Denouement (1/1)
Title: Dénouement (1/1)
Author: jlrpuck
Rating: M
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: I take my stab at writing a post-Girl in the Fireplace fic.
Notes: Written for
harpinred, who was the big winner in the September Support Stacie auction. Her prompt-provided over dessert at an Italian restaurant-was to write a non-angsty post-GitF fic that resulted in, well, something meriting that “M” rating above. HUGE thanks to Ms. Red for her patience on this as I wrote it, took her feedback…then sat on it for a month before incorporating it.
Many thanks to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta and feedback on this. Any errors in the story, though, are mine and mine alone.
Dénouement
Rose flipped idly through the pages of Hello!, the images on the glossy pages passing unseen before her eyes. She was settled in the corner of the sofa, tucked away in a room that, more than anything, resembled the lounge of one of Jackie’s friends; the comfortable if run-down sofa, coffee table, and lamp with shade askew always made her feel oddly safe.
It was a room she’d found her first night on the TARDIS.
It was a room the Doctor found after he’d regenerated.
He’d only visited her in it once, right after they’d dematerialized from New Earth and set out into the Vortex once more. It had been awkward, having him in there-although he’d not really been in there, had instead leaned against the doorjamb, hands in pockets, hair askew, looking impossibly sexy even as he awkwardly tried to reassure her that the kiss she’d bussed him with whilst possessed by Cassandra hadn’t done anything to their friendship, that he knew she’d not meant it.
He’d slouched off after that, taking her silence as agreement. The truth was, she’d been too stunned by his casual dismissal of it to formulate any reply, let alone one which might, possibly, have hinted at her both remembering the kiss and knowing that Cassandra had only done it because Rose had wanted to so badly.
After that he’d bounced them around, trying to recapture the lightness of their relationship when he’d worn a leather coat and had almost no hair at all and Jack had been there to act as a buffer between them when things got a bit too…tense. Those times when the Doctor would look at her with those piercing blue eyes, something more in the gaze than just curiosity; or when she’d blush to look at him as he worked, not seeing her as she openly watched his form, strong strides and purposeful movements coaxing the TARDIS into choreography only he could see.
But Jack was gone, and the blue-eyed, leather clad Doctor was gone, and she had now spent six months travelling with a man who was, unquestionably, the Doctor, but with whom she still felt a stranger. Maybe that’s why he’d brought Mickey along, she mused, tossing the magazine aside and stretching out on the couch. To try to step in to that role which Jack had so effortlessly filled.
She tried to ignore the voice which told her Mickey had actually been invited along to distract her, as a means to avoid finishing the conversation they’d had at the chippy but which had been interrupted by the Krillitane.
Not that it mattered anymore-not really. Silly her; silly old human, getting distracted by the way the Doctor looked now, forgetting the rules his former self had laid down regarding companions and Time Lords and dancing-but-not-in-that-way. She’d mistaken flirting for something more-not the first time in her life, she thought humourlessly-and it was up to her to now get past that, to move beyond the hurt she felt at seeing her Doctor-no, not her Doctor anymore, not for six months. Simply “the Doctor”-leave her and Mickey behind to leap into the arms of another (blonde, petite, exceptionally well-educated) woman.
To be fair to the Doctor, he had told her he’d return in about a day, her time. But it still had hurt to see him do that, with seemingly no look back. He’d come back, true; but he’d gone back for Reinette still again. And when he’d returned that second time, Rose had felt her heart break at the sadness cloaking the Doctor. Making it almost worse, though, was that he’d not let her in; wouldn’t let her help as he’d used to, a change of eye colour and wardrobe ago. Wouldn’t trust her to sit and listen, offering silent comfort and friendship; didn’t trust her to be a friend when he needed one.
Rose sniffled, burrowing deeper into the sofa.
Self-pity wasn’t going to do anything for her here, she knew. Life went on in the TARDIS, no going back, no second chances (except for French courtesans, apparently), and so she was going to have her cry, get it out of her system, and then forget about it. She’d find Mickey-who, she’d noticed, had no idea the room existed, not that she’d felt particularly compelled to tell him about it-and they’d have dinner together in the galley as they’d done for the weeks he’d been travelling with them, and at some point the Doctor would emerge from wherever he went to hide after a bad day, and they’d all put on their happy faces and carry on through time and space.
She supposed that’s how he had to do it, though. To live for so very long, to see so many people he cared about die; he had to simply not look back, to not dwell on what had happened, but instead move forward without a second thought. She’d seen people do it all the time around the estate-just keep going, head down, surviving by ignoring the past. “Survival skill,” her mum had always called it, and Rose supposed Jackie had been absolutely right.
Rule number one wasn’t no wandering off-it was no looking back.
Rose pulled one of the square pillows decorating the couch to her chest, then rolled onto her side, pulling her feet up onto the cushion. She shifted, getting comfortable, and eventually allowed her eyes to drift shut. Maybe she didn’t need a good cry, or a good wallow; maybe all she needed was simply a nap. It had been an incredibly long day, even by TARDIS standards, and she’d been sleeping poorly since-well, since Cassandra, if not since the Doctor had regenerated. And perhaps a proper nap, uninterrupted, would put her to rights and allow her to follow rule number one of TARDIS residency without too much grief.
She let her mind drift, focusing not on the Doctor going back for Reinette-of course he would, he was the Doctor-but rather on everything before it. Of how he’d taken her hand in the ash on Christmas; of how he’d taken her hand a hundred times before that, on what had to be a hundred different planets. She fell asleep at some point, a smile on her face, dreaming of one of their adventures, she and the Doctor running, laughing, through the streets of a small city on a planet a thousand light years away from the place she’d grown up.
~ - ~
She had a headache when she awoke, a distant, low throb in her temples, an after effect of the sniffling and near-crying she’d done before curling up on the couch. She was aware of it first, followed by the sense that she was cold; and then she realized where she was, and let out a soft sigh.
She’d surely have been missed by someone by now; it was time to get up, wash her face, and then go find Mickey.
She opened her eyes, and let out a yelp as she saw the face of the Doctor directly before her. He was crouched down, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown; as she hurriedly sat up, running a hand over her hair then swiping it down her face, he remained where he was.
Oddly, he also remained silent, his gaze pinned to her.
“What?” she finally asked, feeling the most self-conscious she’d felt around him in ages.
“You’ve been crying.” It was stated calmly, his hand reaching out to trace a line down her cheek. She was unable to keep from flinching as his touch, and felt a flush steal up her neck.
She ignored the statement. “You alright, then?” She winced as she remembered asking him roughly the same question earlier in the day, and his dismissive reply.
“I’m always alright,” he answered, right on cue.
“Right.” She stood, ducking her head away from where his hand had remained, almost-but-not-quite touching her cheek. “I’m just going to pop-”
“Rose.” The Doctor took her hand, standing in a fluid motion. She remained amazed at how lithe he was, so very different from her first Doctor and yet so incredibly similar. They did, after all, share the same knack for gazing at her with such intensity it made her wonder if he couldn’t read her mind sometimes.
“What?”
“You cried.”
“Yeah. And?”
He looked a bit hurt at that, causing a flash of pride to war with the awareness of how petty she was being. He was the Doctor; he couldn’t help but go to those who needed him the most.
He dropped her hand, taking a step back and shoving both of his hands in his pockets. She’d not realized how rumpled he’d looked, earlier-his suit in need of a pressing, his shirt looking as though it had been slept in for a week, even his beloved tie a bit wrinkled. And, this close to him, she could see that he was in need of a decent shave; his whiskers shaded to just this side of ginger in the light, and she wondered if he realized that perhaps he’d got to be ginger after all.
“What?” he asked, on the defensive now.
“Nothing.” The word was said automatically, a reminder of how easy it was to avoid saying anything of substance on the TARDIS, sometimes. “I mean,” she added after a beat. “You’re ginger. A bit.”
“What?” This time, confusion from the Doctor.
“Your beard. ‘s ginger.” She’d reached forward unconsciously, forgetting for a moment the wall that had somehow come up between them. Realizing what she was doing she dropped her hand, her gaze sliding from the Doctor’s jaw to somewhere just over his shoulder. “Anyway. Gotta go clean up. Mickey’ll be looking for dinner-”
“He’s taken care of.” The words were brusque but the tone was gentle, stopping Rose from taking a step away.
“What?”
The Doctor’s lips quirked. “Seem to be saying that a lot, the two of us.” He took a step closer to her, seemingly resulting in the temperature in the room rising by a good few degrees. “Mickey’s been fed and watered. Well, not watered, not really, as he had some of that fizzy drink we picked up on Kkrrikk’t, but the point stands that he’s had supper and a lovely beverage and is now-or at least, he was-happily playing the Playstation Six Jack picked up for us during that side trip to Gamarabia.”
Rose blinked, taken aback by how very suddenly the Doctor had reverted to form. It was as if their visit to the ship and France had never happened. “Oh,” she finally managed.
“Oh.” Once more, the Doctor brought his hand up, his finger drifting gently down her cheek. She felt a shiver pass through her this time, and ducked her head away as his finger found her jaw.
“Why were you crying?” His voice was oh so gentle this time, full of warmth and yet also a hint of trepidation.
“Can be bloody stubborn when you want, can’t you?” she joked weakly.
“Why won’t you answer the question?”
She made the mistake of shifting her gaze back to his, and was surprised by how fathomless his brown eyes were. “I…” She shook her head. “No. You don’t talk about this.” She gestured vaguely between them, and took a step back. “It’s in the past now, anyway, back to moving forward, yeah?”
At her falsely bright tone, the Doctor’s expression shifted to one of sadness. “Is that it, then?” She furrowed her brow, confused, and the Doctor elaborated, “You used to make me talk all of the time, Rose. Wouldn’t let me get away with going off and having a think after things. Remember after Utah? After Van Statten? I threatened to kick you out if you didn’t leave me alone, but that didn’t stop you. I told you more, that night, than I’d told anyone in years. Decades, even. But now…” He sighed, turning, his hand finding its way back into his trouser pocket. “Now you catch me when I’m in a strop and you don’t come back.” His voice was hollow, lost; his shoulders slumped as he stood with his back to her.
“You wanted to be alone. I figured maybe it was time I let you.” She bit her tongue, not wanting to bring Reinette into the conversation, to have it go down that path.
“I didn’t want to be alone!”
“Then you should have said so!”
“I didn’t need to, before!”
“I don’t read minds, Doctor. Stupid human, me. Just a chav, yeah, good at getting into trouble, not much else to recommend me. So if you say to leave you be, I’ll be taking you at your word.”
“This is about Reinette, isn’t it?”
Rose couldn’t help the laugh which burst forth from her lips. “No, not completely. Well, I mean, yeah. But no. Not really.” The Doctor had turned to face her, confused. “Look, you don’t dance. Well, not with me, or Jack, so that’s something. But…well, anyway.” She shook her head. “Shower. I need one. Head hurts.”
“You’re jealous of Reinette.”
She felt her temper start to give. “If that’s how you want to think of it, sure. I’m jealous of Reinette. I’m jealous of someone who only has to flutter their eyelashes to get you to drop everything, leave everyone behind, to go back for them. I’m jealous of how smart she was; how pretty, too. I’m jealous that you went back for her. That you’d have taken the slow path with her.” Rose laughed, humourlessly. “And I kind of hate myself for it, too, ‘cause I know you’re about more than that. You can’t help it, dropping everything and running off to be the hero. Doesn’t mean I enjoy it, though, not really.” She felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes, and squared her shoulders. “So, there you are. I feel small and a bit stupid, crying over you like I’m a teenager mooning over some boy at school, and I’d really kind of hoped to avoid this whole humiliation-by-interrogation thing. So I’m going to go, now, and we’ll forget this happened. Yeah?” She brushed by him, intent on making it to the door before collapsing in a pile of embarrassment, not wanting to think about the effects of the conversation on her friendship with the Doctor.
He hated domestic. And her all but telling him how she fancied him was sure to stray perilously close to that category.
He reached out as she passed him, capturing her hand, forcing her to stop, to turn to face him. Her protest died on her lips as she glared at him, her expression softening as she saw his remorse.
“I’m sorry, Rose.”
“You did what you had to do. I need to be bigger. I just…I need to kind of get it out of my system.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’m not apologizing for going back for Reinette. She had to be saved-you know that.” He stepped towards her. “I’m sorry for you thinking that you-that she.” He stopped, scrunching his face briefly before continuing. “That you aren’t as important to me as Reinette is.” He beamed, pleased with how he’d phrased things.
“I-what?” Had he been continuing on his thought-he was sorry she thought she wasn’t important to him? Or was he telling her that she wasn’t?
“Rose.” He drew her name out, his voice low; she felt a shiver run through her, felt her heartbeat quicken. “Do you really think I don’t want to dance with you?”
She blinked, unable to speak. And still the Doctor leaned closer, the distance between them rapidly dwindling to next-to-nothing.
“Because I do.” He paused mere millimetres away, his wide brown eyes locked with hers.
“You…you want to dance with me?” she breathed, not trusting her voice above a whisper.
“Oh yes.” He slipped his left arm around her waist as his right hand found hers.
“Right.” He’d thought she meant dancing dancing, not…dancing. She giggled slightly as he began to move them, the steps to a simple waltz danced to music only he could hear.
And then he leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were soft against hers, almost tentative; she felt dizzy from it, her hand tightening around his as she sought to keep from collapsing in an undignified heap. He deepened the kiss, the arm holding her around the waist pulling her closer, his hand releasing hers and moving to gently cradle her jaw.
“I’ve wanted to dance with you for a very long time, Rose Tyler,” he whispered against her lips, his hand sliding into her hair. And then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, he pulled back. “No, no, no, this is all wrong,” he murmured, his hands dropping.
Rose blinked, dazed, still trying to process that the Doctor had kissed her-and rather thoroughly at that. And then she actually processed what he’d said. “Wrong?” The word was almost a shriek, and she winced at the Jackie-like tone of her voice. Still… “Wrong. You just kissed me, and now you’re saying it’s all wrong?”
The Doctor held his hands up, palms facing her. “No! Not like that! Rose- ” He dropped his hands, then brought one up to run it through his hair. “Kissing you was not wrong. Well, not technically, although I suppose it-” Off her look, he stopped the train of thought. “Right, not what you want to hear. What I meant was I will quite happily resume kissing you later. After we’ve talked about Reinette.”
“I thought we had talked about Reinette.”
“I think you’ll remember that you did quite a bit of stream-of-consciousness about your confused feelings on the matter of Reinette and being left behind when I dashed off to play the gallant hero. Conversation-for that’s what’s implied by the use of the term ‘talk’-involves two-way discourse. About more than conflicted feelings resulting from outdated mores and more than a bit of misunderstanding on your part.”
“Oi! You want to kiss me again, that’s not how you go about doing it!”
He brought a hand up, cupping her cheek, warmth shooting through her in spite of the slight coolness of his palm. “Rose. I very much want to kiss you again. Maybe more. But we can’t reasonably do that until things are very, very clear between us. We could shag right now, of course-up against the wall, both pretending everything’s alright but not really; or maybe we could row first and then it would be an angry thing, all about punishment and want and lust.” He tilted his head, considering her, noting-she was sure-how her skin had flushed, how her breath was coming more quickly through her parted lips. “Or-” He drew the word out, leaning forward, his voice dropping. “We could wait. Talk. Make it something deliberate, something slow that we both can savour, something to live up to the images our imaginations have given us.”
She nodded, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She swallowed, her mouth dry as the Doctor continued to stare at her. “You…you’re very important to me, Rose. More than just my travelling companion; more than simply a friend to me. You don’t realize how much power you have over me; how you hold me in thrall. You always have, and I’ve fought my physical attraction to you for far too long; I should have done something about it before, shouldn’t have pushed you away so ferociously, not when it’s the last thing I wanted.”
She felt lightheaded, the intensity of the Doctor’s words combined with his steady gaze making her insides feel as though she were on a roller coaster. She licked her lips, her eyes flicking to his gorgeous mouth as she began to wonder if it wouldn’t be possible to simply lean in and kiss him without the worry of him pushing her away.
He gave her a small smile, and continued. “I don’t want either of us, after, to feel ashamed of how it finally happened-at least if you’ve been wondering and thinking and turning the idea over in your mind as long as I have. Because I want-I hope-that having had sex together once, we’ll have it again…and again.”
He was still gazing intently at her but seemed to have regained some of his traditional spark. The Doctor being the Doctor, the prospect of some grand new adventure had him practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, in spite of his blatant attempts to seduce her.
There was still that small matter of clearing the air so they could get to the shagging bit, though. They did need to talk about Reinette, like adults; and they did need to discuss what was between the two of them. That didn’t mean she had to look forward, particularly, to the conversation.
“If-that is, if you want to. Even the first time.” He’d taken her silence as disagreement, hurt filling his gaze.
“How about we try it once first, yeah? Nice and slow, like you said. Then go from there?” She gave him a shy smile, leaning in to him.
His expression brightened. “Are you seducing me?” His voice was full of delight.
“Trying to, yeah.”
“Hold that thought.” His hand slipped down to hers, the fingers instinctively twining together in an act at once familiar and yet suddenly imbued with so much more meaning. It was a short walk to the couch, and he tugged her down next to him as he sat, making sure to keep her hand in his. “I should have said quite a bit of what I’m about to say when I had a chance to say it without making more of a muddle of things. But I didn’t say them at the time because I was afraid that saying them might, well, make a muddle of things.”
Rose didn’t answer, instead watching him as he prattled nervously.
“I-the old me, that is, all short hair and attitude, and even before that even though I’ve never really told you about any previous me’s because that’s just weird, unless it’s vital to our survival, of course-had a not-quite-strict rule about humans. Well, about companions. All right, about aliens in general. Look, but don’t touch; observe, but don’t interfere. Poncy way of saying don’t dally with anyone who wasn’t a Time Lord-well, Time Lady, although that’s not to say that there were really any rules either way about who could-” He cut himself off. “Right, babbling. The point is, it was a rule I had no problem whatsoever ignoring, right up until…” He swallowed. “Until the Time War. More specifically, after it, when they weren’t around to give me rules to break. I, ah, might have decided that was the appropriate time to listen to what they’d been shouting at me to do all along, which was right before I stumbled into the basement of a very posh shop and found you. Bad timing, that.” He clucked his tongue. “Which was exceptionally frustrating, you running around all…pink and yellow.” He gestured in her direction with his free hand. “And me, an emotional train wreck who was having a hard enough time keeping his head on straight, let alone lusting-madly-for a human one-fiftieth my age!”
Rose felt her jaw drop. She’d known how old he was-he had told her. But to hear it put like that… “I…” She closed her mouth, swallowed, and nodded.
“And then you saved me and I regenerated and I looked like this-” He preened- “and, well, I felt about as old as I look, at least I felt like I assume a human of his early thirties would feel, all randy and full of energy and, well, giddy, and I still couldn’t get over the blasted ‘Look but don’t touch’ when it came to people travelling with me, and…” He sighed. “Then Reinette was there, and she was petite and blonde and smart-”
“Not helping,” Rose muttered.
The Doctor continued on, ignoring her comment. “And she wasn’t travelling with me, and she did need saving, no question of that.” He looked at her, his eyes once more almost black. “I knew, even as I was doing it, that it would hurt you. But…there wasn’t anything for it. I did have to go back for her. To save her; the timelines were going crazy, and I was the only one who could fix it. But…I was there, with her; with her more than willing to…” He blinked, then carried on. “And I couldn’t stop looking up at the stars, wondering how you were. To be fair, I was also wondering, some small bit, about how Mickey was handling it, too. But mostly about you. About how furious you’d be with me, but knowing you’d be Rose, and you’d understand. Suspecting, quite strongly, that this would mean I’d never get the chance to kiss you when one of us wasn’t possessed, or in imminent danger of dying.”
His eyes flickered to her mouth, and he licked his lips. “I am very, very serious when I say that I want to have sex with you, Rose. And that it won’t be a one-off shag.” His eyes flew to hers. “Unless you want it to be, of course! I can always go back to-ah.” His hand returned to his hair, and his eyes skated away in embarrassment.
“Did you fantasize about me, Doctor?”
“Yes?” It came out as a squeak, but he quickly regained his composure. “And there you go, again, trying to seduce me out of taking care of things before we move on to other things!”
“I’m not!”
“You, Miss Tyler, are.” He gave her a darkly seductive smile. “Don’t think I won’t remember.”
She once again felt the need to lick her suddenly-dry lips, to swallow.
“So.” He leaned back, returning once more to the Doctor she’d known and travelled with for months. “Were you really telling me the truth when you were talking, earlier?”
She had to think back, to try to remember exactly what she’d said to him. “Um…yeah? I mean, I was jealous of Reinette, and of every other woman you’ve paid attention to. Only human, me. But I also meant it when I said that I know you’re you; that you can’t help going off and saving the world, no matter what. It’s part of why I like travelling with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And here I thought it was because I’m devilishly handsome.”
“That, too.” She smiled up at him.
“So the air is clear between us, as you lot say?”
Again, she paused to think. Had she really said all she wanted to about Reinette? It still stung, and probably would for a while longer. But given what he’d just told her-about the rules he’d flaunted then adopted, about his own struggles-it seemed almost petty to discuss it any further. She’d told him her piece; he’d listened, and told her his.
“Yeah,” she said, slowly.
“You’re absolutely certain? Because while I am quite keen want to have sex with you, now I’ve finally decided to throw caution to the wind, I don’t want to do it if you’re distracted-or, perhaps more importantly, if you’re upset.”
His low voice was full of sincerity, causing her heart to gallop along at a frantic rate. Any and all thought of anything outside of the room slowly melted away, and she nodded. “I’m absolutely certain, Doctor.”
She was surprised by how rapidly his mood shifted, and how quickly he leaned in, his lips finding hers, his hand tugging hers so she would lean into him as he kissed her. “I think you can go back to seducing me,” he whispered around the kiss, his lips and tongue teasing her in between the words as his hands slipped into her hair.
Not quite sure what to do, at first she braced her hand on the cushion of the couch; then, as he kept kissing her, they shifted to his chest, to the familiarly rough cotton of his shirt, her thumbs brushing against the silk of his tie. He hummed happily at that, causing her to smile; and that in turn led him to break the kiss, to lean back enough to be able to look at her when she opened her eyes. “I do feel like I should ask-”
“Shush,” she replied, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.
She’d fantasized, many times, about what it would be like to have sex with the Doctor-with this Doctor, in particular, although she’d had her fair share of fantasies about her older one, too. About what it would be like to undress him, or to watch him undress; about what it would be like to be naked before him. He’d said he had a mole on his left shoulder; she’d wondered what the rest of his back might look like, indeed what all of him might look like. He certainly felt human enough, as her hands began to roam minutes later; the movement of the muscle under his clothes, the feel of him pressing into her as he slowly guided her to lay on the sofa all making her sigh happily.
They undressed each other, he seemingly as tentatively eager to explore her skin as she was his, fingers tracing new paths as fresh places of exploration were found. More than a few times he made her laugh, finding a ticklish spot; she was delighted to learn that he, too, was ticklish, especially along the tops of his hipbones.
And when they were both naked, clothes and socks and shoes and underthings tossed blindly into the room, he paused, pulling back to gaze seriously at her. “I want to remember this,” he murmured. “Want it to stand at the front of so many memories.”
And then he leaned in once more, kissing her, hands ghosting over her breasts, her belly, leaving icy trails of fire across her skin as they moved. Her own hands were exploring his back, his bum, his thigh, loving the feel of his slightly-cooler skin under the blazing heat of her fingertips. She could feel his hardness pressing urgently into her, just at the top of her thigh, and she felt her own need for him growing to almost unbearable proportions.
He paused only long enough to reassure her he didn’t need a prophylactic-commenting, casually, that her birth control would be enough to protect them; and then he slid down her body, that clever, clever tongue of his doing all sorts of things to make her quiver. He exclaimed with delight over each of her reactions; each arch of her body, each grab of a handful of his hair, each moan. And when she came, her teeth clenched as he continued to torment her, he whispered against her skin.
He was grinning as he climbed back up her body, his hair standing madly on end, his freckles standing out against his skin. She couldn’t help but laugh in delight at the image he presented, pulling him to her for a long kiss, her tongue swiping against his as she tasted the combination of herself and him.
And then-finally-he shifted, his legs between hers, one arm bracing his weight as the other guided himself into her. His jaw dropped, his eyes fluttering shut; she, feeling mischievous, arched, pulling him into her faster than he’d expected. He yelped, his eyes flying open in wild pleasure; and as he began to move against her he leaned forward, kissing her far more thoroughly than he had to that point. When he came, it was with a quiet moan; his eyes were wide, unfocussed, and she gently stroked his cheek until he relaxed.
He focused on her, his brown eyes warm, and he leaned in once more to kiss her, a slow, gentle movement of his mouth as his hips gently rocked into her. It was soothing and sensuous and she soon felt another orgasm coil within her, leading her to begin to rock up against him in return, desperate for a second release.
“Mmm,” he smiled against her, feeling her begin to clench around him; he altered his movement, even as his hands found hers and brought them above her head. Palm to palm, her hands pressed into the softness of the cushions, he held her in place; and as she came again he continued to kiss her, to move within her.
He eventually released her hands, breaking the kiss; she opened her eyes, blinking against the suddenly-bright glare of the room, to find the Doctor gazing down at her.
“Did you like it?”
“Are you asking me if you were a good shag?”
She thought he might deny it, and was surprised when he instead said, tentatively, “Yes.”
She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling him down into an almost-kiss. “You were a fantastic shag,” she murmured, punctuating the word with a kiss.
She felt him smile against her, and then he wiggled his hips. “Then can we do that again?”
~ fin ~
End Note: There will be no Thursday fic this week-I’m flying to Vegas, baby, and will be taking that day off from the webs. Have a great week!
Author: jlrpuck
Rating: M
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: I take my stab at writing a post-Girl in the Fireplace fic.
Notes: Written for
harpinred, who was the big winner in the September Support Stacie auction. Her prompt-provided over dessert at an Italian restaurant-was to write a non-angsty post-GitF fic that resulted in, well, something meriting that “M” rating above. HUGE thanks to Ms. Red for her patience on this as I wrote it, took her feedback…then sat on it for a month before incorporating it.
Many thanks to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta and feedback on this. Any errors in the story, though, are mine and mine alone.
Dénouement
Rose flipped idly through the pages of Hello!, the images on the glossy pages passing unseen before her eyes. She was settled in the corner of the sofa, tucked away in a room that, more than anything, resembled the lounge of one of Jackie’s friends; the comfortable if run-down sofa, coffee table, and lamp with shade askew always made her feel oddly safe.
It was a room she’d found her first night on the TARDIS.
It was a room the Doctor found after he’d regenerated.
He’d only visited her in it once, right after they’d dematerialized from New Earth and set out into the Vortex once more. It had been awkward, having him in there-although he’d not really been in there, had instead leaned against the doorjamb, hands in pockets, hair askew, looking impossibly sexy even as he awkwardly tried to reassure her that the kiss she’d bussed him with whilst possessed by Cassandra hadn’t done anything to their friendship, that he knew she’d not meant it.
He’d slouched off after that, taking her silence as agreement. The truth was, she’d been too stunned by his casual dismissal of it to formulate any reply, let alone one which might, possibly, have hinted at her both remembering the kiss and knowing that Cassandra had only done it because Rose had wanted to so badly.
After that he’d bounced them around, trying to recapture the lightness of their relationship when he’d worn a leather coat and had almost no hair at all and Jack had been there to act as a buffer between them when things got a bit too…tense. Those times when the Doctor would look at her with those piercing blue eyes, something more in the gaze than just curiosity; or when she’d blush to look at him as he worked, not seeing her as she openly watched his form, strong strides and purposeful movements coaxing the TARDIS into choreography only he could see.
But Jack was gone, and the blue-eyed, leather clad Doctor was gone, and she had now spent six months travelling with a man who was, unquestionably, the Doctor, but with whom she still felt a stranger. Maybe that’s why he’d brought Mickey along, she mused, tossing the magazine aside and stretching out on the couch. To try to step in to that role which Jack had so effortlessly filled.
She tried to ignore the voice which told her Mickey had actually been invited along to distract her, as a means to avoid finishing the conversation they’d had at the chippy but which had been interrupted by the Krillitane.
Not that it mattered anymore-not really. Silly her; silly old human, getting distracted by the way the Doctor looked now, forgetting the rules his former self had laid down regarding companions and Time Lords and dancing-but-not-in-that-way. She’d mistaken flirting for something more-not the first time in her life, she thought humourlessly-and it was up to her to now get past that, to move beyond the hurt she felt at seeing her Doctor-no, not her Doctor anymore, not for six months. Simply “the Doctor”-leave her and Mickey behind to leap into the arms of another (blonde, petite, exceptionally well-educated) woman.
To be fair to the Doctor, he had told her he’d return in about a day, her time. But it still had hurt to see him do that, with seemingly no look back. He’d come back, true; but he’d gone back for Reinette still again. And when he’d returned that second time, Rose had felt her heart break at the sadness cloaking the Doctor. Making it almost worse, though, was that he’d not let her in; wouldn’t let her help as he’d used to, a change of eye colour and wardrobe ago. Wouldn’t trust her to sit and listen, offering silent comfort and friendship; didn’t trust her to be a friend when he needed one.
Rose sniffled, burrowing deeper into the sofa.
Self-pity wasn’t going to do anything for her here, she knew. Life went on in the TARDIS, no going back, no second chances (except for French courtesans, apparently), and so she was going to have her cry, get it out of her system, and then forget about it. She’d find Mickey-who, she’d noticed, had no idea the room existed, not that she’d felt particularly compelled to tell him about it-and they’d have dinner together in the galley as they’d done for the weeks he’d been travelling with them, and at some point the Doctor would emerge from wherever he went to hide after a bad day, and they’d all put on their happy faces and carry on through time and space.
She supposed that’s how he had to do it, though. To live for so very long, to see so many people he cared about die; he had to simply not look back, to not dwell on what had happened, but instead move forward without a second thought. She’d seen people do it all the time around the estate-just keep going, head down, surviving by ignoring the past. “Survival skill,” her mum had always called it, and Rose supposed Jackie had been absolutely right.
Rule number one wasn’t no wandering off-it was no looking back.
Rose pulled one of the square pillows decorating the couch to her chest, then rolled onto her side, pulling her feet up onto the cushion. She shifted, getting comfortable, and eventually allowed her eyes to drift shut. Maybe she didn’t need a good cry, or a good wallow; maybe all she needed was simply a nap. It had been an incredibly long day, even by TARDIS standards, and she’d been sleeping poorly since-well, since Cassandra, if not since the Doctor had regenerated. And perhaps a proper nap, uninterrupted, would put her to rights and allow her to follow rule number one of TARDIS residency without too much grief.
She let her mind drift, focusing not on the Doctor going back for Reinette-of course he would, he was the Doctor-but rather on everything before it. Of how he’d taken her hand in the ash on Christmas; of how he’d taken her hand a hundred times before that, on what had to be a hundred different planets. She fell asleep at some point, a smile on her face, dreaming of one of their adventures, she and the Doctor running, laughing, through the streets of a small city on a planet a thousand light years away from the place she’d grown up.
~ - ~
She had a headache when she awoke, a distant, low throb in her temples, an after effect of the sniffling and near-crying she’d done before curling up on the couch. She was aware of it first, followed by the sense that she was cold; and then she realized where she was, and let out a soft sigh.
She’d surely have been missed by someone by now; it was time to get up, wash her face, and then go find Mickey.
She opened her eyes, and let out a yelp as she saw the face of the Doctor directly before her. He was crouched down, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown; as she hurriedly sat up, running a hand over her hair then swiping it down her face, he remained where he was.
Oddly, he also remained silent, his gaze pinned to her.
“What?” she finally asked, feeling the most self-conscious she’d felt around him in ages.
“You’ve been crying.” It was stated calmly, his hand reaching out to trace a line down her cheek. She was unable to keep from flinching as his touch, and felt a flush steal up her neck.
She ignored the statement. “You alright, then?” She winced as she remembered asking him roughly the same question earlier in the day, and his dismissive reply.
“I’m always alright,” he answered, right on cue.
“Right.” She stood, ducking her head away from where his hand had remained, almost-but-not-quite touching her cheek. “I’m just going to pop-”
“Rose.” The Doctor took her hand, standing in a fluid motion. She remained amazed at how lithe he was, so very different from her first Doctor and yet so incredibly similar. They did, after all, share the same knack for gazing at her with such intensity it made her wonder if he couldn’t read her mind sometimes.
“What?”
“You cried.”
“Yeah. And?”
He looked a bit hurt at that, causing a flash of pride to war with the awareness of how petty she was being. He was the Doctor; he couldn’t help but go to those who needed him the most.
He dropped her hand, taking a step back and shoving both of his hands in his pockets. She’d not realized how rumpled he’d looked, earlier-his suit in need of a pressing, his shirt looking as though it had been slept in for a week, even his beloved tie a bit wrinkled. And, this close to him, she could see that he was in need of a decent shave; his whiskers shaded to just this side of ginger in the light, and she wondered if he realized that perhaps he’d got to be ginger after all.
“What?” he asked, on the defensive now.
“Nothing.” The word was said automatically, a reminder of how easy it was to avoid saying anything of substance on the TARDIS, sometimes. “I mean,” she added after a beat. “You’re ginger. A bit.”
“What?” This time, confusion from the Doctor.
“Your beard. ‘s ginger.” She’d reached forward unconsciously, forgetting for a moment the wall that had somehow come up between them. Realizing what she was doing she dropped her hand, her gaze sliding from the Doctor’s jaw to somewhere just over his shoulder. “Anyway. Gotta go clean up. Mickey’ll be looking for dinner-”
“He’s taken care of.” The words were brusque but the tone was gentle, stopping Rose from taking a step away.
“What?”
The Doctor’s lips quirked. “Seem to be saying that a lot, the two of us.” He took a step closer to her, seemingly resulting in the temperature in the room rising by a good few degrees. “Mickey’s been fed and watered. Well, not watered, not really, as he had some of that fizzy drink we picked up on Kkrrikk’t, but the point stands that he’s had supper and a lovely beverage and is now-or at least, he was-happily playing the Playstation Six Jack picked up for us during that side trip to Gamarabia.”
Rose blinked, taken aback by how very suddenly the Doctor had reverted to form. It was as if their visit to the ship and France had never happened. “Oh,” she finally managed.
“Oh.” Once more, the Doctor brought his hand up, his finger drifting gently down her cheek. She felt a shiver pass through her this time, and ducked her head away as his finger found her jaw.
“Why were you crying?” His voice was oh so gentle this time, full of warmth and yet also a hint of trepidation.
“Can be bloody stubborn when you want, can’t you?” she joked weakly.
“Why won’t you answer the question?”
She made the mistake of shifting her gaze back to his, and was surprised by how fathomless his brown eyes were. “I…” She shook her head. “No. You don’t talk about this.” She gestured vaguely between them, and took a step back. “It’s in the past now, anyway, back to moving forward, yeah?”
At her falsely bright tone, the Doctor’s expression shifted to one of sadness. “Is that it, then?” She furrowed her brow, confused, and the Doctor elaborated, “You used to make me talk all of the time, Rose. Wouldn’t let me get away with going off and having a think after things. Remember after Utah? After Van Statten? I threatened to kick you out if you didn’t leave me alone, but that didn’t stop you. I told you more, that night, than I’d told anyone in years. Decades, even. But now…” He sighed, turning, his hand finding its way back into his trouser pocket. “Now you catch me when I’m in a strop and you don’t come back.” His voice was hollow, lost; his shoulders slumped as he stood with his back to her.
“You wanted to be alone. I figured maybe it was time I let you.” She bit her tongue, not wanting to bring Reinette into the conversation, to have it go down that path.
“I didn’t want to be alone!”
“Then you should have said so!”
“I didn’t need to, before!”
“I don’t read minds, Doctor. Stupid human, me. Just a chav, yeah, good at getting into trouble, not much else to recommend me. So if you say to leave you be, I’ll be taking you at your word.”
“This is about Reinette, isn’t it?”
Rose couldn’t help the laugh which burst forth from her lips. “No, not completely. Well, I mean, yeah. But no. Not really.” The Doctor had turned to face her, confused. “Look, you don’t dance. Well, not with me, or Jack, so that’s something. But…well, anyway.” She shook her head. “Shower. I need one. Head hurts.”
“You’re jealous of Reinette.”
She felt her temper start to give. “If that’s how you want to think of it, sure. I’m jealous of Reinette. I’m jealous of someone who only has to flutter their eyelashes to get you to drop everything, leave everyone behind, to go back for them. I’m jealous of how smart she was; how pretty, too. I’m jealous that you went back for her. That you’d have taken the slow path with her.” Rose laughed, humourlessly. “And I kind of hate myself for it, too, ‘cause I know you’re about more than that. You can’t help it, dropping everything and running off to be the hero. Doesn’t mean I enjoy it, though, not really.” She felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes, and squared her shoulders. “So, there you are. I feel small and a bit stupid, crying over you like I’m a teenager mooning over some boy at school, and I’d really kind of hoped to avoid this whole humiliation-by-interrogation thing. So I’m going to go, now, and we’ll forget this happened. Yeah?” She brushed by him, intent on making it to the door before collapsing in a pile of embarrassment, not wanting to think about the effects of the conversation on her friendship with the Doctor.
He hated domestic. And her all but telling him how she fancied him was sure to stray perilously close to that category.
He reached out as she passed him, capturing her hand, forcing her to stop, to turn to face him. Her protest died on her lips as she glared at him, her expression softening as she saw his remorse.
“I’m sorry, Rose.”
“You did what you had to do. I need to be bigger. I just…I need to kind of get it out of my system.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’m not apologizing for going back for Reinette. She had to be saved-you know that.” He stepped towards her. “I’m sorry for you thinking that you-that she.” He stopped, scrunching his face briefly before continuing. “That you aren’t as important to me as Reinette is.” He beamed, pleased with how he’d phrased things.
“I-what?” Had he been continuing on his thought-he was sorry she thought she wasn’t important to him? Or was he telling her that she wasn’t?
“Rose.” He drew her name out, his voice low; she felt a shiver run through her, felt her heartbeat quicken. “Do you really think I don’t want to dance with you?”
She blinked, unable to speak. And still the Doctor leaned closer, the distance between them rapidly dwindling to next-to-nothing.
“Because I do.” He paused mere millimetres away, his wide brown eyes locked with hers.
“You…you want to dance with me?” she breathed, not trusting her voice above a whisper.
“Oh yes.” He slipped his left arm around her waist as his right hand found hers.
“Right.” He’d thought she meant dancing dancing, not…dancing. She giggled slightly as he began to move them, the steps to a simple waltz danced to music only he could hear.
And then he leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were soft against hers, almost tentative; she felt dizzy from it, her hand tightening around his as she sought to keep from collapsing in an undignified heap. He deepened the kiss, the arm holding her around the waist pulling her closer, his hand releasing hers and moving to gently cradle her jaw.
“I’ve wanted to dance with you for a very long time, Rose Tyler,” he whispered against her lips, his hand sliding into her hair. And then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, he pulled back. “No, no, no, this is all wrong,” he murmured, his hands dropping.
Rose blinked, dazed, still trying to process that the Doctor had kissed her-and rather thoroughly at that. And then she actually processed what he’d said. “Wrong?” The word was almost a shriek, and she winced at the Jackie-like tone of her voice. Still… “Wrong. You just kissed me, and now you’re saying it’s all wrong?”
The Doctor held his hands up, palms facing her. “No! Not like that! Rose- ” He dropped his hands, then brought one up to run it through his hair. “Kissing you was not wrong. Well, not technically, although I suppose it-” Off her look, he stopped the train of thought. “Right, not what you want to hear. What I meant was I will quite happily resume kissing you later. After we’ve talked about Reinette.”
“I thought we had talked about Reinette.”
“I think you’ll remember that you did quite a bit of stream-of-consciousness about your confused feelings on the matter of Reinette and being left behind when I dashed off to play the gallant hero. Conversation-for that’s what’s implied by the use of the term ‘talk’-involves two-way discourse. About more than conflicted feelings resulting from outdated mores and more than a bit of misunderstanding on your part.”
“Oi! You want to kiss me again, that’s not how you go about doing it!”
He brought a hand up, cupping her cheek, warmth shooting through her in spite of the slight coolness of his palm. “Rose. I very much want to kiss you again. Maybe more. But we can’t reasonably do that until things are very, very clear between us. We could shag right now, of course-up against the wall, both pretending everything’s alright but not really; or maybe we could row first and then it would be an angry thing, all about punishment and want and lust.” He tilted his head, considering her, noting-she was sure-how her skin had flushed, how her breath was coming more quickly through her parted lips. “Or-” He drew the word out, leaning forward, his voice dropping. “We could wait. Talk. Make it something deliberate, something slow that we both can savour, something to live up to the images our imaginations have given us.”
She nodded, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She swallowed, her mouth dry as the Doctor continued to stare at her. “You…you’re very important to me, Rose. More than just my travelling companion; more than simply a friend to me. You don’t realize how much power you have over me; how you hold me in thrall. You always have, and I’ve fought my physical attraction to you for far too long; I should have done something about it before, shouldn’t have pushed you away so ferociously, not when it’s the last thing I wanted.”
She felt lightheaded, the intensity of the Doctor’s words combined with his steady gaze making her insides feel as though she were on a roller coaster. She licked her lips, her eyes flicking to his gorgeous mouth as she began to wonder if it wouldn’t be possible to simply lean in and kiss him without the worry of him pushing her away.
He gave her a small smile, and continued. “I don’t want either of us, after, to feel ashamed of how it finally happened-at least if you’ve been wondering and thinking and turning the idea over in your mind as long as I have. Because I want-I hope-that having had sex together once, we’ll have it again…and again.”
He was still gazing intently at her but seemed to have regained some of his traditional spark. The Doctor being the Doctor, the prospect of some grand new adventure had him practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, in spite of his blatant attempts to seduce her.
There was still that small matter of clearing the air so they could get to the shagging bit, though. They did need to talk about Reinette, like adults; and they did need to discuss what was between the two of them. That didn’t mean she had to look forward, particularly, to the conversation.
“If-that is, if you want to. Even the first time.” He’d taken her silence as disagreement, hurt filling his gaze.
“How about we try it once first, yeah? Nice and slow, like you said. Then go from there?” She gave him a shy smile, leaning in to him.
His expression brightened. “Are you seducing me?” His voice was full of delight.
“Trying to, yeah.”
“Hold that thought.” His hand slipped down to hers, the fingers instinctively twining together in an act at once familiar and yet suddenly imbued with so much more meaning. It was a short walk to the couch, and he tugged her down next to him as he sat, making sure to keep her hand in his. “I should have said quite a bit of what I’m about to say when I had a chance to say it without making more of a muddle of things. But I didn’t say them at the time because I was afraid that saying them might, well, make a muddle of things.”
Rose didn’t answer, instead watching him as he prattled nervously.
“I-the old me, that is, all short hair and attitude, and even before that even though I’ve never really told you about any previous me’s because that’s just weird, unless it’s vital to our survival, of course-had a not-quite-strict rule about humans. Well, about companions. All right, about aliens in general. Look, but don’t touch; observe, but don’t interfere. Poncy way of saying don’t dally with anyone who wasn’t a Time Lord-well, Time Lady, although that’s not to say that there were really any rules either way about who could-” He cut himself off. “Right, babbling. The point is, it was a rule I had no problem whatsoever ignoring, right up until…” He swallowed. “Until the Time War. More specifically, after it, when they weren’t around to give me rules to break. I, ah, might have decided that was the appropriate time to listen to what they’d been shouting at me to do all along, which was right before I stumbled into the basement of a very posh shop and found you. Bad timing, that.” He clucked his tongue. “Which was exceptionally frustrating, you running around all…pink and yellow.” He gestured in her direction with his free hand. “And me, an emotional train wreck who was having a hard enough time keeping his head on straight, let alone lusting-madly-for a human one-fiftieth my age!”
Rose felt her jaw drop. She’d known how old he was-he had told her. But to hear it put like that… “I…” She closed her mouth, swallowed, and nodded.
“And then you saved me and I regenerated and I looked like this-” He preened- “and, well, I felt about as old as I look, at least I felt like I assume a human of his early thirties would feel, all randy and full of energy and, well, giddy, and I still couldn’t get over the blasted ‘Look but don’t touch’ when it came to people travelling with me, and…” He sighed. “Then Reinette was there, and she was petite and blonde and smart-”
“Not helping,” Rose muttered.
The Doctor continued on, ignoring her comment. “And she wasn’t travelling with me, and she did need saving, no question of that.” He looked at her, his eyes once more almost black. “I knew, even as I was doing it, that it would hurt you. But…there wasn’t anything for it. I did have to go back for her. To save her; the timelines were going crazy, and I was the only one who could fix it. But…I was there, with her; with her more than willing to…” He blinked, then carried on. “And I couldn’t stop looking up at the stars, wondering how you were. To be fair, I was also wondering, some small bit, about how Mickey was handling it, too. But mostly about you. About how furious you’d be with me, but knowing you’d be Rose, and you’d understand. Suspecting, quite strongly, that this would mean I’d never get the chance to kiss you when one of us wasn’t possessed, or in imminent danger of dying.”
His eyes flickered to her mouth, and he licked his lips. “I am very, very serious when I say that I want to have sex with you, Rose. And that it won’t be a one-off shag.” His eyes flew to hers. “Unless you want it to be, of course! I can always go back to-ah.” His hand returned to his hair, and his eyes skated away in embarrassment.
“Did you fantasize about me, Doctor?”
“Yes?” It came out as a squeak, but he quickly regained his composure. “And there you go, again, trying to seduce me out of taking care of things before we move on to other things!”
“I’m not!”
“You, Miss Tyler, are.” He gave her a darkly seductive smile. “Don’t think I won’t remember.”
She once again felt the need to lick her suddenly-dry lips, to swallow.
“So.” He leaned back, returning once more to the Doctor she’d known and travelled with for months. “Were you really telling me the truth when you were talking, earlier?”
She had to think back, to try to remember exactly what she’d said to him. “Um…yeah? I mean, I was jealous of Reinette, and of every other woman you’ve paid attention to. Only human, me. But I also meant it when I said that I know you’re you; that you can’t help going off and saving the world, no matter what. It’s part of why I like travelling with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And here I thought it was because I’m devilishly handsome.”
“That, too.” She smiled up at him.
“So the air is clear between us, as you lot say?”
Again, she paused to think. Had she really said all she wanted to about Reinette? It still stung, and probably would for a while longer. But given what he’d just told her-about the rules he’d flaunted then adopted, about his own struggles-it seemed almost petty to discuss it any further. She’d told him her piece; he’d listened, and told her his.
“Yeah,” she said, slowly.
“You’re absolutely certain? Because while I am quite keen want to have sex with you, now I’ve finally decided to throw caution to the wind, I don’t want to do it if you’re distracted-or, perhaps more importantly, if you’re upset.”
His low voice was full of sincerity, causing her heart to gallop along at a frantic rate. Any and all thought of anything outside of the room slowly melted away, and she nodded. “I’m absolutely certain, Doctor.”
She was surprised by how rapidly his mood shifted, and how quickly he leaned in, his lips finding hers, his hand tugging hers so she would lean into him as he kissed her. “I think you can go back to seducing me,” he whispered around the kiss, his lips and tongue teasing her in between the words as his hands slipped into her hair.
Not quite sure what to do, at first she braced her hand on the cushion of the couch; then, as he kept kissing her, they shifted to his chest, to the familiarly rough cotton of his shirt, her thumbs brushing against the silk of his tie. He hummed happily at that, causing her to smile; and that in turn led him to break the kiss, to lean back enough to be able to look at her when she opened her eyes. “I do feel like I should ask-”
“Shush,” she replied, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.
She’d fantasized, many times, about what it would be like to have sex with the Doctor-with this Doctor, in particular, although she’d had her fair share of fantasies about her older one, too. About what it would be like to undress him, or to watch him undress; about what it would be like to be naked before him. He’d said he had a mole on his left shoulder; she’d wondered what the rest of his back might look like, indeed what all of him might look like. He certainly felt human enough, as her hands began to roam minutes later; the movement of the muscle under his clothes, the feel of him pressing into her as he slowly guided her to lay on the sofa all making her sigh happily.
They undressed each other, he seemingly as tentatively eager to explore her skin as she was his, fingers tracing new paths as fresh places of exploration were found. More than a few times he made her laugh, finding a ticklish spot; she was delighted to learn that he, too, was ticklish, especially along the tops of his hipbones.
And when they were both naked, clothes and socks and shoes and underthings tossed blindly into the room, he paused, pulling back to gaze seriously at her. “I want to remember this,” he murmured. “Want it to stand at the front of so many memories.”
And then he leaned in once more, kissing her, hands ghosting over her breasts, her belly, leaving icy trails of fire across her skin as they moved. Her own hands were exploring his back, his bum, his thigh, loving the feel of his slightly-cooler skin under the blazing heat of her fingertips. She could feel his hardness pressing urgently into her, just at the top of her thigh, and she felt her own need for him growing to almost unbearable proportions.
He paused only long enough to reassure her he didn’t need a prophylactic-commenting, casually, that her birth control would be enough to protect them; and then he slid down her body, that clever, clever tongue of his doing all sorts of things to make her quiver. He exclaimed with delight over each of her reactions; each arch of her body, each grab of a handful of his hair, each moan. And when she came, her teeth clenched as he continued to torment her, he whispered against her skin.
He was grinning as he climbed back up her body, his hair standing madly on end, his freckles standing out against his skin. She couldn’t help but laugh in delight at the image he presented, pulling him to her for a long kiss, her tongue swiping against his as she tasted the combination of herself and him.
And then-finally-he shifted, his legs between hers, one arm bracing his weight as the other guided himself into her. His jaw dropped, his eyes fluttering shut; she, feeling mischievous, arched, pulling him into her faster than he’d expected. He yelped, his eyes flying open in wild pleasure; and as he began to move against her he leaned forward, kissing her far more thoroughly than he had to that point. When he came, it was with a quiet moan; his eyes were wide, unfocussed, and she gently stroked his cheek until he relaxed.
He focused on her, his brown eyes warm, and he leaned in once more to kiss her, a slow, gentle movement of his mouth as his hips gently rocked into her. It was soothing and sensuous and she soon felt another orgasm coil within her, leading her to begin to rock up against him in return, desperate for a second release.
“Mmm,” he smiled against her, feeling her begin to clench around him; he altered his movement, even as his hands found hers and brought them above her head. Palm to palm, her hands pressed into the softness of the cushions, he held her in place; and as she came again he continued to kiss her, to move within her.
He eventually released her hands, breaking the kiss; she opened her eyes, blinking against the suddenly-bright glare of the room, to find the Doctor gazing down at her.
“Did you like it?”
“Are you asking me if you were a good shag?”
She thought he might deny it, and was surprised when he instead said, tentatively, “Yes.”
She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling him down into an almost-kiss. “You were a fantastic shag,” she murmured, punctuating the word with a kiss.
She felt him smile against her, and then he wiggled his hips. “Then can we do that again?”
~ fin ~
End Note: There will be no Thursday fic this week-I’m flying to Vegas, baby, and will be taking that day off from the webs. Have a great week!