Support Stacie Fic: Watching (1/3)
Title: Watching (1/3)
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose/Ten2 (all together)
Rating: Adultish for soft-focus secks, Tencest, and the f-bomb
Intrepid Beta: fid_gin
Summary: The Doctors and Rose land in Swinging London (yeah, baby!). UST-without-much-plot, occasional RST-without-much-plot, and some character study. Voyeurism, public sex, Tencest, but all of fairly mild sorts.
A/N: Hooray! This here is the fic I have written for my benefactress xebgoc , who won me in the Support Stacie Author Auction waaaay back in September. She requested a historical setting, with voyeurism and Tencest. I have endeavoured to oblige. A fic in three parts, posted Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 1
A pretty young blonde clutched a micro-mini dress to her chest and looked into two sets of contrite brown eyes. "You're, like, such a bummer, daddy-o. Daddy-o's, I mean."
"Sorry," said the man in the crisp blue suit .
"No cashpoints, nothing to sonic, no money," shrugged the man in the wrinkled brown suit, who appeared to be the other's identical twin. "But I'm sure we can find something in the wardrobe, if you're feeling out-of-place."
"It's not that I feel out-of-place, I just thought-," the girl pouted, but then seemed to catch herself in some sort of bad habit and changed her expression to a more cheerfully resigned one. "'S okay, though. We can just window-shop." She smiled broadly, revealing large but straight teeth and infectiously laughing eyes. She was dressed in strange, but clearly much less fashionable clothes than her companions, and Dave Brookings thought that was a crying shame. A pretty thing like her should be a palette for the creations of much more high quality designers.
"Can I help you?" Dave approached the trio, trying very hard not to stare at the twins and their matching suits. They were both really quite attractive, but had felt the need, even as adults, to style their hair similarly and wear matching clothes, and Dave couldn't decide if he found this alluring or disturbing. He'd definitely have to call Lance down to see them as soon as he got a moment.
"Sorry, I'm just looking," the young woman said.
"Give the gentlemen something to look at too, at least," Dave said. "Try it on." In his many years as a shop owner, he'd never failed to make a sale by ensuring that the boyfriends of his customers got a gander at how their girls looked in his clothes. Assuming, of course, that one of those two men was her boyfriend.
"Can't hurt," said the man in the brown suit. "Go on, then."
The man in the blue suit just stared after her as the girl turned and made her way to the fitting room. That'd be her fella', then, Dave thought: the speechless one.
She pulled the curtain back and stepped inside the little alcove. The two men shuffled from foot to foot and engaged in a few identical tics while the girl changed. When she emerged, Dave nodded sagely and declared her a work of art.
"Fantastic," he said, looking expectantly towards the other men. Any minute now, one of them would get out his bill-fold and absolutely insist-insist-that he buy the young lady some new togs.
The man in blue stammered and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... you... that's to say..."
"Brilliant!" the one in brown enthused, seemingly slightly less dumbstruck, but no less impressed. "It's a shame we can't..." he trailed off and looked uncomfortably towards Dave. "We really don't have any money, and I don't mean that as something you just say: we literally haven't any money at all. We were just looking."
The girl twirled in front of a full-length mirror and tried a number of poses out. "It is lovely, though," she said to Dave. "Fits like a glove."
"It's like it was made for you," Dave agreed, trying not to betray his disappointment at their professions of skint-ness. Perhaps if he charmed them well enough, they'd come back later with some dosh. Or maybe... there was a way they could all leave happy. "Why don't you wait here just one second. No, no, don't move a single inch." He pointed at her and winked. "I said, not once inch! I'll be right back."
When he reached the top of the narrow back stairway, he found Lance standing at his drafting table, hands on his hips, tutting softly to himself and shaking his head.
"That boy isn't worth even half of what we pay him for this shite. What did they teach him at that place? This doesn't even look like a human being, let alone a woman wearing a Mary Quant." He held up a sheet of heavy paper for Dave to look at. Dave really didn't think the drawing was all that bad, but Lance seemed to be in a right state over it. They didn't have enough money to pay a real graphic artist for their adverts, so art school drop-outs would have to do-and no amount of whinging from Lance would change that fact.
"Why don't you come downstairs, darling?" Dave said in a soothing voice. When Lance was in a temper, he could be unthinkingly nasty to everyone, even customers. "There's some folks I'd like you to meet."
Lance snorted derisively. "Having trouble making the sale?"
"Ha, ha. I am sorry for interrupting this nice strop you're having, but maybe it's time to reconsider photographs. I mean, the other shops have all moved to photos exclusively and our stuff still looks like we're stuck in 1954."
"The girls from the agency cost too much, and they're all rubbish anyway. All that gurning and prancing about-either that or they look like they've already cacked it and I'm taking their autopsy photos. I won't have my designs made to look cheap by those... tarts."
"There's a bird downstairs right now and I think she'd be perfect." Dave took Lance's hand tugged a little. "Just come on down and meet her."
"It takes more than just looks to model."
"Yeah, but I think she's got it. In my unprofessional and thoroughly unartistic opinion, of course," he added quickly, sensing an impending lecture on aesthetics from his partner. "Come on; it won't kill you."
~000~
The Doctor tried not to betray to his Time Lord counterpart how very much he liked Rose's new look. She hardly ever wore skirts and dresses-it didn't really fit in with their usual lifestyle, and she didn't strike him as someone who'd really cared too much for posh clothes even before they'd met. But this wasn't just any dress; it was beautiful and tiny and revealing in all the right places, but kept secrets in all the places that are better the less you see of them. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror and held her hair up with one hand to simulate a more formal hair style.
"Do you think he's coming back?" she asked, craning her neck to look after where the shop-keeper had gone. "We should go. I feel bad taking up his time when we're not going to buy anything."
"You look like a real hip dollybird," the other Doctor said, grinning. "Real groovy-"
"No, don't do that," the Doctor said to his twin. "Don't."
The shopkeeper did presently make his way out from the back room again, this time accompanied by a similarly sandy-haired, slightly more heavy-set man. This new bloke seemed to be in a bit of a mood, judging by his scowl, but he quickly started to run an appraising eye all over Rose. Even though he was absolutely certain that these shopkeepers were already a couple, the Doctor felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy arise in his throat.
"Turn around, love," the other shopkeeper ordered, causing the original one to flutter his hands around and apologise for his friend's tone.
"What he means is that we might be interested in hiring you. Ever done any modelling, sweetheart?"
"Modelling? Me?" Rose laughed nervously, a little too loudly, as she tended to when someone complimented her. "Not really... not that didn't involve being turned to stone."
"I'm called Lance, this here's Dave, and you should come upstairs for some snaps, yeah?" the heavier shopkeeper pronounced, as if there was nothing else to it.
Was there anything else to it?
The Doctor looked at his double, who had, at that exact moment, turned to look at him, presumably for the same reason. Rose meanwhile wasn't looking at either of them, but was back to twirling around in front of the mirror and beaming at her reflection.
"You can have that dress, free gratis," Dave said. "Just for a... I dunno what they call it. A screen test?"
"We have a deal, love?" Lance asked, holding a surprisingly large paw out for a shake.
"Doctor? We've got some time, right?" Rose turned and looked at the man in brown, causing the Doctor's human heart to sink a bit. She always looked to him first, like searching out that brown suit was a reflex when she was uncertain. He had wondered, from time to time, what would happen if they switched up their colour-coding.
The other Doctor shrugged. "Sounds like a lark, yeah," he said casually, but he was interrupted by a shrill bleeping coming from one of his coat pockets. "That'll be the timer on the chronomapping recalibration. She'll want a full system reboot now."
The Doctor watched the expression on Rose's face fall with disappointment, and he felt a little squeeze around his lungs, on her behalf, but he also saw that his counterpart noticed as well.
"No, no, you lot stay, please," the Time Lord said quickly. "It's just going to be a bunch of boring old button-pushing."
Rose clapped her hands excitedly, but then appeared to try on the mien of a seasoned professional. "Apparently selling my body is the only way to get this dress," she laughed. "Lead the way, gentlemen."
Rose began to walk towards the back, the other Doctor walked out the front door with a wave and a tinkling of shop bells, and the Doctor found himself being scrutinised by two sets of beady blue eyes.
"Don't think we're trying anything funny," Lance said to the Doctor, sternly.
"Oh, well I-" the Doctor stammered.
"What Lance is trying to say is that we're much more interested in the dress than the occupant, if you know what I mean."
The Doctor nodded vigorously.
"It's just that birds like that, if her bloke's around, she might feel self-conscious. Doesn't make for a very good picture," Dave added.
"No, no, I understand. I think I fancy a pint anyway. Rose?" He called back to where she was already picking a pair of shoes off of a rack behind the till. "I'll just pop down to that pub we passed earlier. If that's okay, I mean."
She didn't look up from where she was comparing two pairs of white pumps. "Yeah, I'll see you later," she muttered. "Bye."
He found himself standing out in Carnaby Street again, smelling the cigarette smoke and car exhaust and not really being terribly surprised that no one had paid enough attention to point out that not having any money would make purchasing a drink somewhat difficult. He'd never intended to do that anyway, which Rose probably should have known, had she thought about it for a moment.
Which he was sure she did not, but he wasn't really able to blame her. In this new body, he understood now that human vanity was, at its core, a railing against their own fragility and mortality. Rose's delight in being asked to pose as a model was much less about being shallow and much more about a giant two-fingered salute at her own inevitable ageing and death.
The Doctor found himself even slightly envious, as he began to amble towards where the TARDIS was parked. Envious of her in a way, but also envious of the shopkeepers and how they'd be able to capture her in a moment that he'd never get to witness in person himself-like trying to see what you look like when your eyes are closed, or Schroedinger's fashion model.
He turned on his heel, almost colliding with a lanky young man in a yellow suit, winklepickers and bow tie. A small alley, like the ones that London is chock full of, beckoned to his left and he quickly ducked down it. The TARDIS's button-pushing and rebooting could go on in single-Doctor mode for a while longer.
Gaining roof access to the row of shops and flats was absurdly easy, making his newly-cobbled-together sonic screwdriver unnecessary (which was a tiny bit disappointing, if he was honest). The sun was still out, so he made an effort to not brazenly trespass all over the roofs of Soho, and finally came to a barely comfortable crouching position which afforded him a reasonable view of the upstairs window of the shop.
He couldn't hear what was being said, of course, and he told himself that he wasn't being creepy, he was just seeing to her well-being. Just because the two men weren't interested in her romantically didn't mean that they didn't want to cause her harm, right? This excuse obviously broke down when he considered that Rose had gotten out of far worse scrapes with far more dangerous characters all on her own many times in the past.
The two men, Dave and Lance, fussed about with her hair for a bit, and then brought out a case of make-up. Rose's shoulders had started out quite tense, but as they worked around her, she seemed to relax. As she became more comfortable, her lips lost a certain thinness, became fuller, and she parted them slightly as a bit of pale pink lipstick was applied with a brush. The Doctor suddenly realised that he'd forgotten to breathe for a moment.
Lights were lit in the little impromptu studio, and some white sheets were draped here and there to create a backdrop. Rose sat perched on a little wooden stool, her legs crossed at the ankle, the toes on one of her bare feet bending and flexing idly as she sat and waited. The thinner shopkeeper-Dave, if the Doctor recalled correctly-disappeared for a few moments and reappeared with some tall black go-go boots, handing them to Rose, who looked delighted. As she leaned over to zip them up, a tiny strand of hair came free from the up-do she'd been put in. As she stood again, the yellow lock framed her face and traced the outline of her jaw, where the Doctor had so many times placed his hand, as the prelude to a kiss.
He felt a familiar twinge, first fluttering about in his chest and then moving lower, gaining momentum, growing heavier and syncing up to the beating of his heart. Being created in the body of an adult human, displays of random public arousal were not something that he'd had to contend with very often, even when Rose said something dirty and suggestive, or the other Doctor stole a quick feel of his bum as he walked by. He wasn't sure he'd really call a rooftop hiding spot "public," but a display of arousal seemed to be in the offing.
It felt good. It felt very good. It felt much better than normal and he struggled to figure out why, before all concern for scientific curiosity escaped him completely.
~000~
The leather go-go boots squeaked a bit as Rose walked, and they weren't the most comfortable footwear in the universe (and if there was one thing she knew these days, it was sensible shoes) but something about the way they constricted around her calves, coupled with the little bit of extra height from the low, blocky heels, made her feel different.
Dave ushered her over to a lit corner of the room and had her stand on a bit of white sheet while Lance fussed with an enormous camera and flash unit. Rose was left to her own devices, and if it hadn't been clear before that she was just a means to an end for the two men, it was now. She didn't mind that this was simply a transaction, but it did occur to her that she'd become quite accustomed to a surplus of men around who made no secret of exactly what way in which they fancied her.
The smile that just barely touched the edges of her mouth when she had this realisation was caught on film, to some modest sounds of approval from the photographer. Rose had a hard time, at first, figuring out what to do with her hands and where to cast her gaze. Dave, standing quietly in the far corner, gave her some pointers, while Lance was concentrating too hard on operating the equipment to say much of anything at all. She let her eyes drift towards the window, which looked out on a rather typical London view of mismatched roofs and chimneys cutting a grey early-evening sky at odd angles.
But then she caught a flash of movement. She didn't want to obviously follow it-she was fairly sure that Lance didn't want any pictures of this daft girl pointing out the window and gawping-but she did steal a few more glances until she realised what, or rather who, it was out there.
She couldn't believe that he didn't seem to think he could be seen, when it was still daylight yet and he certainly wasn't in the possession of an invisibility cloak. She imagined what he might be thinking, crouched down behind a bit of old chimney masonry. Was he disapproving of this entire display? Confused by all of this ridiculously impractical kit she had on? Was he concerned for her well-being or simply... watching?
But he could watch, if he wanted. Perhaps it would help her with her motivation. Is that what models need, she wondered, or is that just actors? She adjusted her stance, spread her legs just a little bit more, and found that she rather enjoyed the idea of him out there, peeping.
"You sure you've never done this before?" Dave asked from his station in the corner.
Rose just smiled. Maybe not all models needed motivation, but she'd found hers, apparently. Lance was making impressed-sounding whistling noises as he finished up one roll of film and then another. After a sixth roll, he quit abruptly, and without saying anything, put the camera down, collected the canisters that held the film, and marched back down the stairs.
Rose looked at Dave. Dave looked at Rose. "I guess that's that, then," Dave said.
"Yeah?"
"You'll have to forgive Lance. I love that man to bits, but he's got an artist's temperament." He looked down the stairs just in time to hear the front door bells ringing as Lance exited the shop entirely. "I'll go down and get your other clothes."
When she was alone again, Rose moved towards the window, still not openly acknowledging the Doctor's presence until she lifted the sash.
"Did you enjoy the show?" She stuck her head out and looked directly at the bricks the Doctor was hiding behind.
When he raised himself up to face her, she fancied that even his hair looked both startled and guilty.
"I... well... Iwasn'tspying!" he barked hastily. "Was just making sure you were okay."
"What'd you think was going to happen to me? Death by fabulousness?" She wedged the old window up as far as it would go and sat herself on the sill. "Well go on, big man: rescue me from their evil clutches."
She swivelled around and held out a hand so he could help her the rest of the way on to the roof-which he did efficiently, in spite (or perhaps because) of the rather noticeable activity in his trousers.
"So that'd be a yes, you did enjoy it," she purred into his ear as he helped steady her, his hands on either side of her waist.
"I-"
"It's all right, I sort of enjoyed it, too."
Together they shimmied around a dormer and over a nasty-looking bit of low iron fencing.
"Well, you got your dress at least," the Doctor said as he sat on a ledge that they'd have to jump off of to get back to street level.
"I did. And boots, too."
The Doctor jumped, landing gracefully and then turning around to hold his hands out to catch Rose. Which, Rose thought, wasn't really necessary, as it was only a drop of a few feet. He caught her roughly around the waist and his hands lingered there, his thumbs tracing circles through the fabric of her dress.
"I like the boots," he said, at length, and pulled her closer.
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose/Ten2 (all together)
Rating: Adultish for soft-focus secks, Tencest, and the f-bomb
Intrepid Beta: fid_gin
Summary: The Doctors and Rose land in Swinging London (yeah, baby!). UST-without-much-plot, occasional RST-without-much-plot, and some character study. Voyeurism, public sex, Tencest, but all of fairly mild sorts.
A/N: Hooray! This here is the fic I have written for my benefactress xebgoc , who won me in the Support Stacie Author Auction waaaay back in September. She requested a historical setting, with voyeurism and Tencest. I have endeavoured to oblige. A fic in three parts, posted Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 1
A pretty young blonde clutched a micro-mini dress to her chest and looked into two sets of contrite brown eyes. "You're, like, such a bummer, daddy-o. Daddy-o's, I mean."
"Sorry," said the man in the crisp blue suit .
"No cashpoints, nothing to sonic, no money," shrugged the man in the wrinkled brown suit, who appeared to be the other's identical twin. "But I'm sure we can find something in the wardrobe, if you're feeling out-of-place."
"It's not that I feel out-of-place, I just thought-," the girl pouted, but then seemed to catch herself in some sort of bad habit and changed her expression to a more cheerfully resigned one. "'S okay, though. We can just window-shop." She smiled broadly, revealing large but straight teeth and infectiously laughing eyes. She was dressed in strange, but clearly much less fashionable clothes than her companions, and Dave Brookings thought that was a crying shame. A pretty thing like her should be a palette for the creations of much more high quality designers.
"Can I help you?" Dave approached the trio, trying very hard not to stare at the twins and their matching suits. They were both really quite attractive, but had felt the need, even as adults, to style their hair similarly and wear matching clothes, and Dave couldn't decide if he found this alluring or disturbing. He'd definitely have to call Lance down to see them as soon as he got a moment.
"Sorry, I'm just looking," the young woman said.
"Give the gentlemen something to look at too, at least," Dave said. "Try it on." In his many years as a shop owner, he'd never failed to make a sale by ensuring that the boyfriends of his customers got a gander at how their girls looked in his clothes. Assuming, of course, that one of those two men was her boyfriend.
"Can't hurt," said the man in the brown suit. "Go on, then."
The man in the blue suit just stared after her as the girl turned and made her way to the fitting room. That'd be her fella', then, Dave thought: the speechless one.
She pulled the curtain back and stepped inside the little alcove. The two men shuffled from foot to foot and engaged in a few identical tics while the girl changed. When she emerged, Dave nodded sagely and declared her a work of art.
"Fantastic," he said, looking expectantly towards the other men. Any minute now, one of them would get out his bill-fold and absolutely insist-insist-that he buy the young lady some new togs.
The man in blue stammered and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... you... that's to say..."
"Brilliant!" the one in brown enthused, seemingly slightly less dumbstruck, but no less impressed. "It's a shame we can't..." he trailed off and looked uncomfortably towards Dave. "We really don't have any money, and I don't mean that as something you just say: we literally haven't any money at all. We were just looking."
The girl twirled in front of a full-length mirror and tried a number of poses out. "It is lovely, though," she said to Dave. "Fits like a glove."
"It's like it was made for you," Dave agreed, trying not to betray his disappointment at their professions of skint-ness. Perhaps if he charmed them well enough, they'd come back later with some dosh. Or maybe... there was a way they could all leave happy. "Why don't you wait here just one second. No, no, don't move a single inch." He pointed at her and winked. "I said, not once inch! I'll be right back."
When he reached the top of the narrow back stairway, he found Lance standing at his drafting table, hands on his hips, tutting softly to himself and shaking his head.
"That boy isn't worth even half of what we pay him for this shite. What did they teach him at that place? This doesn't even look like a human being, let alone a woman wearing a Mary Quant." He held up a sheet of heavy paper for Dave to look at. Dave really didn't think the drawing was all that bad, but Lance seemed to be in a right state over it. They didn't have enough money to pay a real graphic artist for their adverts, so art school drop-outs would have to do-and no amount of whinging from Lance would change that fact.
"Why don't you come downstairs, darling?" Dave said in a soothing voice. When Lance was in a temper, he could be unthinkingly nasty to everyone, even customers. "There's some folks I'd like you to meet."
Lance snorted derisively. "Having trouble making the sale?"
"Ha, ha. I am sorry for interrupting this nice strop you're having, but maybe it's time to reconsider photographs. I mean, the other shops have all moved to photos exclusively and our stuff still looks like we're stuck in 1954."
"The girls from the agency cost too much, and they're all rubbish anyway. All that gurning and prancing about-either that or they look like they've already cacked it and I'm taking their autopsy photos. I won't have my designs made to look cheap by those... tarts."
"There's a bird downstairs right now and I think she'd be perfect." Dave took Lance's hand tugged a little. "Just come on down and meet her."
"It takes more than just looks to model."
"Yeah, but I think she's got it. In my unprofessional and thoroughly unartistic opinion, of course," he added quickly, sensing an impending lecture on aesthetics from his partner. "Come on; it won't kill you."
~000~
The Doctor tried not to betray to his Time Lord counterpart how very much he liked Rose's new look. She hardly ever wore skirts and dresses-it didn't really fit in with their usual lifestyle, and she didn't strike him as someone who'd really cared too much for posh clothes even before they'd met. But this wasn't just any dress; it was beautiful and tiny and revealing in all the right places, but kept secrets in all the places that are better the less you see of them. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror and held her hair up with one hand to simulate a more formal hair style.
"Do you think he's coming back?" she asked, craning her neck to look after where the shop-keeper had gone. "We should go. I feel bad taking up his time when we're not going to buy anything."
"You look like a real hip dollybird," the other Doctor said, grinning. "Real groovy-"
"No, don't do that," the Doctor said to his twin. "Don't."
The shopkeeper did presently make his way out from the back room again, this time accompanied by a similarly sandy-haired, slightly more heavy-set man. This new bloke seemed to be in a bit of a mood, judging by his scowl, but he quickly started to run an appraising eye all over Rose. Even though he was absolutely certain that these shopkeepers were already a couple, the Doctor felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy arise in his throat.
"Turn around, love," the other shopkeeper ordered, causing the original one to flutter his hands around and apologise for his friend's tone.
"What he means is that we might be interested in hiring you. Ever done any modelling, sweetheart?"
"Modelling? Me?" Rose laughed nervously, a little too loudly, as she tended to when someone complimented her. "Not really... not that didn't involve being turned to stone."
"I'm called Lance, this here's Dave, and you should come upstairs for some snaps, yeah?" the heavier shopkeeper pronounced, as if there was nothing else to it.
Was there anything else to it?
The Doctor looked at his double, who had, at that exact moment, turned to look at him, presumably for the same reason. Rose meanwhile wasn't looking at either of them, but was back to twirling around in front of the mirror and beaming at her reflection.
"You can have that dress, free gratis," Dave said. "Just for a... I dunno what they call it. A screen test?"
"We have a deal, love?" Lance asked, holding a surprisingly large paw out for a shake.
"Doctor? We've got some time, right?" Rose turned and looked at the man in brown, causing the Doctor's human heart to sink a bit. She always looked to him first, like searching out that brown suit was a reflex when she was uncertain. He had wondered, from time to time, what would happen if they switched up their colour-coding.
The other Doctor shrugged. "Sounds like a lark, yeah," he said casually, but he was interrupted by a shrill bleeping coming from one of his coat pockets. "That'll be the timer on the chronomapping recalibration. She'll want a full system reboot now."
The Doctor watched the expression on Rose's face fall with disappointment, and he felt a little squeeze around his lungs, on her behalf, but he also saw that his counterpart noticed as well.
"No, no, you lot stay, please," the Time Lord said quickly. "It's just going to be a bunch of boring old button-pushing."
Rose clapped her hands excitedly, but then appeared to try on the mien of a seasoned professional. "Apparently selling my body is the only way to get this dress," she laughed. "Lead the way, gentlemen."
Rose began to walk towards the back, the other Doctor walked out the front door with a wave and a tinkling of shop bells, and the Doctor found himself being scrutinised by two sets of beady blue eyes.
"Don't think we're trying anything funny," Lance said to the Doctor, sternly.
"Oh, well I-" the Doctor stammered.
"What Lance is trying to say is that we're much more interested in the dress than the occupant, if you know what I mean."
The Doctor nodded vigorously.
"It's just that birds like that, if her bloke's around, she might feel self-conscious. Doesn't make for a very good picture," Dave added.
"No, no, I understand. I think I fancy a pint anyway. Rose?" He called back to where she was already picking a pair of shoes off of a rack behind the till. "I'll just pop down to that pub we passed earlier. If that's okay, I mean."
She didn't look up from where she was comparing two pairs of white pumps. "Yeah, I'll see you later," she muttered. "Bye."
He found himself standing out in Carnaby Street again, smelling the cigarette smoke and car exhaust and not really being terribly surprised that no one had paid enough attention to point out that not having any money would make purchasing a drink somewhat difficult. He'd never intended to do that anyway, which Rose probably should have known, had she thought about it for a moment.
Which he was sure she did not, but he wasn't really able to blame her. In this new body, he understood now that human vanity was, at its core, a railing against their own fragility and mortality. Rose's delight in being asked to pose as a model was much less about being shallow and much more about a giant two-fingered salute at her own inevitable ageing and death.
The Doctor found himself even slightly envious, as he began to amble towards where the TARDIS was parked. Envious of her in a way, but also envious of the shopkeepers and how they'd be able to capture her in a moment that he'd never get to witness in person himself-like trying to see what you look like when your eyes are closed, or Schroedinger's fashion model.
He turned on his heel, almost colliding with a lanky young man in a yellow suit, winklepickers and bow tie. A small alley, like the ones that London is chock full of, beckoned to his left and he quickly ducked down it. The TARDIS's button-pushing and rebooting could go on in single-Doctor mode for a while longer.
Gaining roof access to the row of shops and flats was absurdly easy, making his newly-cobbled-together sonic screwdriver unnecessary (which was a tiny bit disappointing, if he was honest). The sun was still out, so he made an effort to not brazenly trespass all over the roofs of Soho, and finally came to a barely comfortable crouching position which afforded him a reasonable view of the upstairs window of the shop.
He couldn't hear what was being said, of course, and he told himself that he wasn't being creepy, he was just seeing to her well-being. Just because the two men weren't interested in her romantically didn't mean that they didn't want to cause her harm, right? This excuse obviously broke down when he considered that Rose had gotten out of far worse scrapes with far more dangerous characters all on her own many times in the past.
The two men, Dave and Lance, fussed about with her hair for a bit, and then brought out a case of make-up. Rose's shoulders had started out quite tense, but as they worked around her, she seemed to relax. As she became more comfortable, her lips lost a certain thinness, became fuller, and she parted them slightly as a bit of pale pink lipstick was applied with a brush. The Doctor suddenly realised that he'd forgotten to breathe for a moment.
Lights were lit in the little impromptu studio, and some white sheets were draped here and there to create a backdrop. Rose sat perched on a little wooden stool, her legs crossed at the ankle, the toes on one of her bare feet bending and flexing idly as she sat and waited. The thinner shopkeeper-Dave, if the Doctor recalled correctly-disappeared for a few moments and reappeared with some tall black go-go boots, handing them to Rose, who looked delighted. As she leaned over to zip them up, a tiny strand of hair came free from the up-do she'd been put in. As she stood again, the yellow lock framed her face and traced the outline of her jaw, where the Doctor had so many times placed his hand, as the prelude to a kiss.
He felt a familiar twinge, first fluttering about in his chest and then moving lower, gaining momentum, growing heavier and syncing up to the beating of his heart. Being created in the body of an adult human, displays of random public arousal were not something that he'd had to contend with very often, even when Rose said something dirty and suggestive, or the other Doctor stole a quick feel of his bum as he walked by. He wasn't sure he'd really call a rooftop hiding spot "public," but a display of arousal seemed to be in the offing.
It felt good. It felt very good. It felt much better than normal and he struggled to figure out why, before all concern for scientific curiosity escaped him completely.
~000~
The leather go-go boots squeaked a bit as Rose walked, and they weren't the most comfortable footwear in the universe (and if there was one thing she knew these days, it was sensible shoes) but something about the way they constricted around her calves, coupled with the little bit of extra height from the low, blocky heels, made her feel different.
Dave ushered her over to a lit corner of the room and had her stand on a bit of white sheet while Lance fussed with an enormous camera and flash unit. Rose was left to her own devices, and if it hadn't been clear before that she was just a means to an end for the two men, it was now. She didn't mind that this was simply a transaction, but it did occur to her that she'd become quite accustomed to a surplus of men around who made no secret of exactly what way in which they fancied her.
The smile that just barely touched the edges of her mouth when she had this realisation was caught on film, to some modest sounds of approval from the photographer. Rose had a hard time, at first, figuring out what to do with her hands and where to cast her gaze. Dave, standing quietly in the far corner, gave her some pointers, while Lance was concentrating too hard on operating the equipment to say much of anything at all. She let her eyes drift towards the window, which looked out on a rather typical London view of mismatched roofs and chimneys cutting a grey early-evening sky at odd angles.
But then she caught a flash of movement. She didn't want to obviously follow it-she was fairly sure that Lance didn't want any pictures of this daft girl pointing out the window and gawping-but she did steal a few more glances until she realised what, or rather who, it was out there.
She couldn't believe that he didn't seem to think he could be seen, when it was still daylight yet and he certainly wasn't in the possession of an invisibility cloak. She imagined what he might be thinking, crouched down behind a bit of old chimney masonry. Was he disapproving of this entire display? Confused by all of this ridiculously impractical kit she had on? Was he concerned for her well-being or simply... watching?
But he could watch, if he wanted. Perhaps it would help her with her motivation. Is that what models need, she wondered, or is that just actors? She adjusted her stance, spread her legs just a little bit more, and found that she rather enjoyed the idea of him out there, peeping.
"You sure you've never done this before?" Dave asked from his station in the corner.
Rose just smiled. Maybe not all models needed motivation, but she'd found hers, apparently. Lance was making impressed-sounding whistling noises as he finished up one roll of film and then another. After a sixth roll, he quit abruptly, and without saying anything, put the camera down, collected the canisters that held the film, and marched back down the stairs.
Rose looked at Dave. Dave looked at Rose. "I guess that's that, then," Dave said.
"Yeah?"
"You'll have to forgive Lance. I love that man to bits, but he's got an artist's temperament." He looked down the stairs just in time to hear the front door bells ringing as Lance exited the shop entirely. "I'll go down and get your other clothes."
When she was alone again, Rose moved towards the window, still not openly acknowledging the Doctor's presence until she lifted the sash.
"Did you enjoy the show?" She stuck her head out and looked directly at the bricks the Doctor was hiding behind.
When he raised himself up to face her, she fancied that even his hair looked both startled and guilty.
"I... well... Iwasn'tspying!" he barked hastily. "Was just making sure you were okay."
"What'd you think was going to happen to me? Death by fabulousness?" She wedged the old window up as far as it would go and sat herself on the sill. "Well go on, big man: rescue me from their evil clutches."
She swivelled around and held out a hand so he could help her the rest of the way on to the roof-which he did efficiently, in spite (or perhaps because) of the rather noticeable activity in his trousers.
"So that'd be a yes, you did enjoy it," she purred into his ear as he helped steady her, his hands on either side of her waist.
"I-"
"It's all right, I sort of enjoyed it, too."
Together they shimmied around a dormer and over a nasty-looking bit of low iron fencing.
"Well, you got your dress at least," the Doctor said as he sat on a ledge that they'd have to jump off of to get back to street level.
"I did. And boots, too."
The Doctor jumped, landing gracefully and then turning around to hold his hands out to catch Rose. Which, Rose thought, wasn't really necessary, as it was only a drop of a few feet. He caught her roughly around the waist and his hands lingered there, his thumbs tracing circles through the fabric of her dress.
"I like the boots," he said, at length, and pulled her closer.