Fic - Planning For The Future (Dr Who, Nine/Rose) by Luciferofthecircle
Sorry this is late. I’ve been waiting for a beta for the redraft I did after my first beta, but as I only added a few paragraphs I’m going to post this anyway. Tell me if I should have waited after all.
Title: Planning For The Future
Author: Luciferofthecircle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rose/Nine
Word Count: 1,930
Notes: Many thanks to lornelover for betaing this for me. Without her invaluable help this would be much shorter and nowhere near as good. And thanks to ultra_chrome for general spell-checking and encouragement. Written for alizarin_nyc, for the Noglove_nolove challenge. I have never written for the Doctor Who fandom before, so please be brutally honest.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. And I would give absolutely anything for a TARDIS of my very own.
Summary: Besides, how often do you get to shag an alien?
She feels a little guilty. After all, she is still technically dating Mickey. But that just means they haven’t officially broken up. After all, he’s on Earth and she’s… here. Long distance relationships never really work out, especially when one of the pair doesn’t know exactly when the other one will be receiving their call. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could be last Thursday. She can’t mention anything she’s said before, in case he hasn’t heard it yet.
And she’s certainly not expecting him to wait for her. She’s not really sure she wants him to. She’s become a different person now. She’s seen the world end; she’s held her dying father’s hand. She’s grown. They wouldn’t fit, not like they used to. It wouldn’t be easy or relaxed anymore. It wouldn’t be fun
And she thinks she should tell him this but she doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s hoping he’ll work the same things out on his own. And that’s another part of the problem. Even when they do mange to be in the same timeline they have nothing to say to one another. They have almost nothing left in common.
She stares gloomily at the stars as she shifts the converted mobile in her hands. Call him? Don’t call him? What would be the least distressing option? Then she straightens, turns away from the screen decisively and puts the phone back into her pocket.
So she feels bad about what she’s going to do. But she tries to be positive anyway. Because it’s not like Mickey owns her. And it’s not as if they were married. She’s her own woman, she can make up her own mind and she has decided.
Besides, how often do you get to shag an alien?
***
“…so we change the differential, reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, re-screw the hydro-matrix, flip this switch and… voila. Instant coffee.”
She stops listening when he starts using words of four syllables and above. Usually it’s not important, not really. He’s thinking out loud, or showing off, and she just has to nod and smile and listen to the last sentence so that she knows what the plan is.
Besides, while he’s spouting techno-babble, she gets a chance to admire his… assets.
Currently he’s showing her how to make a coffee machine out of some bits of wire, some glass tubes and something called a rehop-crank. He’s on his hands and knees, his voice issuing from under a pile of complicated machinery and she has an excellent view of his arse. It’s perfectly framed by those tight blue jeans.
She’s been thinking more about her plan. After all, she can’t just come straight out and say it, she’s not that kind of girl. Besides he’s hundreds of years old and he can go anywhere and anywhen, he could have any girl he likes. So she’s got to do something special.
Mind you, out of all the people he could have picked to travel with him he picked her, that’s got to mean something, right?
Although… does he even like human women? Is it even physically possible for them to…? God, what if he has… tentacles or something… down there?
This requires more research. The TARDIS must have something about the Doctor’s people in its computer.
***
Half-human. That’s useful to know. It means they’re definitely compatible. A little too compatible. And there’s disease to consider. The TARDIS isn’t clear on the Doctor’s age, but his people seem to work in centuries. Who knows what kind of new (or old) infections he’s got.
Where’s she supposed to get condoms from? It’s not like the TARDIS has a pharmacy on board.
This needs more planning than she originally expected.
***
One trip back to Earth, London, 2005 and she’s sorted. She told him she wanted to see her mum. He left her alone, saying he didn’t want to spoil their family time (although she knows it’s really because they can’t stand each other), giving her time to stop at Boots on her way to back the TARDIS.
She also found some time to see Mickey. It was painful. They’d been together for years. If the Doctor hadn’t come along they’d probably have ended up married, in a flat a few floors up from her mother, with 2.4 kids and a dog. But she doesn’t think she could do that anymore. Once you’ve seen the Earth from space a normal life seems unimaginably dull and two-dimensional.
He asked if it was because of the Doctor and she told him, truthfully, that they hadn’t done anything. She’s not sure he believes her and that hurts too. There was a time when they wouldn’t have dreamed of lying to each other.
But it’s done now. And she can concentrate on what she wants her future to be.
Now she’s just got to convince the Doctor that she’s a part of his.
***
It’s time to make her move. The Doctor is leaning on the main console of the TARDIS, his head bowed, his shoulders tense.
She was first attracted to the Doctor by his energy. He seemed to never stop moving, to always have a new idea or another plan to put in motion. But as she’s got to know him better she’s realised there’s more to him than that. He’s also in pain. Terrible, unending, unimaginable pain. When they visit a new place there are things to see, and usually people to help, and he forgets, or can ignore it, at least for a little while. But when the adventure’s over it’s like he has nothing left. He folds in on himself and becomes quiet and withdrawn.
She’s heard his stories of his people, the Time Lords. She has no idea what it must be like to know you’re the only one of your kind left in the entire universe. But she does know he’s lonely. And, over time, she’s realised that she wants to do what she can to make that loneliness better. She wants to be the one who takes away his pain. She thinks that’s probably the best definition of love that there is.
Hopefully he feels the same way.
She walks up behind him, gathering her courage. She puts her hands on his shoulders and begins to massage them gently. He relaxes slightly under her hands and, encouraged, she applies more pressure.
When she’s convinced he’s as relaxed as she can possibly make him she stops and tugs on his arm, turning him around to face her. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close. She waits until he returns the hug before moving her head so that she can kiss his neck.
He freezes and she draws her head back so that she can see his face. He releases her and steps backward, keeping his eyes on hers. She can see understanding dawn on his face before his expression becomes abnormally blank.
He stares through her with so much concentration it’s as if he’s trying to calculate the orbital velocity of Mars. She has enough time to wonder if he’s thinking about how to let her down gently, then he seems to reach a decision. He holds out a hand. She takes it and he leads her towards his bedroom.
***
She uses her mouth to put the condom on (An old trick. They really are the best). The latex tastes bitter. She ignores it and explores his shape with her tongue. Not really different from any other guy, any human guy.
She takes him in as deep as she can and swallows, then backs off and uses her hand to play with the base as she sucks on the head. His hands move to tangle in her hair and she can feel the calluses on his fingers rubbing her scalp.
Then he pulls her off him and tugs her to her feet. He holds her at arms length and his fingers dig painfully into her arms. He is panting and his eyes are wild. He looks her up and down as if he’s trying to convince himself that she’s real and not some figment of his imagination.
She opens her mouth, to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, to say something, anything, that will break this suddenly deafening silence.
But before she can get a word out he pulls her close and kisses her fiercely, almost violently. He wraps his arms around her, crushing her to him. It’s actually quite uncomfortable and she lets out a small gasp.
He lets go at once and tries to move away, his face twisting in an expression of guilt. She pulls him back straightaway. This is her chance to show him how much she cares and she’s not going to let it, or him, slip away from her.
She initiates the next kiss, moving her mouth gently with his. He opens up to her and lets her push his leather jacket to the floor. He steps back again, this time to pull his white t-shirt over his head. His skin is very pale and his nipples are small and tight. She reaches out and rubs them, making him groan softly.
She pulls off her own t-shirt and undoes her bra, feeling a little nervous. After all, God knows how many women he’s seen and she’s nothing special, not really. The cold makes her nipples harden and, steeling herself, she drops her jeans and knickers in one go.
He’s used the time to get rid of his own trousers and they stand naked, facing each other. The ridiculousness of the situation threatens to make her burst into giggles. Instead she reaches for him. He meets her halfway and they resume kissing.
As they kiss he leads her to the bed that’s pushed into the corner. It’s narrow and the mattress is thin. It doesn’t look like he uses it often, as if he stays awake rather than risk the dreams, nightmares really, that wait for him in sleep. All at once a wave of sorrow threatens to overcome her and for a second she feels as old as he must be.
She lies on the bed and he crouches over her. He strokes his fingers over her breasts and down her body to her clit. He rubs and strokes it with a skill that must have been acquired over centuries of practice. Soon she’s gasping for breath, moving her hips into his hand, on the verge of begging for him.
He seems to sense that she has reached her breaking point and he lowers himself onto her, entering her in one smooth push. There’s an initial pain but it quickly fades as he continues to finger her clit while thrusting rhythmically.
Soon she is clenching around him, her ears ringing from the force of her orgasm. Then she goes completely limp. At this point the Doctor begins to pick up speed, chasing after his own pleasure.
His eyes are screwed tightly shut as he moves inside her and there’s an expression on his face that looks almost like pain.
Far too late she begins to doubt herself and her ‘grand plan’. Is it her he really wants? How does she know he’s not imaging some wife or girlfriend who was killed with the rest of his people? What if he’s just using her, fucking her because anything is better than being as alone as he was?
As he comes he gasps one word.
“Rose!”
She smiles. He’s thinking of her. That’s a start.
***
So what do you think?
Title: Planning For The Future
Author: Luciferofthecircle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rose/Nine
Word Count: 1,930
Notes: Many thanks to lornelover for betaing this for me. Without her invaluable help this would be much shorter and nowhere near as good. And thanks to ultra_chrome for general spell-checking and encouragement. Written for alizarin_nyc, for the Noglove_nolove challenge. I have never written for the Doctor Who fandom before, so please be brutally honest.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. And I would give absolutely anything for a TARDIS of my very own.
Summary: Besides, how often do you get to shag an alien?
She feels a little guilty. After all, she is still technically dating Mickey. But that just means they haven’t officially broken up. After all, he’s on Earth and she’s… here. Long distance relationships never really work out, especially when one of the pair doesn’t know exactly when the other one will be receiving their call. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could be last Thursday. She can’t mention anything she’s said before, in case he hasn’t heard it yet.
And she’s certainly not expecting him to wait for her. She’s not really sure she wants him to. She’s become a different person now. She’s seen the world end; she’s held her dying father’s hand. She’s grown. They wouldn’t fit, not like they used to. It wouldn’t be easy or relaxed anymore. It wouldn’t be fun
And she thinks she should tell him this but she doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s hoping he’ll work the same things out on his own. And that’s another part of the problem. Even when they do mange to be in the same timeline they have nothing to say to one another. They have almost nothing left in common.
She stares gloomily at the stars as she shifts the converted mobile in her hands. Call him? Don’t call him? What would be the least distressing option? Then she straightens, turns away from the screen decisively and puts the phone back into her pocket.
So she feels bad about what she’s going to do. But she tries to be positive anyway. Because it’s not like Mickey owns her. And it’s not as if they were married. She’s her own woman, she can make up her own mind and she has decided.
Besides, how often do you get to shag an alien?
***
“…so we change the differential, reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, re-screw the hydro-matrix, flip this switch and… voila. Instant coffee.”
She stops listening when he starts using words of four syllables and above. Usually it’s not important, not really. He’s thinking out loud, or showing off, and she just has to nod and smile and listen to the last sentence so that she knows what the plan is.
Besides, while he’s spouting techno-babble, she gets a chance to admire his… assets.
Currently he’s showing her how to make a coffee machine out of some bits of wire, some glass tubes and something called a rehop-crank. He’s on his hands and knees, his voice issuing from under a pile of complicated machinery and she has an excellent view of his arse. It’s perfectly framed by those tight blue jeans.
She’s been thinking more about her plan. After all, she can’t just come straight out and say it, she’s not that kind of girl. Besides he’s hundreds of years old and he can go anywhere and anywhen, he could have any girl he likes. So she’s got to do something special.
Mind you, out of all the people he could have picked to travel with him he picked her, that’s got to mean something, right?
Although… does he even like human women? Is it even physically possible for them to…? God, what if he has… tentacles or something… down there?
This requires more research. The TARDIS must have something about the Doctor’s people in its computer.
***
Half-human. That’s useful to know. It means they’re definitely compatible. A little too compatible. And there’s disease to consider. The TARDIS isn’t clear on the Doctor’s age, but his people seem to work in centuries. Who knows what kind of new (or old) infections he’s got.
Where’s she supposed to get condoms from? It’s not like the TARDIS has a pharmacy on board.
This needs more planning than she originally expected.
***
One trip back to Earth, London, 2005 and she’s sorted. She told him she wanted to see her mum. He left her alone, saying he didn’t want to spoil their family time (although she knows it’s really because they can’t stand each other), giving her time to stop at Boots on her way to back the TARDIS.
She also found some time to see Mickey. It was painful. They’d been together for years. If the Doctor hadn’t come along they’d probably have ended up married, in a flat a few floors up from her mother, with 2.4 kids and a dog. But she doesn’t think she could do that anymore. Once you’ve seen the Earth from space a normal life seems unimaginably dull and two-dimensional.
He asked if it was because of the Doctor and she told him, truthfully, that they hadn’t done anything. She’s not sure he believes her and that hurts too. There was a time when they wouldn’t have dreamed of lying to each other.
But it’s done now. And she can concentrate on what she wants her future to be.
Now she’s just got to convince the Doctor that she’s a part of his.
***
It’s time to make her move. The Doctor is leaning on the main console of the TARDIS, his head bowed, his shoulders tense.
She was first attracted to the Doctor by his energy. He seemed to never stop moving, to always have a new idea or another plan to put in motion. But as she’s got to know him better she’s realised there’s more to him than that. He’s also in pain. Terrible, unending, unimaginable pain. When they visit a new place there are things to see, and usually people to help, and he forgets, or can ignore it, at least for a little while. But when the adventure’s over it’s like he has nothing left. He folds in on himself and becomes quiet and withdrawn.
She’s heard his stories of his people, the Time Lords. She has no idea what it must be like to know you’re the only one of your kind left in the entire universe. But she does know he’s lonely. And, over time, she’s realised that she wants to do what she can to make that loneliness better. She wants to be the one who takes away his pain. She thinks that’s probably the best definition of love that there is.
Hopefully he feels the same way.
She walks up behind him, gathering her courage. She puts her hands on his shoulders and begins to massage them gently. He relaxes slightly under her hands and, encouraged, she applies more pressure.
When she’s convinced he’s as relaxed as she can possibly make him she stops and tugs on his arm, turning him around to face her. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close. She waits until he returns the hug before moving her head so that she can kiss his neck.
He freezes and she draws her head back so that she can see his face. He releases her and steps backward, keeping his eyes on hers. She can see understanding dawn on his face before his expression becomes abnormally blank.
He stares through her with so much concentration it’s as if he’s trying to calculate the orbital velocity of Mars. She has enough time to wonder if he’s thinking about how to let her down gently, then he seems to reach a decision. He holds out a hand. She takes it and he leads her towards his bedroom.
***
She uses her mouth to put the condom on (An old trick. They really are the best). The latex tastes bitter. She ignores it and explores his shape with her tongue. Not really different from any other guy, any human guy.
She takes him in as deep as she can and swallows, then backs off and uses her hand to play with the base as she sucks on the head. His hands move to tangle in her hair and she can feel the calluses on his fingers rubbing her scalp.
Then he pulls her off him and tugs her to her feet. He holds her at arms length and his fingers dig painfully into her arms. He is panting and his eyes are wild. He looks her up and down as if he’s trying to convince himself that she’s real and not some figment of his imagination.
She opens her mouth, to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, to say something, anything, that will break this suddenly deafening silence.
But before she can get a word out he pulls her close and kisses her fiercely, almost violently. He wraps his arms around her, crushing her to him. It’s actually quite uncomfortable and she lets out a small gasp.
He lets go at once and tries to move away, his face twisting in an expression of guilt. She pulls him back straightaway. This is her chance to show him how much she cares and she’s not going to let it, or him, slip away from her.
She initiates the next kiss, moving her mouth gently with his. He opens up to her and lets her push his leather jacket to the floor. He steps back again, this time to pull his white t-shirt over his head. His skin is very pale and his nipples are small and tight. She reaches out and rubs them, making him groan softly.
She pulls off her own t-shirt and undoes her bra, feeling a little nervous. After all, God knows how many women he’s seen and she’s nothing special, not really. The cold makes her nipples harden and, steeling herself, she drops her jeans and knickers in one go.
He’s used the time to get rid of his own trousers and they stand naked, facing each other. The ridiculousness of the situation threatens to make her burst into giggles. Instead she reaches for him. He meets her halfway and they resume kissing.
As they kiss he leads her to the bed that’s pushed into the corner. It’s narrow and the mattress is thin. It doesn’t look like he uses it often, as if he stays awake rather than risk the dreams, nightmares really, that wait for him in sleep. All at once a wave of sorrow threatens to overcome her and for a second she feels as old as he must be.
She lies on the bed and he crouches over her. He strokes his fingers over her breasts and down her body to her clit. He rubs and strokes it with a skill that must have been acquired over centuries of practice. Soon she’s gasping for breath, moving her hips into his hand, on the verge of begging for him.
He seems to sense that she has reached her breaking point and he lowers himself onto her, entering her in one smooth push. There’s an initial pain but it quickly fades as he continues to finger her clit while thrusting rhythmically.
Soon she is clenching around him, her ears ringing from the force of her orgasm. Then she goes completely limp. At this point the Doctor begins to pick up speed, chasing after his own pleasure.
His eyes are screwed tightly shut as he moves inside her and there’s an expression on his face that looks almost like pain.
Far too late she begins to doubt herself and her ‘grand plan’. Is it her he really wants? How does she know he’s not imaging some wife or girlfriend who was killed with the rest of his people? What if he’s just using her, fucking her because anything is better than being as alone as he was?
As he comes he gasps one word.
“Rose!”
She smiles. He’s thinking of her. That’s a start.
***
So what do you think?