Hallmark (1/1)
Title: Hallmark (1/1)
Author: jlrpuck
Rating: T
Characters: Ninth 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: A man's kiss is his signature. - Mae West
Notes: Written for the second round over at
storm_and_wolf. My prompt is actually the summary-and I think it says all it needs to.
Many thanks to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta and feedback on this. Any errors in the story, though, are mine and mine alone.
Hallmark
The first time he kissed her, she was high on some locally-produced opioid, the drug slipped into her drink-and his-during the new year’s festival on the innermost planet of a solar system she couldn’t pronounce several millennia removed from her home. It started tentatively, his lips cool and soft against hers, then his tongue darting in and tasting her before he gave himself over to really kissing her properly.
They’d both pretended that hadn’t happened when the high wore off.
The second time he kissed her it had been to prove they were indeed the married couple they’d pretended to be, a desperate attempt to avoid being stoned to death for immorality on a planet that should have known better: Earth, only a millennium or so before she was born. The kiss had started the same way-tentative soft cool lips against hers, the quick dart of his tongue, then the rapid deepening of it. It had been so blatantly carnal that they’d almost been stoned for immorality anyway, and had had to run back to the TARDIS in a hail of poorly-aimed projectiles.
They’d both pretended that it had been an act born out of sheer necessity, and hadn’t talked about it.
The third time he kissed her had been after Jack had joined them, the Doctor having been goaded into a drinking game one lazy night on the TARDIS. Jack held his liquor remarkably well; Rose less so. The Doctor, however, turned out to be more of a lightweight than anyone Rose had ever encountered, with the delightful result that he shed his leather jacket, laughed more than she’d ever heard, and was smiling in a way that softened the hard angles of his face and made her insides turn to jelly. Jack-being Jack-had noticed the fond looks the Doctor increasingly cast in her direction, and quietly excused himself after an hour of the game, leaving a very drunk, very amiable Time Lord and a rather tipsy human behind. She wondered if part of it was an act, though, when the Doctor’s fond gaze turned to something more heated, his blue eyes darkening as he pinned her with them, slowly leaning across to where she sat, his calloused hand cupping her jaw and pulling her to him for the kiss she was rapidly coming to know as his. His soft lips pressed against hers, his skin cool against her warm; his tongue then slipped past them, delicately swiping against hers. And then he deepened it, his mouth working against hers, teasing and tormenting her as it darted merrily in a dance with hers. It had only broken when they’d fallen off the sofa in a painful heap, bringing them both back to sharp reality and sending them skittering for their rooms, alone.
He’d not been able to meet her eye for a day after that, and had taken twice that long to take her hand in his. Jack had given her a sympathetic glance as he noted the tension-and no more drinking games were played on the TARDIS.
The fourth time he kissed her was while she was semi-conscious, recovering in the TARDIS after a nearly-fatal misadventure during what was supposed to have been a holiday. The Doctor had found her in the nick of time, and although she’d been more unconscious than not when he’d rescued her she still had the memories of one truly furious Time Lord dealing with her captors. She’d come to in the med bay of the TARDIS-a room more familiar to her than she wanted to admit-and had found the Doctor hovering over her like a worried mum, his eyes bright with worry, his lovely lips pursed into a thin line. Her left arm was restrained, but with her right she reached up, her fingertips brushing against his temple, then his lips, trying to get his expression to relax. He’d captured her hand, leaning in and kissing her in the now-familiar way, finally ending by embracing her where she lay and saying nothing.
She’d fallen asleep in his embrace, and had assumed the kiss had been a product of the painkillers he’d put her on while she recovered. It was only with the fifth kiss that she realized it hadn’t been a dream, and that was simply because the Doctor muttered to himself after that it was becoming a bit of a habit, kissing her.
“A habit?” They were once more facing certain death, this time for Rose not controlling her property (him) appropriately in the female-dominated society. The kiss had sealed the deal, and they were only awaiting their sentence.
“Five times, Rose. I’d say it’s a habit.” He sighed. “May as well call it what it is.”
“Five times?”
“Five. The party on Xrkdlty; the morality hearing on your planet; the tequila-fuelled one on the TARDIS; in the med bay after the visit to Ruluxus; and just now.” She was sure he would have ticked them off on his fingers, if his hands hadn’t been bound behind his back.
“I thought I’d dreamt that.”
“What, all five?”
“No, just that second-to-last.”
“Ah. Couldn’t quite imagine being bad enough that you’d prefer to think all of them were just figments of your imagination.”
“’s that you, fishing for a compliment?”
He bristled at the idea.
“I mean, I’m happy to tell you that you’re a bloody good kisser. But then maybe I’d need reminding later.”
His ears, delightfully, turned pink. “It’s not something I do, as a matter of course.”
“What, look for compliments?”
“Kiss companions,” he amended primly.
“Then claim the five of them were under pressure, and we’ll not talk about it,” she said tartly, glancing around for a way to escape. The Doctor certainly seemed to be in no rush; his arms were still securely bound behind his back, and he seemed to be happily standing there awaiting their fate.
She managed to get them out of the situation-a nice turn of events, for once, given that she was usually the one getting them into it-and they even managed to make it back to the TARDIS with nary a scrape or bruise. The Doctor moved immediately to the console, flipping switches, spinning baubles, guiding them into the vortex with surprising smoothness; she paused a beat at the top of the ramp, watching him, before slowly walking around the opposite side of the controls, intent on retreating to her room for a shower and a change. She expected they were off to pick Jack up from his visit to one of the paradise planets (he needed a break, he’d said, from the tension on the ship), and she was certain the Doctor wouldn’t want to talk about their discussion in the town square.
She was wrong, coming to an abrupt halt as she rounded the console to find the Doctor standing, waiting for her. She took a step back, trying to rally, her chin lifting as she brazenly held his gaze. His blue eyes appeared black in the golden-green glow, the light highlighting the planes of his face as he looked at her; and she swallowed as he continued to look at her as he leaned forward, his hands at his sides.
She knew the kiss intimately; it was his signature, really, and she focused on enjoying it for once, the way his lips were so gentle at first, the beautiful bow of his mouth pressing softly against hers. The way the tip of his tongue traced along her lips after a moment, sliding past them as she parted for him; the way his tongue then delicately slid along hers before plundering her mouth with abandon. At some point her hands came to clutch the lapels of his jacket; his hands rested at her waist, holding her still as they kissed.
She was gasping when they parted, dazedly opening her eyes to find him looking not unshaken himself. His lips glistened in the light, and she tentatively reached up to trace their line, flushing at the intimacy he allowed her before gently kissing her fingertip.
“That up to snuff, then?” he asked as her hand dropped back to his lapel, humour sparking in the depths of his eyes.
“Not sure,” she equivocated, tilting her head consideringly. “Been a bit altered for a few of those other ones; might do to have another example to compare it against.”
His mouth quirked in a small smile, and he leaned back in to kiss her again.
~ fin ~
Author: jlrpuck
Rating: T
Characters: Ninth 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: A man's kiss is his signature. - Mae West
Notes: Written for the second round over at
storm_and_wolf. My prompt is actually the summary-and I think it says all it needs to.
Many thanks to
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta and feedback on this. Any errors in the story, though, are mine and mine alone.
Hallmark
The first time he kissed her, she was high on some locally-produced opioid, the drug slipped into her drink-and his-during the new year’s festival on the innermost planet of a solar system she couldn’t pronounce several millennia removed from her home. It started tentatively, his lips cool and soft against hers, then his tongue darting in and tasting her before he gave himself over to really kissing her properly.
They’d both pretended that hadn’t happened when the high wore off.
The second time he kissed her it had been to prove they were indeed the married couple they’d pretended to be, a desperate attempt to avoid being stoned to death for immorality on a planet that should have known better: Earth, only a millennium or so before she was born. The kiss had started the same way-tentative soft cool lips against hers, the quick dart of his tongue, then the rapid deepening of it. It had been so blatantly carnal that they’d almost been stoned for immorality anyway, and had had to run back to the TARDIS in a hail of poorly-aimed projectiles.
They’d both pretended that it had been an act born out of sheer necessity, and hadn’t talked about it.
The third time he kissed her had been after Jack had joined them, the Doctor having been goaded into a drinking game one lazy night on the TARDIS. Jack held his liquor remarkably well; Rose less so. The Doctor, however, turned out to be more of a lightweight than anyone Rose had ever encountered, with the delightful result that he shed his leather jacket, laughed more than she’d ever heard, and was smiling in a way that softened the hard angles of his face and made her insides turn to jelly. Jack-being Jack-had noticed the fond looks the Doctor increasingly cast in her direction, and quietly excused himself after an hour of the game, leaving a very drunk, very amiable Time Lord and a rather tipsy human behind. She wondered if part of it was an act, though, when the Doctor’s fond gaze turned to something more heated, his blue eyes darkening as he pinned her with them, slowly leaning across to where she sat, his calloused hand cupping her jaw and pulling her to him for the kiss she was rapidly coming to know as his. His soft lips pressed against hers, his skin cool against her warm; his tongue then slipped past them, delicately swiping against hers. And then he deepened it, his mouth working against hers, teasing and tormenting her as it darted merrily in a dance with hers. It had only broken when they’d fallen off the sofa in a painful heap, bringing them both back to sharp reality and sending them skittering for their rooms, alone.
He’d not been able to meet her eye for a day after that, and had taken twice that long to take her hand in his. Jack had given her a sympathetic glance as he noted the tension-and no more drinking games were played on the TARDIS.
The fourth time he kissed her was while she was semi-conscious, recovering in the TARDIS after a nearly-fatal misadventure during what was supposed to have been a holiday. The Doctor had found her in the nick of time, and although she’d been more unconscious than not when he’d rescued her she still had the memories of one truly furious Time Lord dealing with her captors. She’d come to in the med bay of the TARDIS-a room more familiar to her than she wanted to admit-and had found the Doctor hovering over her like a worried mum, his eyes bright with worry, his lovely lips pursed into a thin line. Her left arm was restrained, but with her right she reached up, her fingertips brushing against his temple, then his lips, trying to get his expression to relax. He’d captured her hand, leaning in and kissing her in the now-familiar way, finally ending by embracing her where she lay and saying nothing.
She’d fallen asleep in his embrace, and had assumed the kiss had been a product of the painkillers he’d put her on while she recovered. It was only with the fifth kiss that she realized it hadn’t been a dream, and that was simply because the Doctor muttered to himself after that it was becoming a bit of a habit, kissing her.
“A habit?” They were once more facing certain death, this time for Rose not controlling her property (him) appropriately in the female-dominated society. The kiss had sealed the deal, and they were only awaiting their sentence.
“Five times, Rose. I’d say it’s a habit.” He sighed. “May as well call it what it is.”
“Five times?”
“Five. The party on Xrkdlty; the morality hearing on your planet; the tequila-fuelled one on the TARDIS; in the med bay after the visit to Ruluxus; and just now.” She was sure he would have ticked them off on his fingers, if his hands hadn’t been bound behind his back.
“I thought I’d dreamt that.”
“What, all five?”
“No, just that second-to-last.”
“Ah. Couldn’t quite imagine being bad enough that you’d prefer to think all of them were just figments of your imagination.”
“’s that you, fishing for a compliment?”
He bristled at the idea.
“I mean, I’m happy to tell you that you’re a bloody good kisser. But then maybe I’d need reminding later.”
His ears, delightfully, turned pink. “It’s not something I do, as a matter of course.”
“What, look for compliments?”
“Kiss companions,” he amended primly.
“Then claim the five of them were under pressure, and we’ll not talk about it,” she said tartly, glancing around for a way to escape. The Doctor certainly seemed to be in no rush; his arms were still securely bound behind his back, and he seemed to be happily standing there awaiting their fate.
She managed to get them out of the situation-a nice turn of events, for once, given that she was usually the one getting them into it-and they even managed to make it back to the TARDIS with nary a scrape or bruise. The Doctor moved immediately to the console, flipping switches, spinning baubles, guiding them into the vortex with surprising smoothness; she paused a beat at the top of the ramp, watching him, before slowly walking around the opposite side of the controls, intent on retreating to her room for a shower and a change. She expected they were off to pick Jack up from his visit to one of the paradise planets (he needed a break, he’d said, from the tension on the ship), and she was certain the Doctor wouldn’t want to talk about their discussion in the town square.
She was wrong, coming to an abrupt halt as she rounded the console to find the Doctor standing, waiting for her. She took a step back, trying to rally, her chin lifting as she brazenly held his gaze. His blue eyes appeared black in the golden-green glow, the light highlighting the planes of his face as he looked at her; and she swallowed as he continued to look at her as he leaned forward, his hands at his sides.
She knew the kiss intimately; it was his signature, really, and she focused on enjoying it for once, the way his lips were so gentle at first, the beautiful bow of his mouth pressing softly against hers. The way the tip of his tongue traced along her lips after a moment, sliding past them as she parted for him; the way his tongue then delicately slid along hers before plundering her mouth with abandon. At some point her hands came to clutch the lapels of his jacket; his hands rested at her waist, holding her still as they kissed.
She was gasping when they parted, dazedly opening her eyes to find him looking not unshaken himself. His lips glistened in the light, and she tentatively reached up to trace their line, flushing at the intimacy he allowed her before gently kissing her fingertip.
“That up to snuff, then?” he asked as her hand dropped back to his lapel, humour sparking in the depths of his eyes.
“Not sure,” she equivocated, tilting her head consideringly. “Been a bit altered for a few of those other ones; might do to have another example to compare it against.”
His mouth quirked in a small smile, and he leaned back in to kiss her again.
~ fin ~