fic 003.
Doctor Who | Fly Into My Palm, Ten II/Rose, Adult
for the Porn Battle, for the prompt 'romance'.
He mumbles something about "humans" and "romance" before getting up and padding naked across her floor to the shower., 587 words
She walks into her flat one night after a long day of training new recruits to find a trail of rose petals leading to her bedroom. Her mouth curls up in a half smile, half cringe and she follows the floral road map after dropping her things next to the coat rack.
"Doctor?" Her own voice comes back at her as an answer, the place quiet save for the low hum of soft music she can just barely make out as she makes her way down the hall.
She peers around the doorjamb to find more rose petals and the Doctor, laid out on her bed, one on top of the other. Her teeth chew at the flesh of her cheek as he grins a huge slice of white in the dim room.
"Welcome home!" Voice too loud, shaky, as he holds a glass of wine towards her.
It's slower than she thought it would be, and laughter threatens to bubble out of her throat at very inappropriate moments. He knocks into her nose with his forehead and she finds herself looking at the lighted numbers of her digital clock more than once.
She doesn't come, and he apologizes rather than cries her name when he does. Too soon.
They lay flat on their backs, neither as breathless as they should be, staring at the ceiling during what has to be one of the most awkward moments in both their lives. He mumbles something about "humans" and "romance" before getting up and padding naked across her floor to the shower.
She's eating a peach in the kitchen, seated on a counter with her bare legs swinging back and forth, an old nightshirt coming to just her thighs when he comes in wearing only a towel around his waist. He blushes, and her heart warms as she watches him open the refrigerator door and lean down to look for something suitable. The muscles in his back stretch under his skin and she watches, transfixed, as drops of water race each other down the ridges of his spine.
Her kitchen is small enough that she can lift a leg and press a toe into his backside, making him yelp in a decidedly unmanly way and turn around. He narrows his eyes and grins, reaching forward and snatching the half eaten fruit from her hand.
She protests, before he bites into the juicy meat and presses his sticky lips to hers. She moans, mouth opening, and he passes the bite into her mouth.
The peach drops from his hand, rolls under the cabinets as she wraps her legs around his waist and pushes the towel off with her feet.
It's fast, and frantic, and she discovers how much he likes his hair pulled, still damp and sweet smelling from her strawberry conditioner in her palm. Her neck is still sticky with juice, and she comes, hard and good and so fast when he licks a hot trail across her throat.
They're still, breathless, her arms still wrapped around his neck and his face pressed against her shoulder. She runs a hand down the small of his back, collecting sweat along the way and he shivers. The door to the fridge still stands ajar and chills the air around their naked skin. She laughs, deep in her chest before letting her breath out in a low 'woo'.
Her tongue licks her lips and she shakes her head. "No more rose petals."
He signs his agreement with a bite to her collarbone.
--
Doctor Who | To the Top of the Slide Down
(Or Three times the Doctor didn't hit on Rose while drunk), Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, R
For the gorgeous mylittlepwny and her always inspiring prompts.
She wakes up in her own bed after a long, deep sleep and blushes a bright pink over the steam of her tea when she remembers mumbling something about "no knickers" against his throat., 397 words
&. He might forget the white hot heat of her hand on the back of his neck, the intricate unique pattern of her fingerprints a brand on his skin. Might not remember how her hips swayed in time with his own, how their breath came in tandem with her stomach pushing out when his sunk in, his jumper scratching the bit of exposed tummy her blouse failed in covering. When he woke up the next morning he might not recall that dancing with Rose Tyler after a few drinks is like playing a sort of Russian roulette. Each step and dip another pull of the trigger, bringing him closer to the inevitable spark of gunpowder that would be their collision.
She wakes up in her own bed after a long, deep sleep and blushes a bright pink over the steam of her tea when she remembers mumbling something about "no knickers" against his throat.
&. He's rather pissed, she's rather not.
"You're rather drunk, aren't you?" Two Roses, make that one, just blurred over times two, speak to him, cheeky grin on their, her face.
You're rather gorgeous, aren't you? No, can't say that. What was her question?
"No! Time Lords can hold their liquor, all have you know. 'M just a bit tipsy, is all." He's speaking much slower than usual, this he is aware of.
She laughs, and he hears bells. His lips curve into a pleased grin, and he asks her to do it again.
"What are you talking about?"
"Make the bells chime, Rose!" And she does! How wonderful!
He wants to say something, almost does, bloody alcohol loosening his already loose lips but he stops himself. Perfect, lovely, Rose with the chiming bells for a laugh. Your skirt is too bloody long tonight.
"Come on, you lump." She holds him up, arm under his arm, under his jacket. They stumble more because he insists on holding her free hand all the way to the TARDIS.
&. The charmed time, the third, he doesn't have to do anything at all.
Both silly with drink, she downs more courage than he does and it's inevitable. Takes a swig of his pint, licking the foam from his lips and before he can swallow she's licking it from his tongue. Click, and the gunpowder sparks.
--
for the Porn Battle, for the prompt 'romance'.
He mumbles something about "humans" and "romance" before getting up and padding naked across her floor to the shower., 587 words
She walks into her flat one night after a long day of training new recruits to find a trail of rose petals leading to her bedroom. Her mouth curls up in a half smile, half cringe and she follows the floral road map after dropping her things next to the coat rack.
"Doctor?" Her own voice comes back at her as an answer, the place quiet save for the low hum of soft music she can just barely make out as she makes her way down the hall.
She peers around the doorjamb to find more rose petals and the Doctor, laid out on her bed, one on top of the other. Her teeth chew at the flesh of her cheek as he grins a huge slice of white in the dim room.
"Welcome home!" Voice too loud, shaky, as he holds a glass of wine towards her.
It's slower than she thought it would be, and laughter threatens to bubble out of her throat at very inappropriate moments. He knocks into her nose with his forehead and she finds herself looking at the lighted numbers of her digital clock more than once.
She doesn't come, and he apologizes rather than cries her name when he does. Too soon.
They lay flat on their backs, neither as breathless as they should be, staring at the ceiling during what has to be one of the most awkward moments in both their lives. He mumbles something about "humans" and "romance" before getting up and padding naked across her floor to the shower.
She's eating a peach in the kitchen, seated on a counter with her bare legs swinging back and forth, an old nightshirt coming to just her thighs when he comes in wearing only a towel around his waist. He blushes, and her heart warms as she watches him open the refrigerator door and lean down to look for something suitable. The muscles in his back stretch under his skin and she watches, transfixed, as drops of water race each other down the ridges of his spine.
Her kitchen is small enough that she can lift a leg and press a toe into his backside, making him yelp in a decidedly unmanly way and turn around. He narrows his eyes and grins, reaching forward and snatching the half eaten fruit from her hand.
She protests, before he bites into the juicy meat and presses his sticky lips to hers. She moans, mouth opening, and he passes the bite into her mouth.
The peach drops from his hand, rolls under the cabinets as she wraps her legs around his waist and pushes the towel off with her feet.
It's fast, and frantic, and she discovers how much he likes his hair pulled, still damp and sweet smelling from her strawberry conditioner in her palm. Her neck is still sticky with juice, and she comes, hard and good and so fast when he licks a hot trail across her throat.
They're still, breathless, her arms still wrapped around his neck and his face pressed against her shoulder. She runs a hand down the small of his back, collecting sweat along the way and he shivers. The door to the fridge still stands ajar and chills the air around their naked skin. She laughs, deep in her chest before letting her breath out in a low 'woo'.
Her tongue licks her lips and she shakes her head. "No more rose petals."
He signs his agreement with a bite to her collarbone.
--
Doctor Who | To the Top of the Slide Down
(Or Three times the Doctor didn't hit on Rose while drunk), Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, R
For the gorgeous mylittlepwny and her always inspiring prompts.
She wakes up in her own bed after a long, deep sleep and blushes a bright pink over the steam of her tea when she remembers mumbling something about "no knickers" against his throat., 397 words
&. He might forget the white hot heat of her hand on the back of his neck, the intricate unique pattern of her fingerprints a brand on his skin. Might not remember how her hips swayed in time with his own, how their breath came in tandem with her stomach pushing out when his sunk in, his jumper scratching the bit of exposed tummy her blouse failed in covering. When he woke up the next morning he might not recall that dancing with Rose Tyler after a few drinks is like playing a sort of Russian roulette. Each step and dip another pull of the trigger, bringing him closer to the inevitable spark of gunpowder that would be their collision.
She wakes up in her own bed after a long, deep sleep and blushes a bright pink over the steam of her tea when she remembers mumbling something about "no knickers" against his throat.
&. He's rather pissed, she's rather not.
"You're rather drunk, aren't you?" Two Roses, make that one, just blurred over times two, speak to him, cheeky grin on their, her face.
You're rather gorgeous, aren't you? No, can't say that. What was her question?
"No! Time Lords can hold their liquor, all have you know. 'M just a bit tipsy, is all." He's speaking much slower than usual, this he is aware of.
She laughs, and he hears bells. His lips curve into a pleased grin, and he asks her to do it again.
"What are you talking about?"
"Make the bells chime, Rose!" And she does! How wonderful!
He wants to say something, almost does, bloody alcohol loosening his already loose lips but he stops himself. Perfect, lovely, Rose with the chiming bells for a laugh. Your skirt is too bloody long tonight.
"Come on, you lump." She holds him up, arm under his arm, under his jacket. They stumble more because he insists on holding her free hand all the way to the TARDIS.
&. The charmed time, the third, he doesn't have to do anything at all.
Both silly with drink, she downs more courage than he does and it's inevitable. Takes a swig of his pint, licking the foam from his lips and before he can swallow she's licking it from his tongue. Click, and the gunpowder sparks.
--