Come Together Ten.5/Rose (pg-13)
Inspired by Fever by Michael Buble(did I do that right)
Also, no one even bother for voting for this one. I wrote it because I felt there was a sad lack of Human10/Rose fics and the idea amused me. It's un-beta'd and crammed, but I really wanted to do this challenge. It's much more cracky than intended, and is so horrible *hangs head in shame* I shall do a good fic next week (I hope).
They sat facing each other on the bed, grinning crookedly. The two of them itched for adventure, tense from sitting around the house with Jackie since they had been so unceremoniously deposited on Bad Wolf Bay by the Doctor. She had insisted however, at the beginning of the second week, when she had found them with their bags packed, that they couldn’t go galavanting off on adventures until after they spent some family time at home. So, begrudgingly, they had agreed, and now they watched the days drag by, wiggling their toes in their shoes, itching to run.
Their knees touched lightly, and the Doctor held Rose’s hands in his. The mattress was ridiculously posh and soft, and far too comfortable for one to fall asleep on. The Doctor felt a shiver ripple down his back and he rotated his shoulders nervously. Noticing his tension, Rose gave his hands a squeeze. At first it was light and reassuring, but it soon became hard and solid and bone-grinding. It lasted only a moment, but brought tears to his eyes. And out of nowhere she was pushing him back into the spongy mattress, the weight of their bodies causing it to dip deeply. The Doctor felt his extremities tingle pleasantly and he felt heat flush through him. His heart beat like the erratic frenzy of a fireworks explosion (they’d gone to one, shortly after he’d come, and he’d watched the lights of the reacting chemicals and gunpowder that he’d once thought of as mundane and loud and pollutant dance in her wide, dark eyes, and he’d felt so, so, so alive; on that night, she had looked at him and called him ‘Doctor’ and he knew that maybe, most likely, probably, they would survive) at the feeling of her fingertips catching on his arms. His head swam dizzily and he wondered what sex with her would be like. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a long moment, his body grew cold and he let the breath out heavily.
He opened his eyes and found Rose lying parallel to him, eyes wide. He watched her, caught the dancing sadness in her gaze, and the tentative love. He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. She met his mouth without resistance, but offered little back.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
He smiled at her, and for once, she smiled back. He brought his knees up so they brushed hers and he felt a flutter in his stomach. He was surprised she hadn’t pulled back yet. These last weeks he had pushed forward tentatively, testing where she would and wouldn’t let him go. Often, if he tried to get close, she’d retreat into herself and lash out at anyone nearby. Lying on her bed like this, eyes open and bodies touching in the lightly. It was a wonderfully intimate touch, for them at least. His head was still reeling, trying to process the fact of her letting him kiss her.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, and he noticed the concern in her eyes. That concern made him want to do terrible, wonderful, irrational things she would surely lash out at.
“Brilliant,” he replied, moving his arm to take her hand from where it was folded next to her ear. His shoulder ground uncomfortably against the mattress, but he held on tight.
“You sure? You look a bit...flushed.”
The Doctor wondered when it had gotten so hot in her room. “Of course, you’re just beau-”
Before he could even finish the sentence or gather a thought, she had closed the six inches of space between them, and god, how had he ever lived with the space there? She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand at the back of his head and kissed him. All coherent thoughts danced away like quicksilver and all the Doctor could think about was her, her, her. And then, out of the blue, came the memory of a time he’d gone to get ice cream with Martha in Bombay. She’d stuck with some sort of spice thing mixed with chocolate, but he’d gotten rose-flavored. He had to admit, now, that it had partially been because of Rose, and in reflection he could pinpoint the fast glimmer of envy and hurt dancing like a fish beneath water in Martha’s eyes. The ice cream had tasted exactly as roses smelled and the Doctor had loved it. It was the same in this situation, she tasted just as she smelled. She smelled different from before though. The essential Rose-ness was still there but it was deeper, more layered and labored. Just like the days ticked off on her calendar, the Rose he knew had slipped away. There was a new Rose presented before him, a Rose that was fearless in the face of the Void and armies of daleks, but a Rose that was scared of him. And oh how the thought of that burned, or was it just the ridiculous heat filling every corner of his body as she pushed him onto his back.
“I was planning on waiting a little longer,” she said as she tugged his shirt off.
“Please don’t,” The Doctor murmured as she lifted his hand to her face. He cupped her cheek in his palm and watched her intensively. Rose stayed still for a moment before her face split into a wide, tongue-biting smile. It was contagious and the Doctor found himself grinning back.
“You should look like an idiot, but it’s so sexy when you smile like that,” she says softly, pulling her head back from his face, and his heart hurts, thinking soon the rest of her will follow. Instead, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and bends back down, kissing him again, hands going to the side of his face, fingers pressing sharply into his temples. One of his hands hooks over her hip and she takes it and guides it up to the line of her shirt. It’s ridden up and his palm trails over her stomach as he moves. She shifts against him like a sigh and as she pulls his hand upwards over her bra he realizes she’s instinctively taken the hand he grew from, her closest connection to him, and it hurts so much he ignores it and tells himself it’s you now, it’s you now, it’s you now, although he knows it will always be them.
By the time Rose’s shirt is fully off and on the floor, the Doctor is very familiar with the features of her torso. He’s never seen her like this, hair disheveled and face flushed red. He doubts he looks any different, judging on the prickling heat pounding behind his forehead. It’s becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on the potential Event that lies in the (hopefully) near future, but he’s scared if he pulls back now, she’ll pull back forever. And as her fingers hook over the line of his trousers, scraping at his skin, the heat that has been building ever since they sat down explodes behind his eyelids.
He wakes, sometime later, to a cold cloth dabbing over his forehead and cheek. His eyelids flutter and it’s a long moment before the room comes into focus around him. He’s on Rose’s bed, he notices, as his eyes trace the crack that runs across her ceiling.
Rose is bending over him, hair tied back and brow furrowed. He sees a thin layer of tears in her eyes, which are red and puffy. Faint lines run down her cheeks and he wonders why she’s been crying. Was he really that bad?
“Rose?” he croaks.
The look of relief on her face is so great he feels like a burden’s been lifted off his own shoulders.
“Rose? Did we have sex?”
Rose’s eyes widen and then she bursts out laughing. She drops the washcloth as her arms wrap around her sides, and it settles thickly on his chest.
“I think you’d remember if we had sex, Doctor,” she wheezes. “You’ve been out for an hour.”
“What!” he exclaims, trying to sit up. The room tilts around him and he lets her push him back down.
“As soon as I began to undo your trousers you fainted. You were on fire, I took your temperature and it said 115, how is that even possible?”
“I had a...fever?”
“Yes Doctor. You had a fever. Pretty bad timing too. I guess since you never got sick before you’re especially vulnerable.”
The Doctor had a sneaking feeling a cold hadn’t been the cause of it. He didn’t want to tell Rose that, though, since he thought that she might have been the reason. But if she thought he was sick, he might have to wait awhile to regain this closeness. She’d begun to wipe the cloth over his chest now and he felt goosebumps raise on his arms. As Rose traced the damp fabric over his torso, he realized his trousers were half undone. She must have been really worried, to have left him half-naked in her haste to bring down his fever. He was very happy for this as she brought the rag to the line of his boxers and ducked beneath it. He gasped and she smiled.
“Don’t think I’m waiting just because your immune system is pathetic,” she purrs, catching his lips and blurring her kiss with the last syllable.
He mumbles something he doesn’t even understand back. Heat flushes his face and he’s swimming in dizziness, but he decides not to mention it to Rose because it’s certainly, most definitely her.
Also, no one even bother for voting for this one. I wrote it because I felt there was a sad lack of Human10/Rose fics and the idea amused me. It's un-beta'd and crammed, but I really wanted to do this challenge. It's much more cracky than intended, and is so horrible *hangs head in shame* I shall do a good fic next week (I hope).
They sat facing each other on the bed, grinning crookedly. The two of them itched for adventure, tense from sitting around the house with Jackie since they had been so unceremoniously deposited on Bad Wolf Bay by the Doctor. She had insisted however, at the beginning of the second week, when she had found them with their bags packed, that they couldn’t go galavanting off on adventures until after they spent some family time at home. So, begrudgingly, they had agreed, and now they watched the days drag by, wiggling their toes in their shoes, itching to run.
Their knees touched lightly, and the Doctor held Rose’s hands in his. The mattress was ridiculously posh and soft, and far too comfortable for one to fall asleep on. The Doctor felt a shiver ripple down his back and he rotated his shoulders nervously. Noticing his tension, Rose gave his hands a squeeze. At first it was light and reassuring, but it soon became hard and solid and bone-grinding. It lasted only a moment, but brought tears to his eyes. And out of nowhere she was pushing him back into the spongy mattress, the weight of their bodies causing it to dip deeply. The Doctor felt his extremities tingle pleasantly and he felt heat flush through him. His heart beat like the erratic frenzy of a fireworks explosion (they’d gone to one, shortly after he’d come, and he’d watched the lights of the reacting chemicals and gunpowder that he’d once thought of as mundane and loud and pollutant dance in her wide, dark eyes, and he’d felt so, so, so alive; on that night, she had looked at him and called him ‘Doctor’ and he knew that maybe, most likely, probably, they would survive) at the feeling of her fingertips catching on his arms. His head swam dizzily and he wondered what sex with her would be like. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a long moment, his body grew cold and he let the breath out heavily.
He opened his eyes and found Rose lying parallel to him, eyes wide. He watched her, caught the dancing sadness in her gaze, and the tentative love. He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. She met his mouth without resistance, but offered little back.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
He smiled at her, and for once, she smiled back. He brought his knees up so they brushed hers and he felt a flutter in his stomach. He was surprised she hadn’t pulled back yet. These last weeks he had pushed forward tentatively, testing where she would and wouldn’t let him go. Often, if he tried to get close, she’d retreat into herself and lash out at anyone nearby. Lying on her bed like this, eyes open and bodies touching in the lightly. It was a wonderfully intimate touch, for them at least. His head was still reeling, trying to process the fact of her letting him kiss her.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, and he noticed the concern in her eyes. That concern made him want to do terrible, wonderful, irrational things she would surely lash out at.
“Brilliant,” he replied, moving his arm to take her hand from where it was folded next to her ear. His shoulder ground uncomfortably against the mattress, but he held on tight.
“You sure? You look a bit...flushed.”
The Doctor wondered when it had gotten so hot in her room. “Of course, you’re just beau-”
Before he could even finish the sentence or gather a thought, she had closed the six inches of space between them, and god, how had he ever lived with the space there? She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand at the back of his head and kissed him. All coherent thoughts danced away like quicksilver and all the Doctor could think about was her, her, her. And then, out of the blue, came the memory of a time he’d gone to get ice cream with Martha in Bombay. She’d stuck with some sort of spice thing mixed with chocolate, but he’d gotten rose-flavored. He had to admit, now, that it had partially been because of Rose, and in reflection he could pinpoint the fast glimmer of envy and hurt dancing like a fish beneath water in Martha’s eyes. The ice cream had tasted exactly as roses smelled and the Doctor had loved it. It was the same in this situation, she tasted just as she smelled. She smelled different from before though. The essential Rose-ness was still there but it was deeper, more layered and labored. Just like the days ticked off on her calendar, the Rose he knew had slipped away. There was a new Rose presented before him, a Rose that was fearless in the face of the Void and armies of daleks, but a Rose that was scared of him. And oh how the thought of that burned, or was it just the ridiculous heat filling every corner of his body as she pushed him onto his back.
“I was planning on waiting a little longer,” she said as she tugged his shirt off.
“Please don’t,” The Doctor murmured as she lifted his hand to her face. He cupped her cheek in his palm and watched her intensively. Rose stayed still for a moment before her face split into a wide, tongue-biting smile. It was contagious and the Doctor found himself grinning back.
“You should look like an idiot, but it’s so sexy when you smile like that,” she says softly, pulling her head back from his face, and his heart hurts, thinking soon the rest of her will follow. Instead, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and bends back down, kissing him again, hands going to the side of his face, fingers pressing sharply into his temples. One of his hands hooks over her hip and she takes it and guides it up to the line of her shirt. It’s ridden up and his palm trails over her stomach as he moves. She shifts against him like a sigh and as she pulls his hand upwards over her bra he realizes she’s instinctively taken the hand he grew from, her closest connection to him, and it hurts so much he ignores it and tells himself it’s you now, it’s you now, it’s you now, although he knows it will always be them.
By the time Rose’s shirt is fully off and on the floor, the Doctor is very familiar with the features of her torso. He’s never seen her like this, hair disheveled and face flushed red. He doubts he looks any different, judging on the prickling heat pounding behind his forehead. It’s becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on the potential Event that lies in the (hopefully) near future, but he’s scared if he pulls back now, she’ll pull back forever. And as her fingers hook over the line of his trousers, scraping at his skin, the heat that has been building ever since they sat down explodes behind his eyelids.
He wakes, sometime later, to a cold cloth dabbing over his forehead and cheek. His eyelids flutter and it’s a long moment before the room comes into focus around him. He’s on Rose’s bed, he notices, as his eyes trace the crack that runs across her ceiling.
Rose is bending over him, hair tied back and brow furrowed. He sees a thin layer of tears in her eyes, which are red and puffy. Faint lines run down her cheeks and he wonders why she’s been crying. Was he really that bad?
“Rose?” he croaks.
The look of relief on her face is so great he feels like a burden’s been lifted off his own shoulders.
“Rose? Did we have sex?”
Rose’s eyes widen and then she bursts out laughing. She drops the washcloth as her arms wrap around her sides, and it settles thickly on his chest.
“I think you’d remember if we had sex, Doctor,” she wheezes. “You’ve been out for an hour.”
“What!” he exclaims, trying to sit up. The room tilts around him and he lets her push him back down.
“As soon as I began to undo your trousers you fainted. You were on fire, I took your temperature and it said 115, how is that even possible?”
“I had a...fever?”
“Yes Doctor. You had a fever. Pretty bad timing too. I guess since you never got sick before you’re especially vulnerable.”
The Doctor had a sneaking feeling a cold hadn’t been the cause of it. He didn’t want to tell Rose that, though, since he thought that she might have been the reason. But if she thought he was sick, he might have to wait awhile to regain this closeness. She’d begun to wipe the cloth over his chest now and he felt goosebumps raise on his arms. As Rose traced the damp fabric over his torso, he realized his trousers were half undone. She must have been really worried, to have left him half-naked in her haste to bring down his fever. He was very happy for this as she brought the rag to the line of his boxers and ducked beneath it. He gasped and she smiled.
“Don’t think I’m waiting just because your immune system is pathetic,” she purrs, catching his lips and blurring her kiss with the last syllable.
He mumbles something he doesn’t even understand back. Heat flushes his face and he’s swimming in dizziness, but he decides not to mention it to Rose because it’s certainly, most definitely her.