her through the hall and back home, to the TARDIS.
....
Gah! So, there it is! I'm not too sure what to make of it. I haven't written anything really adult in a while.
I'm thinking about writing a second part, where Rose is regaining her vision and is curious about the Doctor's search for her.
Oh! Here's a question that I turned over in my mind for longer than was probably necessary:
The Doctor - boxers or briefs? I thought he'd perhaps wear those tight boxers, but couldn't for the life of me figure out what they were called!
Aaaaaanyway, I hope that you liked it!