The Way of Things, Chapter 33 - The Flip Side
Title: The Way of Things, Chapter 33-The Flip Side
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: justlook3
Prompt: Hehe, okay, the view from the other side, starting one moment after Pennington runs out of the interrogation room in chapter 33 of The Way of Things. ;-)
Notes: Written in response to the timestamp meme over at my LJ. I, ah, didn’t strictly meet the letter of the law on this one; I hope you don’t mind.
Thank you to both chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 for their beta of this.
The Way of Things, Chapter 33-The Flip Side
Peter watched Rose as surreptitiously as he could, his head tilted towards the papers in front of him, his eyes raised just enough that he could see her, while still appearing to actually be paying attention to what he was writing. The ploy came with mixed results: he could tell that Rose was frustrated, that she was most assuredly not happy; but he kept writing the wrong words or-in several instances-utter gibberish.
The woman was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it. He wanted to ignore her-wanted to shut her out and focus on what it was he was truly meant to be working on. They-he-had a case to solve, and soon; he didn’t need to be sitting in the blasted interrogation room, sneakily watching one Rose Tyler, trying desperately not to imagine what it would be like to make love to her on the very table they were sharing, feeling her beneath him, hearing her moan…
He shifted his eyes down, and angrily drew a deep line across yet another sentence on his paper. He was going to need to get up, to get out of the room, and soon if he didn’t want to lose his temper-or his self-control.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of paper being crumpled into a ball across from him. Raising his eyes, he watched Rose, her lips pressed into a thin line, drop it carelessly onto the table.
“You sure you want to leave that lying about?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He hid his surprise at speaking; he’d not meant to, would have preferred to stew in silence rather than engaging her in conversation. But there was something maddening about Rose Tyler, something that made him almost need to have her look at him, to acknowledge him-to speak with him.
“What?” She looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Top secret goody like that, oughtn’t just ball it up and leave it in the local station. You never know-a native may find it.” He wanted to hit himself-he couldn’t stop taunting the gorgeous woman across the table from him. He had to-had to stop, had to let it go. Or he’d go completely around the bend.
She stood, kicking the chair back. “I’m taking a break.”
“Where are you going?” He didn’t care, he really didn’t…
“Anywhere you’re not.”
He arched his eyebrow, surprised. “This, after the very stern lectures we’ve received about not going anywhere alone?”
Rose let out an exasperated sigh. Gesturing to the room and the building beyond, she replied, “Police station. I think I’m safe.”
Something about her tone triggered his temper; perhaps it was her cavalier attitude about her safety? Or, more likely, it was that she appeared, once more, to be enforcing a double standard. The locals couldn’t be trusted to swan off on their own, but the Big Bad Torchwood agents could do whatever they ruddy pleased. “Don’t leave the station.” Peter’s voice was deceptively mild.
“Who the hell do you think you are? My father?”
He felt his temper snap. “No. Of course not. I’m no one to you,” he bit out, hearing the bitterness lacing his voice.
He felt a flash of satisfaction as he watched Rose’s jaw go slack. “You...what did you just say? I’m sure I couldn’t have heard you right.”
He stood and walked towards her, his entire body thrumming with tension. He felt another flash of triumph as he watched Rose take a step back, away from him. “I said-I’m no one to you.”
“Are you bloody stupid?” The tone of Rose’s voice implied she thought he was daft.
“What else am I supposed to think?” He was getting well and truly wound up now. This bloody woman-who’d run hot and cold with him, who’d turned his life upside-down, then rolled it end-over-end for good measure-was standing before him, not giving an inch now, making him both want to throttle her and shag her simply by being there. He could feel the tension between them, knew that something had to give-and soon.
“How could you possibly-I know I didn’t-I told you to be careful.” She was glancing off to the side, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion as she tried to answer him.
“You didn’t tell me anything! You ran off to London!” He could hear his anger echoing through the words; she’d hurt him, and badly, and he rather hated himself for how much he let that affect him.
“What else could I do? You started pretending that I didn’t exist.”
He stared at her. “I knew perfectly well you existed. I knew where you were every second that night. I always know where you are. Every second. Every second you were in London, it was the only bloody thing I could think of, the fact that you weren’t here with me.” The words flowed forth without thought, his emotions channelled directly into speech.
He stopped directly in front of her, shocked that he’d actually said the words aloud. He had thought about her, wondered about her; but he was terrified by how vulnerable he had become simply by uttering the words.
He fought back a cry of sheer frustration as she moved away from him, backing up against the wall. Did she not realize what he’d just done, what he’d just said? He continued to gaze at her, willing her to look at him.
Her cheeks flushed as she met his eye, and she stammered, “London-I-It wasn’t-You hurt me. I had to get away.”
He took a step back, surprise and disbelief washing through him. She had to be joking-a cruel joke, surely? Or maybe she really was that deluded? “I hurt you? I’m the one who was told I was a dead ringer for your missing lover! What was I supposed to do? Celebrate? Hallo, there’s a lucky coincidence, mind if I step into his shoes? Because if there’s one thing a man likes, it’s being told he’s a replacement for someone else.”
Rose winced. “’s not like that.”
“You could have fooled me, Rose,” he bit out, clenching his hands. He had to get his temper under control, before he did something he’d regret…something like punching the wall. He forced his hands to relax, and crossed his arms.
“You never gave me the chance to explain, Peter!”
“Well, here’s your chance.” He stepped towards her; she looked off to the side, unable to hold his gaze.
She remained silent, studiously avoiding looking at him; his stomach dropped, a brief wave of sickness washing through him. She’d said it wasn’t like that-that she didn’t look at him and see the man she clearly still cared about, the man who he resembled-and yet she was unwilling to explain how it wasn’t like that. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she was toying with him, being deliberately cruel.
He felt a flash of temper at the idea and leaned in, whispering, “Your silence is doing nothing for your case, Rose. All you’ve told me-ever-is that I look like this Doctor. That’s all I have to go on. What else am I supposed to think?” He didn’t want to think about how much it hurt, to know that she looked at him and saw someone else. He’d thought, maybe, that she was interested in him, Peter Carlisle; that she’d found him interesting and amusing and someone she wanted to be with; the knowledge that she’d instead seen her dead lover…
“Not that.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark. Something flashed in them-and Peter felt a twinge of hope. “I...I...you’re nothing like him,” she whispered.
He needed to hear more-needed to chase whatever it was that was lurking there, just below the surface. “I’m his bloody twin,” he said scornfully, outright goading her.
“But you’re not! You look alike, ‘s all,” she burst out. “You’re nothing like him, not really. You’re...I’m interested in you, Peter.”
Peter felt his heart stop; he’d wanted to hear her say it for so long, had wanted her to acknowledge just that. He was aware he was holding his breath, and fought to slowly release it as she continued on. “Because you’re you. Because you couldn’t dress yourself with a guidebook; because you wear mismatched shoes. Because you need a shave, and you’ve got a lovely smile that doesn’t get used enough.” Rose’s eyes had drifted down as she spoke; as she paused for breath, she raised her eyes back to his. “I’m sorry. I should have told you all of this before. But...I-”
He leaned in, suddenly unable to do anything other than kiss the woman in front of him. He wanted her, desperately; he’d missed her terribly, had missed kissing her, tasting her, feeling her body up against his. He immediately deepened the kiss, pushing her backwards, cradling her head in his hands even as he pressed her between his body and the unforgiving concrete of the interrogation room wall.
His entire body was holding her in place; her breasts pressed deliciously against his chest, the hard points of her nipples obvious even through their clothing. She shifted, causing him to almost slide to the floor in ecstasy; he was exactly where he wanted to be, kissing Rose, being kissed by her in return. He became aware of her hands moving across his back, over his shoulders, her fingers moving to slide through his hair; he was unable to stop a moan from escaping his throat, or his body’s reaction to the delightful sensations she was causing.
He’d never wanted to shag someone so badly in his life. It wouldn’t take much, either-just a move over to the table. He’d not even have to drop his trousers, although Rose would have to remove hers…
He forced himself to gentle the kiss, even as his mind raced forward imagining-in far more vivid detail than he had done even a few minutes earlier-taking Rose Tyler in the interrogation room. The way he’d have to brace his hands on the table to keep it from moving; the way her legs would wrap around his hips as he drove into her; the way she might gasp his name as she orgasmed, the way he’d feel releasing into her…
She stroked her tongue along the roof of his mouth and he groaned; it had always been a weakness of his, and she’d sussed it out in no time at all. He wanted her, so badly it almost hurt.
He slid his hands around, moving them to cup her jaw; Rose, in turn, buried her hands completely in his hair. He loved how it felt, the way her fingers gently brushed through it in time with the ebb and flow of their kisses. He’d always loved having his hair played with, had always been particularly susceptible to his girlfriends-or wife-such as they were, running their hands through it as he kissed them, or as he had sex. It was no different with Rose; if anything, it was more intense a sensation.
He began to slowly drift his hands down, noting how Rose’s breath hitched as his fingers traced across her neck, then out along her shoulders. He loved how she felt, how she reacted to the gentlest of touches from him; he wanted to know what it would be like to drift his fingers across her breasts, over her stomach, wanted to watch her reactions as he got to know her. Soon, he thought-if I am very, very lucky, I might get to do just that. Soon.
She slid one hand from his hair, lightly tracing down his spine to his bum before returning to his hair. The other hand then followed the path, setting up a steady pattern against his back. She had to know how erotic the sensation was; had to know that it was going to drive him to do far more than just kiss her.
He pulled away from her with a gasp; if she kept doing that, he’d be shagging her in no time flat. And as much as he wanted to, the door was unlocked, and they were in a rather public place. “Rose...”
She leaned in for another kiss, cutting him off, causing his erection to twitch where it was pinned between them. “Oh, sod it,” he muttered against her lips before returning the kiss in equal measure. She appeared to want this every bit as much as he did.
Peter pressed harder against her, his hands drifting along the side of her ribcage; Rose buried her hands in his hair once more, holding him in place as she returned his kisses. He could feel her heart hammering against her chest, could feel her gasping for air in between kisses; and he had the thought that he was going to shag Rose Tyler in the rather dingy interrogation room of his police station.
He was contemplating whether Rose would want her shirt taken off, or if he should simply pick her up against him and move them to the table, when they were rather cruelly interrupted by the sound of the door flying open and slamming against the wall.
“Sir!” Penington’s voice cut off abruptly, the sound briefly ringing through the room. Peter broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at Rose, still pressing against her, holding her in place against the wall. Her lips were red, glistening from their kisses; her cheeks were a deep pink. She was looking over his shoulder, presumably at Penington; and then she shifted her gaze to meet his, blushing as she found him watching her.
“Maybe I should come back.” Penington’s voice was carefully neutral.
Without removing his gaze from Rose, Peter replied, “Give us a few minutes. Unless it’s life or death.” He wanted to curse Penington, to tell him to ruddy well sod off and leave them in peace-but he had to remember he did still have a duty to perform. Even if it interfered with whatever had just happened between he and Rose Tyler.
“No. No, sir. It will wait...a few...” He heard the shuffle of Penington’s feet, and was aware of the door clicking shut, presumably behind the young man.
Peter continued to watch Rose, relishing in being able to gaze openly at her again, and in so intimate a position. He clearly made her uncomfortable with his scrutiny, however; she slid her hands out of his hair, across his chest, and her eyes shifted downwards, her line of sight hovering somewhere around the open collar of his shirt.
“Rose,” he said softly, willing her to look up at him.
She did, causing him to give her a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I really am.” Her voice was a near-whisper.
“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry, too...” He paused, taking a moment to lightly kiss Rose. “I should have given you a chance to explain. And I’ve not been at my most charming today.”
Rose leaned up and captured his lips in a brief kiss. “I see you, Peter. No one else.”
He was surprised at the power of her words, and felt his heart clench briefly. There was no answer to that, and he leaned down, fiercely capturing her lips with his own.
Rose pulled back, giggling. “Poor Penny is going to be back soon.”
He sighed, leaning his forehead against Rose’s. She was right, unfortunately. But he was curious-if Penny hadn’t interrupted them, just how far might things have gone? Would she really have been up for what he’d been fantasizing about? There was only one way to find out. “Yes, he is. Shame, really-I’d fantasized about shagging you on that table.”
He stifled his delight at seeing her react to his statement, her eyes dilating as her skin flushed. Damn Penny, he thought briefly before correcting himself.
No. No, if he was going to make love to Rose Tyler, it wasn’t going to be in that blasted station. Not the first time, at any rate. He fought down a smile at the thought, straightening and taking a step back from her. He glanced down, ruefully noting that his erection was going to be a difficult thing to hide; work certainly never got him that excited. “Nothing for it. I’d best sit. But first-” He leaned in for a quick peck. “Would you have dinner with me? Tonight?” His heart raced as he chanced the question, hope flooding through him. Rose could only dazedly nod, leading him to grin before making his way back to his chair.
She’d agreed to have dinner with him again. She saw him.
He let out a sigh as he sat, relief at being seated combined with resignation over being interrupted in the first place. He really should have had the presence of mind to lock the door-but Penny knew they were in there, and the poor man no doubt would have had the door broken in.
Rose shuffled over to her chair, collapsing into it; she looked knackered, and her clothes were in disarray from where his hands had roamed. And yet she also looked much, much happier than he’d seen her in days-since in the garden, he supposed; it felt like that particular day had happened years ago. He watched as her lips slowly curved into a smile-a smile he dearly hoped he’d see that night, one that promised all sorts of mischief-and then as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. He could watch her like that for hours, he suspected-but that kind of time was a luxury they didn’t have.
“Tyler?” He loved saying her name now, and could hear the word echo his delight.
“Yes, Carlisle?”
He was unable to hide his smile at hearing her playfully say his name. “Whilst I don’t expect my erstwhile Detective Constable to tell all and sundry that he found the two of us snogging like randy teenagers in an interrogation room, I do think that most anyone who walked in right now would be able to work things out. You might want to, er…” He waved, indicating she might want to straighten herself up.
He watched Rose run her hands through her hair, trying to tame it, before moving to straighten her clothing. “Can’t help it. Blimey,” she said distractedly. She’d clearly not meant to say it at all, her eyes flying to meet his bemused gaze.
“I guess I’m forgiven, then?” he teased, the corner of his mouth curving upwards, hiding how desperately her answered mattered to him.
Rose smiled, her tongue resting against her teeth. He loved it when she did that; it made him want to kiss her, propriety be damned. “That depends on dinner, although I’ve told you there’s nothing to forgive.” Her smile faded as she added, “We do need to talk, though. Properly. I…I really need to explain what I told you the other day.”
He felt his heart drop-she was right, of course, but he wanted to enjoy the turn their relationship had taken first. He was going to tell her that, too-let her know he’d be happy to talk, but not right then-when his response was cut short by the return of Penington. The DC knocked before cautiously opening the door, and was visibly relieved when he saw Peter and Rose seated-separately-at the table.
“Yes, Penny?” Peter tried to be nonchalant.
“Sir. James has found where the money is coming from. And it might help us find Swinson.”
~ fin ~
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: justlook3
Prompt: Hehe, okay, the view from the other side, starting one moment after Pennington runs out of the interrogation room in chapter 33 of The Way of Things. ;-)
Notes: Written in response to the timestamp meme over at my LJ. I, ah, didn’t strictly meet the letter of the law on this one; I hope you don’t mind.
Thank you to both chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 for their beta of this.
The Way of Things, Chapter 33-The Flip Side
Peter watched Rose as surreptitiously as he could, his head tilted towards the papers in front of him, his eyes raised just enough that he could see her, while still appearing to actually be paying attention to what he was writing. The ploy came with mixed results: he could tell that Rose was frustrated, that she was most assuredly not happy; but he kept writing the wrong words or-in several instances-utter gibberish.
The woman was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it. He wanted to ignore her-wanted to shut her out and focus on what it was he was truly meant to be working on. They-he-had a case to solve, and soon; he didn’t need to be sitting in the blasted interrogation room, sneakily watching one Rose Tyler, trying desperately not to imagine what it would be like to make love to her on the very table they were sharing, feeling her beneath him, hearing her moan…
He shifted his eyes down, and angrily drew a deep line across yet another sentence on his paper. He was going to need to get up, to get out of the room, and soon if he didn’t want to lose his temper-or his self-control.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of paper being crumpled into a ball across from him. Raising his eyes, he watched Rose, her lips pressed into a thin line, drop it carelessly onto the table.
“You sure you want to leave that lying about?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He hid his surprise at speaking; he’d not meant to, would have preferred to stew in silence rather than engaging her in conversation. But there was something maddening about Rose Tyler, something that made him almost need to have her look at him, to acknowledge him-to speak with him.
“What?” She looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Top secret goody like that, oughtn’t just ball it up and leave it in the local station. You never know-a native may find it.” He wanted to hit himself-he couldn’t stop taunting the gorgeous woman across the table from him. He had to-had to stop, had to let it go. Or he’d go completely around the bend.
She stood, kicking the chair back. “I’m taking a break.”
“Where are you going?” He didn’t care, he really didn’t…
“Anywhere you’re not.”
He arched his eyebrow, surprised. “This, after the very stern lectures we’ve received about not going anywhere alone?”
Rose let out an exasperated sigh. Gesturing to the room and the building beyond, she replied, “Police station. I think I’m safe.”
Something about her tone triggered his temper; perhaps it was her cavalier attitude about her safety? Or, more likely, it was that she appeared, once more, to be enforcing a double standard. The locals couldn’t be trusted to swan off on their own, but the Big Bad Torchwood agents could do whatever they ruddy pleased. “Don’t leave the station.” Peter’s voice was deceptively mild.
“Who the hell do you think you are? My father?”
He felt his temper snap. “No. Of course not. I’m no one to you,” he bit out, hearing the bitterness lacing his voice.
He felt a flash of satisfaction as he watched Rose’s jaw go slack. “You...what did you just say? I’m sure I couldn’t have heard you right.”
He stood and walked towards her, his entire body thrumming with tension. He felt another flash of triumph as he watched Rose take a step back, away from him. “I said-I’m no one to you.”
“Are you bloody stupid?” The tone of Rose’s voice implied she thought he was daft.
“What else am I supposed to think?” He was getting well and truly wound up now. This bloody woman-who’d run hot and cold with him, who’d turned his life upside-down, then rolled it end-over-end for good measure-was standing before him, not giving an inch now, making him both want to throttle her and shag her simply by being there. He could feel the tension between them, knew that something had to give-and soon.
“How could you possibly-I know I didn’t-I told you to be careful.” She was glancing off to the side, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion as she tried to answer him.
“You didn’t tell me anything! You ran off to London!” He could hear his anger echoing through the words; she’d hurt him, and badly, and he rather hated himself for how much he let that affect him.
“What else could I do? You started pretending that I didn’t exist.”
He stared at her. “I knew perfectly well you existed. I knew where you were every second that night. I always know where you are. Every second. Every second you were in London, it was the only bloody thing I could think of, the fact that you weren’t here with me.” The words flowed forth without thought, his emotions channelled directly into speech.
He stopped directly in front of her, shocked that he’d actually said the words aloud. He had thought about her, wondered about her; but he was terrified by how vulnerable he had become simply by uttering the words.
He fought back a cry of sheer frustration as she moved away from him, backing up against the wall. Did she not realize what he’d just done, what he’d just said? He continued to gaze at her, willing her to look at him.
Her cheeks flushed as she met his eye, and she stammered, “London-I-It wasn’t-You hurt me. I had to get away.”
He took a step back, surprise and disbelief washing through him. She had to be joking-a cruel joke, surely? Or maybe she really was that deluded? “I hurt you? I’m the one who was told I was a dead ringer for your missing lover! What was I supposed to do? Celebrate? Hallo, there’s a lucky coincidence, mind if I step into his shoes? Because if there’s one thing a man likes, it’s being told he’s a replacement for someone else.”
Rose winced. “’s not like that.”
“You could have fooled me, Rose,” he bit out, clenching his hands. He had to get his temper under control, before he did something he’d regret…something like punching the wall. He forced his hands to relax, and crossed his arms.
“You never gave me the chance to explain, Peter!”
“Well, here’s your chance.” He stepped towards her; she looked off to the side, unable to hold his gaze.
She remained silent, studiously avoiding looking at him; his stomach dropped, a brief wave of sickness washing through him. She’d said it wasn’t like that-that she didn’t look at him and see the man she clearly still cared about, the man who he resembled-and yet she was unwilling to explain how it wasn’t like that. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she was toying with him, being deliberately cruel.
He felt a flash of temper at the idea and leaned in, whispering, “Your silence is doing nothing for your case, Rose. All you’ve told me-ever-is that I look like this Doctor. That’s all I have to go on. What else am I supposed to think?” He didn’t want to think about how much it hurt, to know that she looked at him and saw someone else. He’d thought, maybe, that she was interested in him, Peter Carlisle; that she’d found him interesting and amusing and someone she wanted to be with; the knowledge that she’d instead seen her dead lover…
“Not that.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark. Something flashed in them-and Peter felt a twinge of hope. “I...I...you’re nothing like him,” she whispered.
He needed to hear more-needed to chase whatever it was that was lurking there, just below the surface. “I’m his bloody twin,” he said scornfully, outright goading her.
“But you’re not! You look alike, ‘s all,” she burst out. “You’re nothing like him, not really. You’re...I’m interested in you, Peter.”
Peter felt his heart stop; he’d wanted to hear her say it for so long, had wanted her to acknowledge just that. He was aware he was holding his breath, and fought to slowly release it as she continued on. “Because you’re you. Because you couldn’t dress yourself with a guidebook; because you wear mismatched shoes. Because you need a shave, and you’ve got a lovely smile that doesn’t get used enough.” Rose’s eyes had drifted down as she spoke; as she paused for breath, she raised her eyes back to his. “I’m sorry. I should have told you all of this before. But...I-”
He leaned in, suddenly unable to do anything other than kiss the woman in front of him. He wanted her, desperately; he’d missed her terribly, had missed kissing her, tasting her, feeling her body up against his. He immediately deepened the kiss, pushing her backwards, cradling her head in his hands even as he pressed her between his body and the unforgiving concrete of the interrogation room wall.
His entire body was holding her in place; her breasts pressed deliciously against his chest, the hard points of her nipples obvious even through their clothing. She shifted, causing him to almost slide to the floor in ecstasy; he was exactly where he wanted to be, kissing Rose, being kissed by her in return. He became aware of her hands moving across his back, over his shoulders, her fingers moving to slide through his hair; he was unable to stop a moan from escaping his throat, or his body’s reaction to the delightful sensations she was causing.
He’d never wanted to shag someone so badly in his life. It wouldn’t take much, either-just a move over to the table. He’d not even have to drop his trousers, although Rose would have to remove hers…
He forced himself to gentle the kiss, even as his mind raced forward imagining-in far more vivid detail than he had done even a few minutes earlier-taking Rose Tyler in the interrogation room. The way he’d have to brace his hands on the table to keep it from moving; the way her legs would wrap around his hips as he drove into her; the way she might gasp his name as she orgasmed, the way he’d feel releasing into her…
She stroked her tongue along the roof of his mouth and he groaned; it had always been a weakness of his, and she’d sussed it out in no time at all. He wanted her, so badly it almost hurt.
He slid his hands around, moving them to cup her jaw; Rose, in turn, buried her hands completely in his hair. He loved how it felt, the way her fingers gently brushed through it in time with the ebb and flow of their kisses. He’d always loved having his hair played with, had always been particularly susceptible to his girlfriends-or wife-such as they were, running their hands through it as he kissed them, or as he had sex. It was no different with Rose; if anything, it was more intense a sensation.
He began to slowly drift his hands down, noting how Rose’s breath hitched as his fingers traced across her neck, then out along her shoulders. He loved how she felt, how she reacted to the gentlest of touches from him; he wanted to know what it would be like to drift his fingers across her breasts, over her stomach, wanted to watch her reactions as he got to know her. Soon, he thought-if I am very, very lucky, I might get to do just that. Soon.
She slid one hand from his hair, lightly tracing down his spine to his bum before returning to his hair. The other hand then followed the path, setting up a steady pattern against his back. She had to know how erotic the sensation was; had to know that it was going to drive him to do far more than just kiss her.
He pulled away from her with a gasp; if she kept doing that, he’d be shagging her in no time flat. And as much as he wanted to, the door was unlocked, and they were in a rather public place. “Rose...”
She leaned in for another kiss, cutting him off, causing his erection to twitch where it was pinned between them. “Oh, sod it,” he muttered against her lips before returning the kiss in equal measure. She appeared to want this every bit as much as he did.
Peter pressed harder against her, his hands drifting along the side of her ribcage; Rose buried her hands in his hair once more, holding him in place as she returned his kisses. He could feel her heart hammering against her chest, could feel her gasping for air in between kisses; and he had the thought that he was going to shag Rose Tyler in the rather dingy interrogation room of his police station.
He was contemplating whether Rose would want her shirt taken off, or if he should simply pick her up against him and move them to the table, when they were rather cruelly interrupted by the sound of the door flying open and slamming against the wall.
“Sir!” Penington’s voice cut off abruptly, the sound briefly ringing through the room. Peter broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at Rose, still pressing against her, holding her in place against the wall. Her lips were red, glistening from their kisses; her cheeks were a deep pink. She was looking over his shoulder, presumably at Penington; and then she shifted her gaze to meet his, blushing as she found him watching her.
“Maybe I should come back.” Penington’s voice was carefully neutral.
Without removing his gaze from Rose, Peter replied, “Give us a few minutes. Unless it’s life or death.” He wanted to curse Penington, to tell him to ruddy well sod off and leave them in peace-but he had to remember he did still have a duty to perform. Even if it interfered with whatever had just happened between he and Rose Tyler.
“No. No, sir. It will wait...a few...” He heard the shuffle of Penington’s feet, and was aware of the door clicking shut, presumably behind the young man.
Peter continued to watch Rose, relishing in being able to gaze openly at her again, and in so intimate a position. He clearly made her uncomfortable with his scrutiny, however; she slid her hands out of his hair, across his chest, and her eyes shifted downwards, her line of sight hovering somewhere around the open collar of his shirt.
“Rose,” he said softly, willing her to look up at him.
She did, causing him to give her a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I really am.” Her voice was a near-whisper.
“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry, too...” He paused, taking a moment to lightly kiss Rose. “I should have given you a chance to explain. And I’ve not been at my most charming today.”
Rose leaned up and captured his lips in a brief kiss. “I see you, Peter. No one else.”
He was surprised at the power of her words, and felt his heart clench briefly. There was no answer to that, and he leaned down, fiercely capturing her lips with his own.
Rose pulled back, giggling. “Poor Penny is going to be back soon.”
He sighed, leaning his forehead against Rose’s. She was right, unfortunately. But he was curious-if Penny hadn’t interrupted them, just how far might things have gone? Would she really have been up for what he’d been fantasizing about? There was only one way to find out. “Yes, he is. Shame, really-I’d fantasized about shagging you on that table.”
He stifled his delight at seeing her react to his statement, her eyes dilating as her skin flushed. Damn Penny, he thought briefly before correcting himself.
No. No, if he was going to make love to Rose Tyler, it wasn’t going to be in that blasted station. Not the first time, at any rate. He fought down a smile at the thought, straightening and taking a step back from her. He glanced down, ruefully noting that his erection was going to be a difficult thing to hide; work certainly never got him that excited. “Nothing for it. I’d best sit. But first-” He leaned in for a quick peck. “Would you have dinner with me? Tonight?” His heart raced as he chanced the question, hope flooding through him. Rose could only dazedly nod, leading him to grin before making his way back to his chair.
She’d agreed to have dinner with him again. She saw him.
He let out a sigh as he sat, relief at being seated combined with resignation over being interrupted in the first place. He really should have had the presence of mind to lock the door-but Penny knew they were in there, and the poor man no doubt would have had the door broken in.
Rose shuffled over to her chair, collapsing into it; she looked knackered, and her clothes were in disarray from where his hands had roamed. And yet she also looked much, much happier than he’d seen her in days-since in the garden, he supposed; it felt like that particular day had happened years ago. He watched as her lips slowly curved into a smile-a smile he dearly hoped he’d see that night, one that promised all sorts of mischief-and then as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. He could watch her like that for hours, he suspected-but that kind of time was a luxury they didn’t have.
“Tyler?” He loved saying her name now, and could hear the word echo his delight.
“Yes, Carlisle?”
He was unable to hide his smile at hearing her playfully say his name. “Whilst I don’t expect my erstwhile Detective Constable to tell all and sundry that he found the two of us snogging like randy teenagers in an interrogation room, I do think that most anyone who walked in right now would be able to work things out. You might want to, er…” He waved, indicating she might want to straighten herself up.
He watched Rose run her hands through her hair, trying to tame it, before moving to straighten her clothing. “Can’t help it. Blimey,” she said distractedly. She’d clearly not meant to say it at all, her eyes flying to meet his bemused gaze.
“I guess I’m forgiven, then?” he teased, the corner of his mouth curving upwards, hiding how desperately her answered mattered to him.
Rose smiled, her tongue resting against her teeth. He loved it when she did that; it made him want to kiss her, propriety be damned. “That depends on dinner, although I’ve told you there’s nothing to forgive.” Her smile faded as she added, “We do need to talk, though. Properly. I…I really need to explain what I told you the other day.”
He felt his heart drop-she was right, of course, but he wanted to enjoy the turn their relationship had taken first. He was going to tell her that, too-let her know he’d be happy to talk, but not right then-when his response was cut short by the return of Penington. The DC knocked before cautiously opening the door, and was visibly relieved when he saw Peter and Rose seated-separately-at the table.
“Yes, Penny?” Peter tried to be nonchalant.
“Sir. James has found where the money is coming from. And it might help us find Swinson.”
~ fin ~