Birthday Fic Post, Part Two!
Happy birthday to the fantastic amberfocus! No one does smut like you do. But I thought I'd give it the old college try. ("Suddenly Everything Was Right" turned out to NOT be smutty which... I couldn't do. Not for your birthday! I'll post it later... maybe. Actually, it just turned out to not be good.)
Title: Leather and Lace
Author: ladychi
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: OH SO ADULT.
Summary: A fic in textures. NOT their first time. Obviously.
She stands naked in her room on the TARDIS, water dripping down her body in rivelets and every nerve ending is already awake. She's young enough that her breasts rise high and proud in defiance of the cooler air stroking them -- just aware enough of herself that every swing of the hips rubs her thighs together, and every moment of her thighs whispers of what is to come. Her body prepares itself as she prepares her body.
He won't be attracted to just the physical. He doesn't work like that, so she blow dries her hair and curls it softly, artlessly, as though she's given no effort to making it look nice -- which of course, takes more time than some complicated updo would. She forgoes perfumes. It's her natural musk he wants to smell. To her face, she does nothing except add a light layer of mascara, brushing a layer of pink eyeshadow to her lid with a careful hand. When she's done, she's naked, purely herself.
She opens the top drawer of her dresser and pulls out what she's been waiting for. He won't be attracted to the way it looks on her, but it makes her feel sexy, and better than that, it's sat amongst her underthings for a week. It smells like her. It smells like her desire -- something he tells her that lingers on her clothes.
One foot, then the other and she's pulling the black lace knickers over her bum, turning this way and that in the mirror. They cling to her hips but ride low, just covering the very top of her curls. The Doctor doesn't like her to shave or to wax it all away, and she likes that he tells her what he wants, so she does what he asks.
She contemplates a bra, decides against it. Jack picked her up the perfect accessory, a short baby jacket in leather. It stops just underneath her breasts and Rose leaves it mostly unzipped. She steps into high, high heels and feels all woman.
Twenty-years old. Rose Tyler, sex goddess.
She opens the door of her room and he's waiting outside, arms folded over his chest which rises and falls ever-so-steadily but slightly too fast.
His eyes snap open and his nostrils flair. He takes a few deep breaths, and Rose feels her center tingle, flooding with liquid at the way his pupils dilate.
"You," he says, his voice whiskey-dark, "smell divine. You smell like you want me right now."
Rose bites her lip, feeling the sex goddess retreat behind the girl inside of her, but she refuses to be intimidated. She pushes the girl aside and leans against the door jamb. "Might do," she says coyly.
He crosses to her, his body capturing hers against the wood of the doorjamb, his face close to hers, their lips nearly touching. "I could smell you in the console room. I could smell you readying yourself for me."
She braces her hands against his chest, the butter-smooth leather so similar to what encases her breasts. Her nipples tighten, coming to attention at the hint of friction -- at the promise of what is to come. His hands drop to her hips, then one slides down to between her thighs.
"How wet do you think you are? If I touched you..." The Doctor's voice trails off. His hands slide up her body to where her breasts are spilling out of the jacket. He cups one, lifting it from the leather, dropping his head to suckle it to attention, until she's shifting, desperate for attention in other areas.
"Doctor..."
"Bed," he says quickly, stepping past her and dropping his jacket unceremoniously to the floor. Just as quickly, his jumper is gone. Next goes the belt, and he's stepping out of his trousers and his pants. He was barefoot before, and now stands before her in his boxer briefs. Rose shivers -- despite the economy of his movement, she can tell how excited he is by the bulge his boxer briefs can't contain, and she is desperate to have that deep inside of her. If that makes her a wanton or a slag, she'll take both titles willingly.
He holds out a hand impatiently. "Are you coming?"
Rose bit her lip and crossed the few feet to the bed. "Yes."
"Lay down," he says. He's firm but he's gentle. She lays back against the duvet, keenly aware of how her body lays, how to arrange it so that it looks the most attractive, but the Doctor stops her. He covers her stomach with one large hand, bends down and kisses her.
Kissing the Doctor is heady -- a trip better than anything Jimmy Stone could have offered her when she was younger. It's like staying too long under water, like a roller coaster ride that lasts just a little too long. It disarms her, distracts her from what he's doing with his hands and so when he slides a finger underneath of the lace, her hips arch up and she mewls.
"Easy," he whispers, sliding his finger from her front to her back in several light passes - just touching the bud of nerves and sex where she'd so like him to focus his attention before moving on. She shifts her hips demandingly.
"Don't tease!"
"Don't be impatient," the Doctor returns. "Oh, there it is," he mutters in amazement when he presses against her clit and she shouts. He circles it, rubbing in steady circles.
"Doctor..."
"I'm keeping these panties," The Doctor says conversationally, as though he isn't destroying her very sanity. He slides down her body, pushing them aside and breathing in. "Oh, Rose. If you could only smell what this smells like to me..."
He inhales deeply, his nose pressing against her clit as he works a finger deep inside of her, curling his finger to find a secret other spot... and Rose is contracting powerfully, milking his fingers as she comes and floods his hands with her essence.
He waits until he has her complete attention and then licks his hand, crawling his way back up her body until he flicks open the leather jacket from where it had been clinging to Rose's body. It gapes apart, still encasing Rose's arms. The Doctor takes all of Rose's breast into his mouth and sucks powerfully, his erection pressing against her thigh. She opens her thighs even more.
She holds his head where it is, wanting the delicious torture to go on forever and ever. When he moves over to the other breast and his erection presses more against her center, she starts to rock her hips, a silent invitation, a simulation of the rhythm they'll be moving in when he chooses to enter her.
Suddenly, the Doctor moves from her breast, flipping over to lie on his back, lifting his hips so that he can slide the boxer briefs from his hips. Rose takes this opportunity, straddling his groin with her hips and guiding the tip of him inside of her. Slowly, she circles her hips as she works him deep inside of her. When he's fully encased, she lets out a sob of pleasure, arching her back. The Doctor grips her hips, lifting her hip and then sliding her back down until they are moving in a deliciously slow rhythm, the leather of the jacket sliding across Rose's breasts and the lace of the knickers stroking the side of her opening.
It's too much and she suddenly bends back, coming apart, the pleasure rushing through her lightening-quick. The Doctor, too, is arching and shouting, hot liquid spurting inside of her over and over again.
When it's all over, she grins down at him, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I figured you for a leather man."
The Doctor snorts and closes his eyes. "The lace wasn't bad, either."
When she wakes the next morning, the Doctor's gone back to the console room and they're materializing somewhere... and he's taken her knickers with him.
Title: Leather and Lace
Author: ladychi
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: OH SO ADULT.
Summary: A fic in textures. NOT their first time. Obviously.
She stands naked in her room on the TARDIS, water dripping down her body in rivelets and every nerve ending is already awake. She's young enough that her breasts rise high and proud in defiance of the cooler air stroking them -- just aware enough of herself that every swing of the hips rubs her thighs together, and every moment of her thighs whispers of what is to come. Her body prepares itself as she prepares her body.
He won't be attracted to just the physical. He doesn't work like that, so she blow dries her hair and curls it softly, artlessly, as though she's given no effort to making it look nice -- which of course, takes more time than some complicated updo would. She forgoes perfumes. It's her natural musk he wants to smell. To her face, she does nothing except add a light layer of mascara, brushing a layer of pink eyeshadow to her lid with a careful hand. When she's done, she's naked, purely herself.
She opens the top drawer of her dresser and pulls out what she's been waiting for. He won't be attracted to the way it looks on her, but it makes her feel sexy, and better than that, it's sat amongst her underthings for a week. It smells like her. It smells like her desire -- something he tells her that lingers on her clothes.
One foot, then the other and she's pulling the black lace knickers over her bum, turning this way and that in the mirror. They cling to her hips but ride low, just covering the very top of her curls. The Doctor doesn't like her to shave or to wax it all away, and she likes that he tells her what he wants, so she does what he asks.
She contemplates a bra, decides against it. Jack picked her up the perfect accessory, a short baby jacket in leather. It stops just underneath her breasts and Rose leaves it mostly unzipped. She steps into high, high heels and feels all woman.
Twenty-years old. Rose Tyler, sex goddess.
She opens the door of her room and he's waiting outside, arms folded over his chest which rises and falls ever-so-steadily but slightly too fast.
His eyes snap open and his nostrils flair. He takes a few deep breaths, and Rose feels her center tingle, flooding with liquid at the way his pupils dilate.
"You," he says, his voice whiskey-dark, "smell divine. You smell like you want me right now."
Rose bites her lip, feeling the sex goddess retreat behind the girl inside of her, but she refuses to be intimidated. She pushes the girl aside and leans against the door jamb. "Might do," she says coyly.
He crosses to her, his body capturing hers against the wood of the doorjamb, his face close to hers, their lips nearly touching. "I could smell you in the console room. I could smell you readying yourself for me."
She braces her hands against his chest, the butter-smooth leather so similar to what encases her breasts. Her nipples tighten, coming to attention at the hint of friction -- at the promise of what is to come. His hands drop to her hips, then one slides down to between her thighs.
"How wet do you think you are? If I touched you..." The Doctor's voice trails off. His hands slide up her body to where her breasts are spilling out of the jacket. He cups one, lifting it from the leather, dropping his head to suckle it to attention, until she's shifting, desperate for attention in other areas.
"Doctor..."
"Bed," he says quickly, stepping past her and dropping his jacket unceremoniously to the floor. Just as quickly, his jumper is gone. Next goes the belt, and he's stepping out of his trousers and his pants. He was barefoot before, and now stands before her in his boxer briefs. Rose shivers -- despite the economy of his movement, she can tell how excited he is by the bulge his boxer briefs can't contain, and she is desperate to have that deep inside of her. If that makes her a wanton or a slag, she'll take both titles willingly.
He holds out a hand impatiently. "Are you coming?"
Rose bit her lip and crossed the few feet to the bed. "Yes."
"Lay down," he says. He's firm but he's gentle. She lays back against the duvet, keenly aware of how her body lays, how to arrange it so that it looks the most attractive, but the Doctor stops her. He covers her stomach with one large hand, bends down and kisses her.
Kissing the Doctor is heady -- a trip better than anything Jimmy Stone could have offered her when she was younger. It's like staying too long under water, like a roller coaster ride that lasts just a little too long. It disarms her, distracts her from what he's doing with his hands and so when he slides a finger underneath of the lace, her hips arch up and she mewls.
"Easy," he whispers, sliding his finger from her front to her back in several light passes - just touching the bud of nerves and sex where she'd so like him to focus his attention before moving on. She shifts her hips demandingly.
"Don't tease!"
"Don't be impatient," the Doctor returns. "Oh, there it is," he mutters in amazement when he presses against her clit and she shouts. He circles it, rubbing in steady circles.
"Doctor..."
"I'm keeping these panties," The Doctor says conversationally, as though he isn't destroying her very sanity. He slides down her body, pushing them aside and breathing in. "Oh, Rose. If you could only smell what this smells like to me..."
He inhales deeply, his nose pressing against her clit as he works a finger deep inside of her, curling his finger to find a secret other spot... and Rose is contracting powerfully, milking his fingers as she comes and floods his hands with her essence.
He waits until he has her complete attention and then licks his hand, crawling his way back up her body until he flicks open the leather jacket from where it had been clinging to Rose's body. It gapes apart, still encasing Rose's arms. The Doctor takes all of Rose's breast into his mouth and sucks powerfully, his erection pressing against her thigh. She opens her thighs even more.
She holds his head where it is, wanting the delicious torture to go on forever and ever. When he moves over to the other breast and his erection presses more against her center, she starts to rock her hips, a silent invitation, a simulation of the rhythm they'll be moving in when he chooses to enter her.
Suddenly, the Doctor moves from her breast, flipping over to lie on his back, lifting his hips so that he can slide the boxer briefs from his hips. Rose takes this opportunity, straddling his groin with her hips and guiding the tip of him inside of her. Slowly, she circles her hips as she works him deep inside of her. When he's fully encased, she lets out a sob of pleasure, arching her back. The Doctor grips her hips, lifting her hip and then sliding her back down until they are moving in a deliciously slow rhythm, the leather of the jacket sliding across Rose's breasts and the lace of the knickers stroking the side of her opening.
It's too much and she suddenly bends back, coming apart, the pleasure rushing through her lightening-quick. The Doctor, too, is arching and shouting, hot liquid spurting inside of her over and over again.
When it's all over, she grins down at him, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I figured you for a leather man."
The Doctor snorts and closes his eyes. "The lace wasn't bad, either."
When she wakes the next morning, the Doctor's gone back to the console room and they're materializing somewhere... and he's taken her knickers with him.