The Perfect Skirt (1/1)
Another story in The Journey After series, set sometime after Listen and before Life on the Moon or Vintage. There is a reference to a conversation from The Private Universe. That being said, it's reasonably stand-alone, so those of you with no knowledge of the other stories should follow just fine. Mostly, it's smut. Yay, smut. Thanks to platypus for beta work.
...
The Doctor was distracted.
In itself, this wasn't a terribly unusual event. He jumped from one mental track to another with aplomb, content to let some processes work in the background, watching the trajectory of a bird in the sky or the complex interplay of dust particles when an old book slid off a shelf. No, this was entirely different. He was trying to take in his surroundings, and entirely of its own volition, his attention kept circling back to one very distracting fact: Rose was wearing a skirt.
No one else in the Torchwood office seemed to be paying this any mind, a fact which he found utterly astounding.
It wasn't just a skirt, he reasoned. It was the perfect skirt. It was black and ended just above the knee, a discreet length for business wear. It fit her bum, belly, and legs snugly, but not too snugly, which would have been both uncomfortable and unprofessional. She could run in it if she needed to, although her strides would be a bit shorter than usual. Then again, if she needed to run, she'd have to kick off her high heels. Of course, that was a pity, considering how they lengthened her legs and changed her posture. Perhaps she would keep them on, later …
Rose turned away from him and his gaze was riveted to her bum. She was talking to someone. They'd been introduced - Harry? Joey? Bobby? - but he couldn't remember. The man's name had been carefully squeezed out of his brain by the dominating presence of that perfect skirt.
Rose shifted from one foot to the other and he watched the subtle connections between the muscles just under her skin. To try and distract himself from a startlingly clear sense memory of how those legs felt when they were wrapped around him, he began to name the muscles. Quadriceps femoris. Biceps femoris. Gastrocnemuis. He lost track shamefully early in the recitation.
They had come to Torchwood to pick up some supplies, and he was now delighted to have three pair of new glasses in his possession, one of which now allowed him to study Rose's backside in crisp, slightly better than 20/20 vision. He had his prize, and Rose had, well, whatever it was she had come for, and now he wanted more than anything to go back to her flat at West India Quay and take that skirt off her. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps he'd just slide it up her legs and leave it on. What if she wasn't wearing anything under it? He hadn't seen her dress this morning, so he couldn't be sure. That was definitely worth further inquiry.
With thoughts like these and the undeniable physical response of his body, he was incredibly glad to have a loose coat, one of their acquisitions from the past several days. It wasn't like his old coat, not exactly, but it was long, brown, and big enough so that he could open his arms and pull Rose into it with him.
"… Doctor?" Rose said. She was grinning, and he thought she might have guessed where his mind had wandered.
"Hello," he said, trying to act casual. He peered down at her through his new glasses. Everyone around them had moved on to other tasks, so he took a chance to lean in and offer a confession. "I'm having some very inappropriate thoughts about that lovely skirt right now."
Her grin broadened. "Are you?"
"Oh yes. Want me to tell you all about them? I was wondering what you were wearing underneath, and whether or not I could have you without taking your skirt off. I was looking at your bum and thinking about you on your hands and knees, and I -"
He stopped when a colleague approached and asked Rose a few questions, which she answered tersely. "I'm so sorry we can't stay," Rose apologised. "We've got this - thing. At home."
"That was almost rude," he teased as they made their way to the lift. "In a hurry to get somewhere?" He arched an eyebrow at her, again keeping his voice low.
"Oi, you started it!"
In the lift, security cameras be damned, he tucked his coat around her and traced one hand up her inner thigh. He didn't go far enough to discover what he really wanted to know, but just enough to make her breath quicken and her legs shake. It made him weak in the knees as well, and the kiss they exchanged was warm and wet and full of promise.
"Is there somewhere … closer?" he asked.
"In a hurry to get somewhere?"
He popped her on the bum and took her hand to pull her through the opening lift door.
…
They made the short walk through Canary Wharf to Rose and Anna's flat at something just less than a jog and elected to take the stairs rather than the lift. When they reached the door, the Doctor was pretending not to be short of breath but fortunately, Rose wasn't paying much attention to his respiration.
"Here," he said, when she fumbled with the lock. She handed her keys over and he immediately dropped them, provoking a curse from him and a giggle from Rose. "I'll just break it down," he said, snatching up the keys and finally - finally - making it into the flat.
He pressed Rose into the back of the door and immediately went for what he'd cut short in the lift, nudging his knees between hers and tugging her skirt up until he could fit both hands underneath. She was, in fact, wearing knickers, but not for long. They kissed roughly as he explored her with his fingers.
"So can you?" she breathed, moving from his lips to his jaw to his ear.
"What?"
"Have me without taking it off." He wasn't the only one who had learned what a low, purring statement could do to one's partner, it seemed.
He moved his hands, even when she bit his earlobe in protest, to her bum, dragging her skirt up along with them. When he was satisfied that it was completely out of the way, he unbuttoned her blouse and parted it over her shoulders. She couldn't do much to assist with her own undressing, as he still had her pinned against the door. For a moment, they struggled, then they both burst out laughing.
"That's it," he said. "I'm going around naked for the rest of my life."
Rose's blouse fluttered to the floor. "You'll shock the neighbours. Besides, I thought you liked it when I undressed you." She fished around in his jacket and produced a condom, which she waved under his nose with a cheeky grin. "Also, you'd miss having pockets."
He took the condom in his teeth and grinned back at her around it, shrugging his coat and jacket onto the floor. She loosened his tie and then wrapped it with a flourish around her neck. "Looks better on you," he tried to say.
Rose took the condom away from him and snogged him, which he considered to be a far better use of his mouth. He pressed closer and closer, and one of her legs hooked up around his hip and helped him come even closer. "Ow, door," she grunted.
He took a half-step backward and lifted her up. In a few steps she was seated on the nearest horizontal surface, skirt around her waist, and he began shedding clothes and trainers as if they were on fire. Rose, watching, opened the condom packet.
When he was naked, he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge. She reached between them and slid the condom into place, and then he was closer than they had been against the door, her legs around his waist, just as in his earlier daydream. Her arms came around him and he held onto her hips for leverage as he pushed inside.
She let out a little "oh" and put her forehead down on his shoulder. He shifted and pulled out, not quite all the way, and moved a hand from her hip to just above where he was inside her. He stayed as still as he could while he fingered her clit, until she was moaning and lifting her hips and he couldn't stop himself from sliding back inside. From there, momentum took over, his body like a pendulum, back and forth and back and forth and since there was no such thing as a perpetual motion machine it couldn't last and he strained to hold back, to let her come first, and when she did he thought he would burst from the change in the rhythm. And then he did.
Her skin was warm, covered in a slight sheen of sweat. He kissed her shoulder, then her chin, then her mouth. She returned the kiss lazily as he withdrew, but then she began to laugh.
"That's not flattering," he objected.
"No, no, it's not you, it's just - oh God, Doctor, this was Anna's one rule and we went and broke it."
"What rule?" And then the penny dropped. The conveniently located horizontal surface was, in fact, the kitchen counter, upon which Rose's flatmate had specifically prohibited shagging of any kind before leaving them alone for a few days. "Ah," he said. "Well, we don't have to tell her, do we?"
"I'm not going to tell her. Be careful where you put that," she said, with a wave of her hand at his groin. The gesture took him aback for another moment until he realised that she was indicating the condom rather than any particular part of his anatomy. He located the discarded packet and disposed of both damning pieces of evidence in the bin.
"Well," he said again, with a cough. He had been going to crow about his success in shagging her with the skirt still on, but he felt he had lost the upper hand. Then he noticed Rose still laughing and, with some trepidation, asked, "What else?"
"It's her skirt."
...
The Doctor was distracted.
In itself, this wasn't a terribly unusual event. He jumped from one mental track to another with aplomb, content to let some processes work in the background, watching the trajectory of a bird in the sky or the complex interplay of dust particles when an old book slid off a shelf. No, this was entirely different. He was trying to take in his surroundings, and entirely of its own volition, his attention kept circling back to one very distracting fact: Rose was wearing a skirt.
No one else in the Torchwood office seemed to be paying this any mind, a fact which he found utterly astounding.
It wasn't just a skirt, he reasoned. It was the perfect skirt. It was black and ended just above the knee, a discreet length for business wear. It fit her bum, belly, and legs snugly, but not too snugly, which would have been both uncomfortable and unprofessional. She could run in it if she needed to, although her strides would be a bit shorter than usual. Then again, if she needed to run, she'd have to kick off her high heels. Of course, that was a pity, considering how they lengthened her legs and changed her posture. Perhaps she would keep them on, later …
Rose turned away from him and his gaze was riveted to her bum. She was talking to someone. They'd been introduced - Harry? Joey? Bobby? - but he couldn't remember. The man's name had been carefully squeezed out of his brain by the dominating presence of that perfect skirt.
Rose shifted from one foot to the other and he watched the subtle connections between the muscles just under her skin. To try and distract himself from a startlingly clear sense memory of how those legs felt when they were wrapped around him, he began to name the muscles. Quadriceps femoris. Biceps femoris. Gastrocnemuis. He lost track shamefully early in the recitation.
They had come to Torchwood to pick up some supplies, and he was now delighted to have three pair of new glasses in his possession, one of which now allowed him to study Rose's backside in crisp, slightly better than 20/20 vision. He had his prize, and Rose had, well, whatever it was she had come for, and now he wanted more than anything to go back to her flat at West India Quay and take that skirt off her. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps he'd just slide it up her legs and leave it on. What if she wasn't wearing anything under it? He hadn't seen her dress this morning, so he couldn't be sure. That was definitely worth further inquiry.
With thoughts like these and the undeniable physical response of his body, he was incredibly glad to have a loose coat, one of their acquisitions from the past several days. It wasn't like his old coat, not exactly, but it was long, brown, and big enough so that he could open his arms and pull Rose into it with him.
"… Doctor?" Rose said. She was grinning, and he thought she might have guessed where his mind had wandered.
"Hello," he said, trying to act casual. He peered down at her through his new glasses. Everyone around them had moved on to other tasks, so he took a chance to lean in and offer a confession. "I'm having some very inappropriate thoughts about that lovely skirt right now."
Her grin broadened. "Are you?"
"Oh yes. Want me to tell you all about them? I was wondering what you were wearing underneath, and whether or not I could have you without taking your skirt off. I was looking at your bum and thinking about you on your hands and knees, and I -"
He stopped when a colleague approached and asked Rose a few questions, which she answered tersely. "I'm so sorry we can't stay," Rose apologised. "We've got this - thing. At home."
"That was almost rude," he teased as they made their way to the lift. "In a hurry to get somewhere?" He arched an eyebrow at her, again keeping his voice low.
"Oi, you started it!"
In the lift, security cameras be damned, he tucked his coat around her and traced one hand up her inner thigh. He didn't go far enough to discover what he really wanted to know, but just enough to make her breath quicken and her legs shake. It made him weak in the knees as well, and the kiss they exchanged was warm and wet and full of promise.
"Is there somewhere … closer?" he asked.
"In a hurry to get somewhere?"
He popped her on the bum and took her hand to pull her through the opening lift door.
…
They made the short walk through Canary Wharf to Rose and Anna's flat at something just less than a jog and elected to take the stairs rather than the lift. When they reached the door, the Doctor was pretending not to be short of breath but fortunately, Rose wasn't paying much attention to his respiration.
"Here," he said, when she fumbled with the lock. She handed her keys over and he immediately dropped them, provoking a curse from him and a giggle from Rose. "I'll just break it down," he said, snatching up the keys and finally - finally - making it into the flat.
He pressed Rose into the back of the door and immediately went for what he'd cut short in the lift, nudging his knees between hers and tugging her skirt up until he could fit both hands underneath. She was, in fact, wearing knickers, but not for long. They kissed roughly as he explored her with his fingers.
"So can you?" she breathed, moving from his lips to his jaw to his ear.
"What?"
"Have me without taking it off." He wasn't the only one who had learned what a low, purring statement could do to one's partner, it seemed.
He moved his hands, even when she bit his earlobe in protest, to her bum, dragging her skirt up along with them. When he was satisfied that it was completely out of the way, he unbuttoned her blouse and parted it over her shoulders. She couldn't do much to assist with her own undressing, as he still had her pinned against the door. For a moment, they struggled, then they both burst out laughing.
"That's it," he said. "I'm going around naked for the rest of my life."
Rose's blouse fluttered to the floor. "You'll shock the neighbours. Besides, I thought you liked it when I undressed you." She fished around in his jacket and produced a condom, which she waved under his nose with a cheeky grin. "Also, you'd miss having pockets."
He took the condom in his teeth and grinned back at her around it, shrugging his coat and jacket onto the floor. She loosened his tie and then wrapped it with a flourish around her neck. "Looks better on you," he tried to say.
Rose took the condom away from him and snogged him, which he considered to be a far better use of his mouth. He pressed closer and closer, and one of her legs hooked up around his hip and helped him come even closer. "Ow, door," she grunted.
He took a half-step backward and lifted her up. In a few steps she was seated on the nearest horizontal surface, skirt around her waist, and he began shedding clothes and trainers as if they were on fire. Rose, watching, opened the condom packet.
When he was naked, he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge. She reached between them and slid the condom into place, and then he was closer than they had been against the door, her legs around his waist, just as in his earlier daydream. Her arms came around him and he held onto her hips for leverage as he pushed inside.
She let out a little "oh" and put her forehead down on his shoulder. He shifted and pulled out, not quite all the way, and moved a hand from her hip to just above where he was inside her. He stayed as still as he could while he fingered her clit, until she was moaning and lifting her hips and he couldn't stop himself from sliding back inside. From there, momentum took over, his body like a pendulum, back and forth and back and forth and since there was no such thing as a perpetual motion machine it couldn't last and he strained to hold back, to let her come first, and when she did he thought he would burst from the change in the rhythm. And then he did.
Her skin was warm, covered in a slight sheen of sweat. He kissed her shoulder, then her chin, then her mouth. She returned the kiss lazily as he withdrew, but then she began to laugh.
"That's not flattering," he objected.
"No, no, it's not you, it's just - oh God, Doctor, this was Anna's one rule and we went and broke it."
"What rule?" And then the penny dropped. The conveniently located horizontal surface was, in fact, the kitchen counter, upon which Rose's flatmate had specifically prohibited shagging of any kind before leaving them alone for a few days. "Ah," he said. "Well, we don't have to tell her, do we?"
"I'm not going to tell her. Be careful where you put that," she said, with a wave of her hand at his groin. The gesture took him aback for another moment until he realised that she was indicating the condom rather than any particular part of his anatomy. He located the discarded packet and disposed of both damning pieces of evidence in the bin.
"Well," he said again, with a cough. He had been going to crow about his success in shagging her with the skirt still on, but he felt he had lost the upper hand. Then he noticed Rose still laughing and, with some trepidation, asked, "What else?"
"It's her skirt."