Fic : Sweet Strawberry
Title : Sweet Strawberry
Pairing : Nine/Rose
Genre : Romance/Smut
Rating : Teen/Adult
Status : Complete
Written for the prompt 'Mirror, Strawberries, Necktie' over at never_ever_will
Sweet Strawberry
It's a perfectly pleasant summer afternoon; there are blue skies, white fluffy clouds and a warm breeze that carries the scent of jasmine and hyacinths. The lawn is a lush green and impeccably manicured. Butterflies - Red Admirals and Large Whites - flutter by like rose petals. Long tables are covered with starched white cloths and plates are heavy with dainty sandwiches, slices of pork pie and other treats. There are jugs of lemonade, ginger beer, fruit-punch and several bottles of champagne. A Bix Beiderbecke record is being played on a wind-up gramophone and there are people dancing the Charleston. Somewhere across the lawn they're playing croquet. On the lake, far from the kingfisher that is hovering by the reeds, there's a pea-green rowing boat with three people in it and across the lake, in the shade of the rhododendron bushes, a white peacock is pecking indifferently at the ground.
But all the Doctor is really aware of is Rose Tyler.
She reaches for a plump strawberry from a crystal bowl and lifts the fruit to her mouth. She bites into it slowly, savouring the flavour. She licks the juice from her lips, then dips the strawberry into a bowl of sugar and eats the candied morsel, dropping the small green stalk to the ground. She licks her fingers, pink strawberry juice having made them sweet and sticky. And she smiles to herself as she selects another.
Three or four strawberries later, she notices a pretty mother of pearl mirror compact lying on the table. She assumes that Clarissa had absentmindedly left it there when she'd hurried off in a giddy flurry of chiffon and pearls when Digby had arrived in his brand new Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.
Rose picks up the compact, opens it and stares at her reflection. The mirror glints in the sunlight as she tilts it this way and that. She runs the tip of her tongue over her sweet strawberry stained lips, grazes her teeth over the plump, pink flesh and the last stray grains of sugar melt away.
With a content smile she snaps the compact shut and puts it back where she found it. She reaches for a glass of champagne - her third since lunch - and she thinks it's something she could get used to. She drinks it down in one go, as her doe eyes watch the frivolity of the party from over the rim of the glass.
It's only then that she sees the Doctor, standing in the shade, leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on her.
Except he doesn't look like the Doctor, not today. There's no leather jacket for starters. Today he's wearing a white cotton shirt (sleeves rolled up to the elbows), stone-coloured trousers and a blue, silk necktie.
Setting down her empty champagne glass, Rose saunters toward to him, hips swaying slightly as she treads across the soft grassy lawn. Her sweetly-pink, strawberry stained lips, plump with temptation, curve into a beaming smile.
She stands in front of him and brushes back a wayward lock of her blonde hair that has fallen free of her fancy up-do. And from under heavy, black, mascara coated lashes she gazes up at him for a moment.
He doesn't even blink. If anything his gaze becomes more intense.
"You're staring," she tells him playfully, her tongue flicking to the corner of her mouth. "It's very rude to stare."
She watches him take a breath, slow and easy like slowed down time.
"I can't keep my eyes off you."
It's a rather bold thing for him to say and it catches her off guard. But she pulls herself together quickly, although it's certainly not as seamlessly as she'd like. He's teasing her, she tells herself and smiles boldly up at him; trying to show him that he can't ruffle her feathers as easily as that. But it's a huge bluff. Her heart is racing and the second she meets his eyes she knows without a shadow of doubt that he isn't teasing her. Not in the slightest.
She knows that she should say something, but she's so thrown by his unexpected confession that nothing comes to mind. And so the quiet thickens between them with every heartbeat.
The Doctor's insecurities take Rose's silence as proof that he has said too much - uttered words that he has had the sense to keep behind his teeth and swallow down hard a hundred times before. His hands clench into fists at his side and cursing his stupidity, his appalling arrogance, he tears his gaze away from her.
It is only the gentle touch of Rose's hand cupping his cheek that makes him turn his face back to look at her.
"And do you like what you see?"
He stares at her and she doesn't look away.
"Too much," he admits and he sees her smile. And he breaks.
He pulls her close, into his arms, hard against his body. He claims her mouth with his and kisses her exactly how he's imagined kissing her. It's fierce and demanding and he's surprised and elated to find that she kisses him back exactly the same way. She wants this as much as he does.
Her hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, her fingernails grazing against his skin as she presses her body ever closer to his.
The Doctor's hand on Rose's hip tugs her closer and he pushes his other hand into the soft, cork-screw curls of her blonde hair.
Her lips part under his and he takes full advantage. She tastes of champagne and sweet strawberries.
She whimpers as his hand moves from her hip, up her body, to lazily caress the swell of her breast. His thumb strokes languidly across one nipple and it hardens to his touch. Rose sighs and moans against him, her body encouraging him, her desire building.
It amazes him that she makes these beautiful, craving, pleading, wanton sounds for him. He would never have believed that her desire could burn as fiercely as his, yet now, with her in his arms there is suddenly no doubt.
He knows that he should stop this. But he knows too that he won't. He can't.
All the same, he cups her face with his hands, breaks their kiss, pulls back and looks at her.
Her eyes are clouded with a hunger as dark as his. Her lips are parted, full and bruised from his kisses. She catches her breath and wide eyed she stares at him. She's suddenly afraid that he's going to tell her that this is a mistake. The thought alone is like a dagger to her heart.
His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek and he leans in slowly to kiss her again. This time his kiss is almost innocent as he gently, softly, presses his lips to hers. Rose holds onto the moment and she thinks she'll die from loving him.
His hands still hold her face as he draws back slowly so that he can look at her and when he speaks there's dark intent in his voice.
"I want to make love to you."
His hands fall away from her face. The next step is hers to take.
Rose can't help but catch her breath as she stares at him. Her hands move to sit lightly at his shoulders and she holds his gaze for a moment, as if they're caught in a spell. She leans in closer and her breath is warm against his cheek.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, make love to me."
One hand slips from his shoulder to move between their bodies. He's hard as steel as Rose caresses him. His eyes half close and despite himself he pushes into her touch as she strokes him.
With a growl that ties Rose's stomach into knots, the Doctor catches hold of her wrist and pulls her hand away from the evidence of his obvious arousal.
She pouts, but with what little sanity the Doctor has left he knows that this is not the place for such intimacies.
"You carry on doing that and I won't be responsible for…" He stops, takes a breath, begins again. "Rose… do you want me to take you against this tree?"
Her pout turns into an audacious smile and her tongue flicks impishly to the corner of her mouth. "If I said yes, would you think less of me?" she teases.
For a second, just a second, he entertains the idea - that's how much she's gotten under his skin - he's half willing to make love to her, right here, right now, in broad daylight and to hell with shocking polite society.
Seeing him distracted Rose takes the opportunity to edge nearer to him. Her lips hover close to his, but she doesn't kiss him. After all there's pleasure to be had in torture too.
"It would be so good," she whispers. Her eyes sparkle with orange fire as she watches his reaction to her words.
The Doctor groans helplessly and his fingers tighten around her wrist. "It would be bloody fantastic," he admits before he can stop himself.
Rose's smile is quick and bright. "Is that a yes?"
He doesn't answer; instead he looks past her to the real world, to the laughter, music, dancing and the men and women in all their finery. In particular he watches the two pretty boys who've been following Rose around like a pair of eager-to-please puppies.
"What about your new friends?" he asks.
"Oh," Rose says wickedly. "You mean Freddie and Eugene? Well, they're sweet, but they're not…" She stops, bides her time for a heartbeat or two.
"They're not what?" His jaw is tense and he can hear the jealousy in his voice.
She looks up at him from under heavy, black, lashes. "They're not you."
She has his attention now.
His fingers slip from her wrist and he takes her hand firmly. He moves away from the tree and with long strides he sets off through the gardens, back toward the manor house.
Rose quickens her step in an effort to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"
He doesn't look back at her. He doesn't need to. She knows where they're heading as well as he does. All the same, he plays along; he tells her what she already knows.
"To find a room that has a bed in it."
Rose's smile becomes wide and brash and no matter how she tries to rein it in to something a little less scandalous, she can't.
All the same, as they walk she finds herself trying not to think about why the Doctor is suddenly and inexplicably behaving this way. In truth she is reluctant to over-think the possibilities. As however hard it had been for her to accept, they'd always been just friends - of the hugs and handholding variety. Which is perhaps why despite her best efforts, the sudden change in the Doctor's demeanour bothers her more than she wants to admit - even to herself.
Although, since they're currently in 1927 and every one at the party seems to be human, Rose is fairly confidant she can rule out the Doctor having accidently eaten some sort of 'alien aphrodisiac'.
Doing her best to keep up with the Doctor's long stride, she determines to put her concerns to the back of her mind. She's imagined this happening too many times to count and now that it finally is… well, she's just glad that it's real.
They carry on through the garden, past the rose bushes, up the stone steps, through the French doors and into the manor house, where a pampered, grey, Persian cat with blue eyes observes them with disdain. They cross the waxed parquet floor of the ballroom and hurry past the grand piano where Irving is playing 'Blue Skies' for an enthralled Edith and Daphne.
Once out of the ballroom they quicken their step, head down a corridor, turn left and arrive in the entrance hall.
A suit of armour stands on sentry duty next to an umbrella stand, and aspidistras sit in gaudy jardinières atop tall pedestals, either side of the imposing staircase. The Doctor and Rose spare a glance to each other and as if to remind them that the day is slipping away, a melodic grandfather clock chimes four o'clock.
Still hand in hand, they take the stairs in a hurry - all fifty six of them. Upon reaching the upper landing and safe from prying eyes, Rose half expects the Doctor to stop and kiss her, but instead he continues on and Rose can't help but be left a little heart-sore at that.
Reaching the end of the corridor they stop in front of an oak door with a brass handle. The Doctor opens the door and leads Rose inside, closing the door behind them.
The room is beautiful, flooded with warm sunlight and coloured with hues of rich reds, damson, cherry and gold. The furniture is made of elegant, carved mahogany. The bed is large, with deep-plum silk bedding and a cranberry coloured, velvet throw. The floor is heavily polished oak and the enormous windows are dressed with swathes of delicate white lace and framed with dark, ruby velvet curtains.
There are fringed lamps on small tables either side of the bed, an elegant chaise lounge is set against one wall and a cheval mirror stands in one corner. Pretty, gold framed pictures hang on the walls, and on the dressing table is a vase of sweet scented freesias.
Rose only has a moment to take in the detail of the room, since her attention quickly shifts back to the Doctor as she watches him take a wooden chair and set it under the door handle; securing their privacy.
She lifts her gaze to his and the look she is met with ties knots in her stomach. She parts her lips as if to speak but words escape her.
The Doctor moves suddenly and in a heartbeat Rose finds herself with her back pressed up against the wall. The Doctor's body is hard against hers, urgent and demanding. He takes her mouth with such fervour that it is all Rose can do to keep up, but keep up she does. She slides her hands up his body, over his chest and then higher, to rest at his shoulders. Her fingers curl into the nape of his neck as with a sigh she opens her mouth to his plunder.
With a groan of desire the Doctor deepens their kiss and as he does, the taste of sweet strawberry takes over his senses once again.
He strokes one slow, possessive hand down the length of Rose's body. He caresses her breast, waist and hip then moves his hand lower, to her thigh. His long fingers slip beneath the fringed hem of Rose's dress, pushing it up as his hand rides higher; to explore the warmth of her skin.
His fingers discover Rose's stocking-top and suspender, and with a growl that speaks of want he tugs her closer against him so that she becomes acutely aware of his growing need for her. His hand moves to behind her knee and he lifts her leg, hooking it around his hip and lifting her a little higher.
His mouth abandons hers to trail hot fevered kisses down her neck. He torments the hollow at the base of Rose's throat with slow, deep kisses and her pulse quickens beneath the heady devotion he offers her. His mouth steals another kiss from her lips before he moves to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. He whispers her name and Rose catches her breath, because the way he makes it sound it's so much more than just her name.
"Rose…"
Her hands slip from around the Doctor's neck to his blue silk tie. She undoes the knot and pulls the tie free of his collar, dropping it to the floor as she works at the buttons of the Doctor's shirt. She struggles a little, her fingers suddenly clumsy. Frustrated, she tugs at the shirt and as she does she hears two of the shirts tiny, mother-of-pearl buttons fall and skitter across the polished wood floor.
Her eyes flutter open at the sound and she blinks slowly as her thoughts begin to clear. Across the room in the cheval mirror, she can see herself and the Doctor wrapped up in each others arms; would-be-lovers. Reality seems a world away, a lifetime away and yet as unbelievable as it is, she knows that this is reality. This is real.
She stares at the people in the mirror and without bidding memories stir into life. They flit through her mind like a picture book of yesterdays. Moments when looks and touches could have led to so much more. Time after time, they could have become lovers, but didn't.
She draws her painful conclusion and her heart begins to ache.
"Doctor…" His name falls from her lips, her voice so vividly coloured with longing that she hardly recognises it as her own. His teeth graze her throat and she takes a breath and pauses, trying to think past sensation. "This… it isn't what you want, not really. You don't know what you're doing."
He pulls back a little and looks at her. His eyes are darker than she has ever seen them and he's breathing heavily. "Is that what you think?"
Wide eyed she stares back at him. She can't speak, she doesn't have the words and so instead she nods her head because truthfully, that's all she can do.
"You're wrong," he tells her emphatically. "This is what I want. I want you, Rose Tyler. And I know exactly what it is I'm doing." He pauses a moment but he doesn't look away. He wants her to see the truth in his eyes, truth he's hidden too long.
He cradles her face with one hand and continues to gaze at her. His thumb strokes across the apple of her cheek and time itself seems to slow down.
"But if this isn't what you want… then tell me. Tell me, and I'll stop."
Rose bites her lip and the seconds tick by. He wants her. And she wants him too. And suddenly, finally, it's as simple as that.
"I don't want you to stop," she confesses with a wide and wolfish grin. "Not ever."
The Doctor pulls Rose back into his arms and kisses her with a passion that seems barely contained. Body to body they cling to each other, almost afraid to let go as purposefully the Doctor leads Rose toward the bed.
They lay together on opulent plum-coloured silk and through fevered kisses and caresses they undress each other with increasing impatience. Buttons scatter, seams tear and clothes are cast unwanted to the floor and none of it matters. Nothing is of any importance, except their need to be as close as skin to skin will allow.
The Doctor pushes long fingers through Rose's hair, tilts her face to his and kisses her deeply. Rose, wanton and wicked, smiles into his kiss and insistently she tugs his body closer to hers. Her hands stroke down the Doctor's back as he rocks against her and her fingernails gently graze against his skin; encouraging his possession of her.
Naked, and bathed in the bliss of warm afternoon sunlight, they feed each other kisses and sighs. Their hands trail over the curves of their bodies in a bold and ever growing assertion of their claim upon each other.
The Doctor moves to settle between Rose's legs and as she sighs and arches beneath him he cups her breast with his hand and takes it to his mouth.
With a gasp of pleasure, Rose trembles and with a half hooded gaze she watches captivated, as the Doctor's lips torment one nipple into an aching peak. She can't help but cradle his head at her breast and lose herself in the delicious tug of his mouth, the play of his tongue and the gentle threat of his teeth.
As Rose's sighs become more fevered, unbidden, pleading whispers begin to fall from her lips. The Doctor shifts his weight and slides one hand slowly across Rose's stomach, feeling her muscles tighten with involuntarily expectation as his fingertips skim lower.
He abandons her breast and draws back a little, hungry to see her reactions to his touch. Rose gasps and her body arches up off the bed as the Doctor's hand shifts between her legs, his fingers moving higher, finding her warm and wet and ready.
She catches her breath and her eyes open wide as he pushes two long fingers inside her. His thumb rubs small, deliberate, circles against her clit as Rose keens against him.
His touch is achingly slow and maddening, but certain. He knows instinctively how to touch her; he understands what she wants and needs even before she knows it herself.
Rose quickly finds herself flying close to orgasm. The tension in her body is coiling tighter, building to something she knows she won't be able to control. She feels it's too fast, too sudden, but she wants it so very much that she can't bring herself to care.
"Doctor…" His name falls from her lips, a cry of urgency and craving meant only for him.
He gazes down at her and his touch, his stroke, does not falter. "Just let it happen," he tells her as he leans in closer. "Let me see you come." His words fall to a whisper. "My Rose…"
The way he speaks her name is the last thing Rose is truly aware of before she breaks apart and shatters. With a cry that is torn from her heart she gives herself up entirely to the sensations that are blazing through her body like a fire.
A little while later, her eyes flutter open and she sees the Doctor's smile, warm and bright and if she can dare to believe it, full of love.
She tries to steady her breath as she stares wordlessly up at him and her smile begins to mirror his. Her heart is racing so fast that she half imagines he can hear its beat.
He leans in close to her and softly, slowly, kisses her lips before pulling back to look at her again.
She bites her bottom lip and stares back at him, unable to contain the words that burn inside her even a moment longer. "I love you," she whispers.
He takes a breath, the force of her confession shaking him and his eyes grow dark. "I love you too."
He shifts his body so that he is poised above hers. Slowly he pushes inside her, stretching her, filling her. Rose arches up into the Doctor as he cradles her close, kisses her. And they begin to move together, falling into a rhythm that is driven by the passion of three hearts.
They break together, burn together, and as their perfect storm swallows them the Doctor takes Rose's hand in his, as he has always done, from the very first.
No longer lost souls, they fall asleep entwined and safe in the certainty that only lovers can truly possess, that now they have found their hearts desire, nothing will ever come between them.
Pairing : Nine/Rose
Genre : Romance/Smut
Rating : Teen/Adult
Status : Complete
Written for the prompt 'Mirror, Strawberries, Necktie' over at never_ever_will
Sweet Strawberry
It's a perfectly pleasant summer afternoon; there are blue skies, white fluffy clouds and a warm breeze that carries the scent of jasmine and hyacinths. The lawn is a lush green and impeccably manicured. Butterflies - Red Admirals and Large Whites - flutter by like rose petals. Long tables are covered with starched white cloths and plates are heavy with dainty sandwiches, slices of pork pie and other treats. There are jugs of lemonade, ginger beer, fruit-punch and several bottles of champagne. A Bix Beiderbecke record is being played on a wind-up gramophone and there are people dancing the Charleston. Somewhere across the lawn they're playing croquet. On the lake, far from the kingfisher that is hovering by the reeds, there's a pea-green rowing boat with three people in it and across the lake, in the shade of the rhododendron bushes, a white peacock is pecking indifferently at the ground.
But all the Doctor is really aware of is Rose Tyler.
She reaches for a plump strawberry from a crystal bowl and lifts the fruit to her mouth. She bites into it slowly, savouring the flavour. She licks the juice from her lips, then dips the strawberry into a bowl of sugar and eats the candied morsel, dropping the small green stalk to the ground. She licks her fingers, pink strawberry juice having made them sweet and sticky. And she smiles to herself as she selects another.
Three or four strawberries later, she notices a pretty mother of pearl mirror compact lying on the table. She assumes that Clarissa had absentmindedly left it there when she'd hurried off in a giddy flurry of chiffon and pearls when Digby had arrived in his brand new Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.
Rose picks up the compact, opens it and stares at her reflection. The mirror glints in the sunlight as she tilts it this way and that. She runs the tip of her tongue over her sweet strawberry stained lips, grazes her teeth over the plump, pink flesh and the last stray grains of sugar melt away.
With a content smile she snaps the compact shut and puts it back where she found it. She reaches for a glass of champagne - her third since lunch - and she thinks it's something she could get used to. She drinks it down in one go, as her doe eyes watch the frivolity of the party from over the rim of the glass.
It's only then that she sees the Doctor, standing in the shade, leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on her.
Except he doesn't look like the Doctor, not today. There's no leather jacket for starters. Today he's wearing a white cotton shirt (sleeves rolled up to the elbows), stone-coloured trousers and a blue, silk necktie.
Setting down her empty champagne glass, Rose saunters toward to him, hips swaying slightly as she treads across the soft grassy lawn. Her sweetly-pink, strawberry stained lips, plump with temptation, curve into a beaming smile.
She stands in front of him and brushes back a wayward lock of her blonde hair that has fallen free of her fancy up-do. And from under heavy, black, mascara coated lashes she gazes up at him for a moment.
He doesn't even blink. If anything his gaze becomes more intense.
"You're staring," she tells him playfully, her tongue flicking to the corner of her mouth. "It's very rude to stare."
She watches him take a breath, slow and easy like slowed down time.
"I can't keep my eyes off you."
It's a rather bold thing for him to say and it catches her off guard. But she pulls herself together quickly, although it's certainly not as seamlessly as she'd like. He's teasing her, she tells herself and smiles boldly up at him; trying to show him that he can't ruffle her feathers as easily as that. But it's a huge bluff. Her heart is racing and the second she meets his eyes she knows without a shadow of doubt that he isn't teasing her. Not in the slightest.
She knows that she should say something, but she's so thrown by his unexpected confession that nothing comes to mind. And so the quiet thickens between them with every heartbeat.
The Doctor's insecurities take Rose's silence as proof that he has said too much - uttered words that he has had the sense to keep behind his teeth and swallow down hard a hundred times before. His hands clench into fists at his side and cursing his stupidity, his appalling arrogance, he tears his gaze away from her.
It is only the gentle touch of Rose's hand cupping his cheek that makes him turn his face back to look at her.
"And do you like what you see?"
He stares at her and she doesn't look away.
"Too much," he admits and he sees her smile. And he breaks.
He pulls her close, into his arms, hard against his body. He claims her mouth with his and kisses her exactly how he's imagined kissing her. It's fierce and demanding and he's surprised and elated to find that she kisses him back exactly the same way. She wants this as much as he does.
Her hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, her fingernails grazing against his skin as she presses her body ever closer to his.
The Doctor's hand on Rose's hip tugs her closer and he pushes his other hand into the soft, cork-screw curls of her blonde hair.
Her lips part under his and he takes full advantage. She tastes of champagne and sweet strawberries.
She whimpers as his hand moves from her hip, up her body, to lazily caress the swell of her breast. His thumb strokes languidly across one nipple and it hardens to his touch. Rose sighs and moans against him, her body encouraging him, her desire building.
It amazes him that she makes these beautiful, craving, pleading, wanton sounds for him. He would never have believed that her desire could burn as fiercely as his, yet now, with her in his arms there is suddenly no doubt.
He knows that he should stop this. But he knows too that he won't. He can't.
All the same, he cups her face with his hands, breaks their kiss, pulls back and looks at her.
Her eyes are clouded with a hunger as dark as his. Her lips are parted, full and bruised from his kisses. She catches her breath and wide eyed she stares at him. She's suddenly afraid that he's going to tell her that this is a mistake. The thought alone is like a dagger to her heart.
His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek and he leans in slowly to kiss her again. This time his kiss is almost innocent as he gently, softly, presses his lips to hers. Rose holds onto the moment and she thinks she'll die from loving him.
His hands still hold her face as he draws back slowly so that he can look at her and when he speaks there's dark intent in his voice.
"I want to make love to you."
His hands fall away from her face. The next step is hers to take.
Rose can't help but catch her breath as she stares at him. Her hands move to sit lightly at his shoulders and she holds his gaze for a moment, as if they're caught in a spell. She leans in closer and her breath is warm against his cheek.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, make love to me."
One hand slips from his shoulder to move between their bodies. He's hard as steel as Rose caresses him. His eyes half close and despite himself he pushes into her touch as she strokes him.
With a growl that ties Rose's stomach into knots, the Doctor catches hold of her wrist and pulls her hand away from the evidence of his obvious arousal.
She pouts, but with what little sanity the Doctor has left he knows that this is not the place for such intimacies.
"You carry on doing that and I won't be responsible for…" He stops, takes a breath, begins again. "Rose… do you want me to take you against this tree?"
Her pout turns into an audacious smile and her tongue flicks impishly to the corner of her mouth. "If I said yes, would you think less of me?" she teases.
For a second, just a second, he entertains the idea - that's how much she's gotten under his skin - he's half willing to make love to her, right here, right now, in broad daylight and to hell with shocking polite society.
Seeing him distracted Rose takes the opportunity to edge nearer to him. Her lips hover close to his, but she doesn't kiss him. After all there's pleasure to be had in torture too.
"It would be so good," she whispers. Her eyes sparkle with orange fire as she watches his reaction to her words.
The Doctor groans helplessly and his fingers tighten around her wrist. "It would be bloody fantastic," he admits before he can stop himself.
Rose's smile is quick and bright. "Is that a yes?"
He doesn't answer; instead he looks past her to the real world, to the laughter, music, dancing and the men and women in all their finery. In particular he watches the two pretty boys who've been following Rose around like a pair of eager-to-please puppies.
"What about your new friends?" he asks.
"Oh," Rose says wickedly. "You mean Freddie and Eugene? Well, they're sweet, but they're not…" She stops, bides her time for a heartbeat or two.
"They're not what?" His jaw is tense and he can hear the jealousy in his voice.
She looks up at him from under heavy, black, lashes. "They're not you."
She has his attention now.
His fingers slip from her wrist and he takes her hand firmly. He moves away from the tree and with long strides he sets off through the gardens, back toward the manor house.
Rose quickens her step in an effort to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"
He doesn't look back at her. He doesn't need to. She knows where they're heading as well as he does. All the same, he plays along; he tells her what she already knows.
"To find a room that has a bed in it."
Rose's smile becomes wide and brash and no matter how she tries to rein it in to something a little less scandalous, she can't.
All the same, as they walk she finds herself trying not to think about why the Doctor is suddenly and inexplicably behaving this way. In truth she is reluctant to over-think the possibilities. As however hard it had been for her to accept, they'd always been just friends - of the hugs and handholding variety. Which is perhaps why despite her best efforts, the sudden change in the Doctor's demeanour bothers her more than she wants to admit - even to herself.
Although, since they're currently in 1927 and every one at the party seems to be human, Rose is fairly confidant she can rule out the Doctor having accidently eaten some sort of 'alien aphrodisiac'.
Doing her best to keep up with the Doctor's long stride, she determines to put her concerns to the back of her mind. She's imagined this happening too many times to count and now that it finally is… well, she's just glad that it's real.
They carry on through the garden, past the rose bushes, up the stone steps, through the French doors and into the manor house, where a pampered, grey, Persian cat with blue eyes observes them with disdain. They cross the waxed parquet floor of the ballroom and hurry past the grand piano where Irving is playing 'Blue Skies' for an enthralled Edith and Daphne.
Once out of the ballroom they quicken their step, head down a corridor, turn left and arrive in the entrance hall.
A suit of armour stands on sentry duty next to an umbrella stand, and aspidistras sit in gaudy jardinières atop tall pedestals, either side of the imposing staircase. The Doctor and Rose spare a glance to each other and as if to remind them that the day is slipping away, a melodic grandfather clock chimes four o'clock.
Still hand in hand, they take the stairs in a hurry - all fifty six of them. Upon reaching the upper landing and safe from prying eyes, Rose half expects the Doctor to stop and kiss her, but instead he continues on and Rose can't help but be left a little heart-sore at that.
Reaching the end of the corridor they stop in front of an oak door with a brass handle. The Doctor opens the door and leads Rose inside, closing the door behind them.
The room is beautiful, flooded with warm sunlight and coloured with hues of rich reds, damson, cherry and gold. The furniture is made of elegant, carved mahogany. The bed is large, with deep-plum silk bedding and a cranberry coloured, velvet throw. The floor is heavily polished oak and the enormous windows are dressed with swathes of delicate white lace and framed with dark, ruby velvet curtains.
There are fringed lamps on small tables either side of the bed, an elegant chaise lounge is set against one wall and a cheval mirror stands in one corner. Pretty, gold framed pictures hang on the walls, and on the dressing table is a vase of sweet scented freesias.
Rose only has a moment to take in the detail of the room, since her attention quickly shifts back to the Doctor as she watches him take a wooden chair and set it under the door handle; securing their privacy.
She lifts her gaze to his and the look she is met with ties knots in her stomach. She parts her lips as if to speak but words escape her.
The Doctor moves suddenly and in a heartbeat Rose finds herself with her back pressed up against the wall. The Doctor's body is hard against hers, urgent and demanding. He takes her mouth with such fervour that it is all Rose can do to keep up, but keep up she does. She slides her hands up his body, over his chest and then higher, to rest at his shoulders. Her fingers curl into the nape of his neck as with a sigh she opens her mouth to his plunder.
With a groan of desire the Doctor deepens their kiss and as he does, the taste of sweet strawberry takes over his senses once again.
He strokes one slow, possessive hand down the length of Rose's body. He caresses her breast, waist and hip then moves his hand lower, to her thigh. His long fingers slip beneath the fringed hem of Rose's dress, pushing it up as his hand rides higher; to explore the warmth of her skin.
His fingers discover Rose's stocking-top and suspender, and with a growl that speaks of want he tugs her closer against him so that she becomes acutely aware of his growing need for her. His hand moves to behind her knee and he lifts her leg, hooking it around his hip and lifting her a little higher.
His mouth abandons hers to trail hot fevered kisses down her neck. He torments the hollow at the base of Rose's throat with slow, deep kisses and her pulse quickens beneath the heady devotion he offers her. His mouth steals another kiss from her lips before he moves to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. He whispers her name and Rose catches her breath, because the way he makes it sound it's so much more than just her name.
"Rose…"
Her hands slip from around the Doctor's neck to his blue silk tie. She undoes the knot and pulls the tie free of his collar, dropping it to the floor as she works at the buttons of the Doctor's shirt. She struggles a little, her fingers suddenly clumsy. Frustrated, she tugs at the shirt and as she does she hears two of the shirts tiny, mother-of-pearl buttons fall and skitter across the polished wood floor.
Her eyes flutter open at the sound and she blinks slowly as her thoughts begin to clear. Across the room in the cheval mirror, she can see herself and the Doctor wrapped up in each others arms; would-be-lovers. Reality seems a world away, a lifetime away and yet as unbelievable as it is, she knows that this is reality. This is real.
She stares at the people in the mirror and without bidding memories stir into life. They flit through her mind like a picture book of yesterdays. Moments when looks and touches could have led to so much more. Time after time, they could have become lovers, but didn't.
She draws her painful conclusion and her heart begins to ache.
"Doctor…" His name falls from her lips, her voice so vividly coloured with longing that she hardly recognises it as her own. His teeth graze her throat and she takes a breath and pauses, trying to think past sensation. "This… it isn't what you want, not really. You don't know what you're doing."
He pulls back a little and looks at her. His eyes are darker than she has ever seen them and he's breathing heavily. "Is that what you think?"
Wide eyed she stares back at him. She can't speak, she doesn't have the words and so instead she nods her head because truthfully, that's all she can do.
"You're wrong," he tells her emphatically. "This is what I want. I want you, Rose Tyler. And I know exactly what it is I'm doing." He pauses a moment but he doesn't look away. He wants her to see the truth in his eyes, truth he's hidden too long.
He cradles her face with one hand and continues to gaze at her. His thumb strokes across the apple of her cheek and time itself seems to slow down.
"But if this isn't what you want… then tell me. Tell me, and I'll stop."
Rose bites her lip and the seconds tick by. He wants her. And she wants him too. And suddenly, finally, it's as simple as that.
"I don't want you to stop," she confesses with a wide and wolfish grin. "Not ever."
The Doctor pulls Rose back into his arms and kisses her with a passion that seems barely contained. Body to body they cling to each other, almost afraid to let go as purposefully the Doctor leads Rose toward the bed.
They lay together on opulent plum-coloured silk and through fevered kisses and caresses they undress each other with increasing impatience. Buttons scatter, seams tear and clothes are cast unwanted to the floor and none of it matters. Nothing is of any importance, except their need to be as close as skin to skin will allow.
The Doctor pushes long fingers through Rose's hair, tilts her face to his and kisses her deeply. Rose, wanton and wicked, smiles into his kiss and insistently she tugs his body closer to hers. Her hands stroke down the Doctor's back as he rocks against her and her fingernails gently graze against his skin; encouraging his possession of her.
Naked, and bathed in the bliss of warm afternoon sunlight, they feed each other kisses and sighs. Their hands trail over the curves of their bodies in a bold and ever growing assertion of their claim upon each other.
The Doctor moves to settle between Rose's legs and as she sighs and arches beneath him he cups her breast with his hand and takes it to his mouth.
With a gasp of pleasure, Rose trembles and with a half hooded gaze she watches captivated, as the Doctor's lips torment one nipple into an aching peak. She can't help but cradle his head at her breast and lose herself in the delicious tug of his mouth, the play of his tongue and the gentle threat of his teeth.
As Rose's sighs become more fevered, unbidden, pleading whispers begin to fall from her lips. The Doctor shifts his weight and slides one hand slowly across Rose's stomach, feeling her muscles tighten with involuntarily expectation as his fingertips skim lower.
He abandons her breast and draws back a little, hungry to see her reactions to his touch. Rose gasps and her body arches up off the bed as the Doctor's hand shifts between her legs, his fingers moving higher, finding her warm and wet and ready.
She catches her breath and her eyes open wide as he pushes two long fingers inside her. His thumb rubs small, deliberate, circles against her clit as Rose keens against him.
His touch is achingly slow and maddening, but certain. He knows instinctively how to touch her; he understands what she wants and needs even before she knows it herself.
Rose quickly finds herself flying close to orgasm. The tension in her body is coiling tighter, building to something she knows she won't be able to control. She feels it's too fast, too sudden, but she wants it so very much that she can't bring herself to care.
"Doctor…" His name falls from her lips, a cry of urgency and craving meant only for him.
He gazes down at her and his touch, his stroke, does not falter. "Just let it happen," he tells her as he leans in closer. "Let me see you come." His words fall to a whisper. "My Rose…"
The way he speaks her name is the last thing Rose is truly aware of before she breaks apart and shatters. With a cry that is torn from her heart she gives herself up entirely to the sensations that are blazing through her body like a fire.
A little while later, her eyes flutter open and she sees the Doctor's smile, warm and bright and if she can dare to believe it, full of love.
She tries to steady her breath as she stares wordlessly up at him and her smile begins to mirror his. Her heart is racing so fast that she half imagines he can hear its beat.
He leans in close to her and softly, slowly, kisses her lips before pulling back to look at her again.
She bites her bottom lip and stares back at him, unable to contain the words that burn inside her even a moment longer. "I love you," she whispers.
He takes a breath, the force of her confession shaking him and his eyes grow dark. "I love you too."
He shifts his body so that he is poised above hers. Slowly he pushes inside her, stretching her, filling her. Rose arches up into the Doctor as he cradles her close, kisses her. And they begin to move together, falling into a rhythm that is driven by the passion of three hearts.
They break together, burn together, and as their perfect storm swallows them the Doctor takes Rose's hand in his, as he has always done, from the very first.
No longer lost souls, they fall asleep entwined and safe in the certainty that only lovers can truly possess, that now they have found their hearts desire, nothing will ever come between them.