A Lupercalia Thing (3/6)
Title: A Lupercalia Thing (3/6)
Rating: M
Author: jlrpuck
Characters: Rose Tyler; Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Peter and Rose celebrate Lupercalia-Pete’s World-style.
Notes: This was written for The Gang of Many Generous People who won my services through a (ridiculously large) winning bid in the April Support Stacie auction. This is one of the stories they won, and the prompt was “Anything involving the substitution of Lupercalia (or, as we've been calling it, Happy Horny Werewolf Days) for Valentine's Day in Pete's World.”
Thank you to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta. Any and all errors in this tale are mine, and mine alone.
Part I | Part II |Part III
Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit. ~ Seneca
Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.
Peter had never been fond of Lupercalia-not as a child, really, when his sweethearts invariably treated him far more rudely than he did them; not during his marriage, certainly, when Loreen had turned her nose up at such a déclassé holiday (and especially one that didn’t involve expensive gifts). Even when he’d been with Annie, he’d found the holiday to be less-than-inspiring, grateful more for the fact that it was a night that celebrated shagging than anything else-not that he and Annie had necessarily needed to wait for Lupercalia for that particular feat.
He’d certainly not anticipated celebrating the night as he was, even if it was with Rose; walking through the festival with her, watching her delight at the activity around them, feeling the stirrings of want whenever she looked at him, her eyes bright. He felt pleasantly drunk from the mulled wine they’d had throughout the evening, and as they reached a quiet eddy between stalls, he felt compelled to pull her to him, to give her a lingering kiss as the noise of the crowd melted away.
She was surprised but soon returned the kiss readily, one hand sliding up into his hair; and then she pulled back, her eyes glittering. “Is that part of the festivities, then?” Her mouth quirked at the corners, delight warring with amusement.
“Kissing you?”
She shook her head, and closed the already-minimal distance between them. “No. The kissing in public.”
“Ah.” He reached up, his hand absently rubbing the hair at the base of his neck.
She leaned up onto her toes, her hand resting against his chest as she whispered, “I liked it.” She rocked back, her grin carnal now, and the sensation of how very badly he wanted to make love to her nearly overwhelmed him.
He swallowed, not liking how off-balance Rose’s flirting was making him. Leaning down, gently brushing Rose’s hair back-and trying not to smirk as he noted her shiver-he whispered, “Good.” His lips brushed her earlobe, and he fought back smugness as he straightened and saw Rose’s slightly dazed look. He slipped his hand down her arm, his fingers just brushing against the fabric of her jacket; he noted her breath growing short as he finally found her hand, and raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Shall we?”
Rose shook her head slightly, pulling herself out of her haze, and squeezed his hand. “You’re a terrible tease,” she offered as they began to walk again, their pace leisurely.
“If I were terrible, I’d not be scheming how to make good on the flirting later.” He looked steadily at her as he said the words, and couldn’t help but mirror the smile which curved her lips.
“’s that so?”
“Oh yes.” He paused, glancing at a small pendant for sale in a booth; the craftsmanship was beautiful, but he had the feeling that it would be a bit too ornate for Rose. He’d have to think of something else to get for her birthday, in two months’ time.
Her expression was expectant as he straightened, and he fought back a satisfied smile as she asked, “How?”
“How am I planning to seduce you?” He loved her reaction when he was so blunt, and shifted their hands so he could brush his thumb along the inside of her wrist.
“Y-yes.” Her voice was breathier than it had been; she squared her shoulders, then replied in a firm voice. “Yes.”
He dropped his voice. “Do you really want to know, Rose? Out here, with all of these people?” He leaned down, whispering to her now as they walked. “About how I plan to make love to you, how I plan to taste you, using my tongue to do all sorts of devilish things to make you scream?”
“’s that all?” He was surprised by the challenging note in her voice, by her self-control as she turned to him.
“You’d rather I tell you how I plan to shag you, long slow strokes as you’re under me, then harder and faster ones as you orgasm?”
“Where will we be?” She was pressing into him, her side flush with his, and she reached her free hand over to gently stroke his arm.
“The bedroom.” He sighed the words, her touch sending a thrill through him. “Our bedroom.”
“And after that? What will you do then, Peter?” Her nails scraped lightly across his forearm, and he was unable to stifle the shudder he felt, pleasure radiating throughout his body.
“After that, Rose, I’ll make you orgasm again-will watch you as you come around me.” He swallowed hard, forcing his body to not react physically to the pictures he was painting; focusing on where they were, on the fact that the crowd was increasing the further along the walk-the further away from Rose’s flat-they got.
Rose’s hand slipped from his arm, and she gave him a gentle tug on their clasped hands. He’d closed his eyes, he realized, and gave her an embarrassed smile as she led him to the low stone wall lining the pathway along the river.
She didn’t say anything, simply slipped her arm around his waist as they came to a stop, both of them gazing out at the line of the city across the river. St. Paul’s was brilliantly lit, the dome standing proud above the line of buildings surrounding it; overhead, the lights of zeppelins drifting in lazy flight could be seen blinking periodically. Rose had told him of other buildings, in her London-of an office block they’d called “The Gherkin”, and of other notable buildings in the finance district; none of those existed in the city he saw before him, the building codes far too restrictive for such things. All of those types of buildings were east of the city, in Canary Wharf or Greenwich; he was grateful for it, loving the fact that the skyline of the London before him looked much as it had a century before. .
“You alright?” Rose’s voice was soft.
He glanced down, noting that she was still looking across the river; at his movement, however, she turned to look at him, her expression open and vulnerable.
“Aye.” The word was barely audible as he leaned down, his lips gently brushing against Rose’s. “Too easy to get carried away, thinking of making love to you.” He placed a soft kiss over her temple, and straightened.
“D’you wanna go back?”
“Right now? Rush in the door, tearing our clothes off, frantically shagging against the wall or on the sofa?”
The corner of her mouth twitched, a hint of her smile. “Yeah.”
It was tempting-oh, it was so tempting. But to do so…it seemed like it would ruin the magic of the night, to be so hasty. The night was about sex, it was true-but it was about enjoying the sex, as much as anything else.
“I think, mo gradh, that we should enjoy ourselves down here for a wee while longer.”
Rose’s face fell, compelling him to add, “Something about waiting and wanting making it all the more amazing when once we do make it back above stairs.”
There was a slow smile from Rose. “I like how you think.”
She bought them more mulled wine once they resumed their slow wander; he laughed as she handed it to him, winking as she said, “It’ll be easier to take advantage of you.”
“You think you have to get me drunk to do that?”
“No,” she conceded, joining him in laughter.
The wine had to have more than mulling spices in it, he decided an hour later, given how quickly it worked; or maybe it was simply that it was warm, and their dinner had been small. Then again, perhaps it was down to the fact that Rose seemed to enjoy buying him glasses of it, resulting in him consuming far more alcohol in two hours’ time than he had in years. Regardless of how it happened, all he knew was that he was growing quite drunk. He could feel the smile almost permanently plastered on his face; knew he was slurring his words more; Rose, too, seemed to be feeling the effects of the wine, her cheeks flushed and her eyes slightly glassy.
Before-before he’d met Rose, before he’d known he was going to be living in London and working with people he trusted-he’d have been upset about letting himself get to this point. Now, though-with Rose, in a city he liked, with soon-to-be-colleagues he regarded highly, he relaxed into the sensation, wondering if he mightn’t use it to his advantage when it came to seducing Rose. Not that she’d argue with whatever he might do, but it was always fun to change things up a bit, to catch her by surprise and to see the spark of delight in her eye when she realized what he’d done.
He took to being more tactile with her as they moved through the crowd; releasing her hand periodically to rest his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently before him, or catching her elbow to delicately steer her in a different direction than they’d been going. His fingers ghosted across her arm, her back, periodically brushing her bum; and he gave her a small smile each time she glanced up at him, knowing he was up to something but not sure where he meant to go with it.
Surely she had to realize it was all leading to their bedroom? Perhaps she gave him credit for being bolder than he was; perhaps she thought he’d pull her into one of the darkened alleys for a rough, illicit shag against the wall. Not that the idea wasn’t tempting, but there were simply too many people about-with too many cameras-to make the fantasy into any sort of reality.
In lieu of that, however, he could continue to gently tease Rose; to brush his fingers against her shoulder as she leaned over a display at a booth; to whisper against her ear as they watched some of the other couples in the crowd; to steal kisses from her as they invariably paused along the river, enjoying brief moments of peace before wading back into the throng.
He couldn’t wait to return to the flat, though; to make love to Rose, to create new, happy memories of the holiday, and possibly to create a new tradition for them, together.
~ - ~
Part IV
Rating: M
Author: jlrpuck
Characters: Rose Tyler; Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Peter and Rose celebrate Lupercalia-Pete’s World-style.
Notes: This was written for The Gang of Many Generous People who won my services through a (ridiculously large) winning bid in the April Support Stacie auction. This is one of the stories they won, and the prompt was “Anything involving the substitution of Lupercalia (or, as we've been calling it, Happy Horny Werewolf Days) for Valentine's Day in Pete's World.”
Thank you to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta. Any and all errors in this tale are mine, and mine alone.
Part I | Part II |Part III
Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit. ~ Seneca
Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.
Peter had never been fond of Lupercalia-not as a child, really, when his sweethearts invariably treated him far more rudely than he did them; not during his marriage, certainly, when Loreen had turned her nose up at such a déclassé holiday (and especially one that didn’t involve expensive gifts). Even when he’d been with Annie, he’d found the holiday to be less-than-inspiring, grateful more for the fact that it was a night that celebrated shagging than anything else-not that he and Annie had necessarily needed to wait for Lupercalia for that particular feat.
He’d certainly not anticipated celebrating the night as he was, even if it was with Rose; walking through the festival with her, watching her delight at the activity around them, feeling the stirrings of want whenever she looked at him, her eyes bright. He felt pleasantly drunk from the mulled wine they’d had throughout the evening, and as they reached a quiet eddy between stalls, he felt compelled to pull her to him, to give her a lingering kiss as the noise of the crowd melted away.
She was surprised but soon returned the kiss readily, one hand sliding up into his hair; and then she pulled back, her eyes glittering. “Is that part of the festivities, then?” Her mouth quirked at the corners, delight warring with amusement.
“Kissing you?”
She shook her head, and closed the already-minimal distance between them. “No. The kissing in public.”
“Ah.” He reached up, his hand absently rubbing the hair at the base of his neck.
She leaned up onto her toes, her hand resting against his chest as she whispered, “I liked it.” She rocked back, her grin carnal now, and the sensation of how very badly he wanted to make love to her nearly overwhelmed him.
He swallowed, not liking how off-balance Rose’s flirting was making him. Leaning down, gently brushing Rose’s hair back-and trying not to smirk as he noted her shiver-he whispered, “Good.” His lips brushed her earlobe, and he fought back smugness as he straightened and saw Rose’s slightly dazed look. He slipped his hand down her arm, his fingers just brushing against the fabric of her jacket; he noted her breath growing short as he finally found her hand, and raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Shall we?”
Rose shook her head slightly, pulling herself out of her haze, and squeezed his hand. “You’re a terrible tease,” she offered as they began to walk again, their pace leisurely.
“If I were terrible, I’d not be scheming how to make good on the flirting later.” He looked steadily at her as he said the words, and couldn’t help but mirror the smile which curved her lips.
“’s that so?”
“Oh yes.” He paused, glancing at a small pendant for sale in a booth; the craftsmanship was beautiful, but he had the feeling that it would be a bit too ornate for Rose. He’d have to think of something else to get for her birthday, in two months’ time.
Her expression was expectant as he straightened, and he fought back a satisfied smile as she asked, “How?”
“How am I planning to seduce you?” He loved her reaction when he was so blunt, and shifted their hands so he could brush his thumb along the inside of her wrist.
“Y-yes.” Her voice was breathier than it had been; she squared her shoulders, then replied in a firm voice. “Yes.”
He dropped his voice. “Do you really want to know, Rose? Out here, with all of these people?” He leaned down, whispering to her now as they walked. “About how I plan to make love to you, how I plan to taste you, using my tongue to do all sorts of devilish things to make you scream?”
“’s that all?” He was surprised by the challenging note in her voice, by her self-control as she turned to him.
“You’d rather I tell you how I plan to shag you, long slow strokes as you’re under me, then harder and faster ones as you orgasm?”
“Where will we be?” She was pressing into him, her side flush with his, and she reached her free hand over to gently stroke his arm.
“The bedroom.” He sighed the words, her touch sending a thrill through him. “Our bedroom.”
“And after that? What will you do then, Peter?” Her nails scraped lightly across his forearm, and he was unable to stifle the shudder he felt, pleasure radiating throughout his body.
“After that, Rose, I’ll make you orgasm again-will watch you as you come around me.” He swallowed hard, forcing his body to not react physically to the pictures he was painting; focusing on where they were, on the fact that the crowd was increasing the further along the walk-the further away from Rose’s flat-they got.
Rose’s hand slipped from his arm, and she gave him a gentle tug on their clasped hands. He’d closed his eyes, he realized, and gave her an embarrassed smile as she led him to the low stone wall lining the pathway along the river.
She didn’t say anything, simply slipped her arm around his waist as they came to a stop, both of them gazing out at the line of the city across the river. St. Paul’s was brilliantly lit, the dome standing proud above the line of buildings surrounding it; overhead, the lights of zeppelins drifting in lazy flight could be seen blinking periodically. Rose had told him of other buildings, in her London-of an office block they’d called “The Gherkin”, and of other notable buildings in the finance district; none of those existed in the city he saw before him, the building codes far too restrictive for such things. All of those types of buildings were east of the city, in Canary Wharf or Greenwich; he was grateful for it, loving the fact that the skyline of the London before him looked much as it had a century before. .
“You alright?” Rose’s voice was soft.
He glanced down, noting that she was still looking across the river; at his movement, however, she turned to look at him, her expression open and vulnerable.
“Aye.” The word was barely audible as he leaned down, his lips gently brushing against Rose’s. “Too easy to get carried away, thinking of making love to you.” He placed a soft kiss over her temple, and straightened.
“D’you wanna go back?”
“Right now? Rush in the door, tearing our clothes off, frantically shagging against the wall or on the sofa?”
The corner of her mouth twitched, a hint of her smile. “Yeah.”
It was tempting-oh, it was so tempting. But to do so…it seemed like it would ruin the magic of the night, to be so hasty. The night was about sex, it was true-but it was about enjoying the sex, as much as anything else.
“I think, mo gradh, that we should enjoy ourselves down here for a wee while longer.”
Rose’s face fell, compelling him to add, “Something about waiting and wanting making it all the more amazing when once we do make it back above stairs.”
There was a slow smile from Rose. “I like how you think.”
She bought them more mulled wine once they resumed their slow wander; he laughed as she handed it to him, winking as she said, “It’ll be easier to take advantage of you.”
“You think you have to get me drunk to do that?”
“No,” she conceded, joining him in laughter.
The wine had to have more than mulling spices in it, he decided an hour later, given how quickly it worked; or maybe it was simply that it was warm, and their dinner had been small. Then again, perhaps it was down to the fact that Rose seemed to enjoy buying him glasses of it, resulting in him consuming far more alcohol in two hours’ time than he had in years. Regardless of how it happened, all he knew was that he was growing quite drunk. He could feel the smile almost permanently plastered on his face; knew he was slurring his words more; Rose, too, seemed to be feeling the effects of the wine, her cheeks flushed and her eyes slightly glassy.
Before-before he’d met Rose, before he’d known he was going to be living in London and working with people he trusted-he’d have been upset about letting himself get to this point. Now, though-with Rose, in a city he liked, with soon-to-be-colleagues he regarded highly, he relaxed into the sensation, wondering if he mightn’t use it to his advantage when it came to seducing Rose. Not that she’d argue with whatever he might do, but it was always fun to change things up a bit, to catch her by surprise and to see the spark of delight in her eye when she realized what he’d done.
He took to being more tactile with her as they moved through the crowd; releasing her hand periodically to rest his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently before him, or catching her elbow to delicately steer her in a different direction than they’d been going. His fingers ghosted across her arm, her back, periodically brushing her bum; and he gave her a small smile each time she glanced up at him, knowing he was up to something but not sure where he meant to go with it.
Surely she had to realize it was all leading to their bedroom? Perhaps she gave him credit for being bolder than he was; perhaps she thought he’d pull her into one of the darkened alleys for a rough, illicit shag against the wall. Not that the idea wasn’t tempting, but there were simply too many people about-with too many cameras-to make the fantasy into any sort of reality.
In lieu of that, however, he could continue to gently tease Rose; to brush his fingers against her shoulder as she leaned over a display at a booth; to whisper against her ear as they watched some of the other couples in the crowd; to steal kisses from her as they invariably paused along the river, enjoying brief moments of peace before wading back into the throng.
He couldn’t wait to return to the flat, though; to make love to Rose, to create new, happy memories of the holiday, and possibly to create a new tradition for them, together.
~ - ~
Part IV