Fic: Many The Miles
Many The Miles, Nine/Rose, NC-17
“So,” he said, urging her to shift to the passenger seat so he could climb into the driver’s side, “what do you think about this road trip?”
She laughed, pulling her hair back up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d say it was one of your better ideas yet.” (4,072 words)
Author's Note: Prompt pictures used: 01 and 18. Usual disclaimers apply -- I don't own them, I don't make money off them. No beta, so all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine. Mea culpa.
*
“...of all the stupid, idiotic things that you could do,” groused Rose as they trudged down the winding dirt road, bordered on both sides by tall, yellowish grass that almost reached her waist. The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun beating down on her exposed neck, and she was sure she was turning into a lobster, given the midday heat. If she developed skin cancer, she was certain she would never let the Doctor hear the end of it.
Speaking of the Doctor -- he walked beside her in his usual leather coat and wool jumper, seemingly impervious to the heat, his boots clomping on the soft ground and his blue eyes twinkling. “Lookit this, Rose,” he exclaimed, stretching his lanky arms wide open as if to encompass the sky. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
She glared at him and tossed her sweat-slick hair over her shoulder, wishing that she’d brought a hair band to keep her bangs away from her forehead. She was tired and sticky and verging on uncomfortable. “How far is it to the TARDIS, Doctor?” she asked, unable to keep a whine out of her voice.
The Doctor peered at his watch, which, she noticed, never told the time. “It’ll take us fourteen days by road.”
“By road? What do you mean, ‘by road’?” She was tired, sweaty, and she was sure there was plant life growing on her denims.
They turned a corner and emerged at an empty stretch of a highway, a row of scraggly trees bordering the side of the road. Across the road was a small wooden shack with the words “Crazy Dave’s Car Emporium” etched in red letters across an aluminium signage. Behind the shack were rows upon rows of old, dusty cars that looked like they were ready to be sent to the scrapyard instead of driven by human beings. The Doctor beamed at Rose. “Fantastic!” he crowed, stalking across the road towards the shack. Rose trotted behind, hoping against hope that at least whatever the Doctor picked had, at the very least, air-conditioning.
*
The red Buick truck looked as though it had seen better days. The leather upholstery was peeling in several places, the windows were stuck and refused to budge, and an distinctly odd smell that reminded Rose of a mixture of beer and bleach made her want to stick her head out of the window at all times. The Doctor simply grinned at her, threw his leather jacket at the front passenger seat, slid into the driver’s side of the truck and motioned for her to get in.
“One of the great American past-times, Rose,” he told her. “We’re going on a road trip.”
“I can see that, Doctor.”
“We’ll see the sights, eat all the strange food, and then make our way across this -- ow!” The Doctor scowled as the engine sputtered to life and one of the myriad gears in front of him spurted some unnameable black sludge on his trousers. He glared at the wheel as though it was the truck’s fault and not him. Rose couldn’t help but laugh -- he looked so far removed from his usual Time Lord persona, his brows knitted together in consternation and a scowl forming at the corners of his lips (she desperately wanted to kiss it away, dammit). He turned to her, eyebrow raised.
“Oh come on, Doctor. Road trip!” She gave him a saucy wink and fiddled with the radio dials as the Doctor maneuvered the truck out of the lot and down the open highway.
*
They stopped by the nearest clothing store at the next town they encountered. Rose picked out several pairs of denim shorts and plaid cotton shirts, tank tops of every colour of the rainbow, and a second pair of trainers. If she was going to be on a road trip across America, she might as well dress the part. A pair of large plastic sunglasses, hair ties, and a bright red paisley-pattered scarf completed her collection. The boy at the till, his eyes wide at her purchases, helped her stuff everything into a duffel bag (which she also purchased) and rang up her clothes.
The Doctor, meanwhile, clomped over to the men’s section of the store and stared forlornly at the selection of t-shirts that proclaimed the name of the town (“Hopburn, the best place for hops!”), acid-washed jeans, and trucker boots. Rose plodded over to him, her hair tied back and her face clean and fresh from make-up. “Haven’t decided yet?” she asked.
“There aren’t any jumpers, Rose,” he said sadly. “All they have are these silly clothes.”
“Well, you did say, yeah -- new cultures and all that? And you do need a change, Doctor.” She leaned closer and sniffed. “Do Time Lords need deodorant?”
He gave her an affronted look and grabbed a plain button-down shirt from the rack. “Fine.”
“Hey, just wanted to know.”
“Well, now you know.”
“That you do?” she replied cheekily. “For a superior being, you’d think you’d be done smellin’ like sweat.”
He rolled his eyes as he picked out several more shirts -- the same style as the first one, and all in various shades of blue. “I can control each and every chemical function of my body, y’know, so ‘s not like I really need to put on all those products you seem fond of.” He wrinkled his nose as he perused the shelves for a pair of denims that were neither ripped, torn, nor acid-washed. “Plus, dunno why y’ need to put on all that perfume and claptrap. You smell lovely as it is, Rose Tyler.”
Rose raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. (She distinctly remembered another time he’d given her a backhanded sort of compliment: “Blimey, you look beautiful... considering you’re human.”)
But the Doctor didn’t seem to need to qualify his statement -- he simply picked out a couple of pairs of dark blue jeans, placed it on the pile of clothes already cradled in his arms, and started moving towards the cashier. “Coming, Rose?” he called over his shoulder.
*
The sun was already sinking down the horizon, spreading beams of scarlet and orange across the desert sky. Rose folded her arms at the edge of the window of the passenger seat and stared at the stark beauty that seemed to envelop the whole scene. Beside her, the Doctor drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel and hummed quietly to a bluegrass song that she didn’t know the name of.
They pulled up at the next motel they found at the side of the highway, their red truck fitting in perfectly with the other dust-spattered vehicles in the parking lot. The Doctor jumped down from his side of the truck and strode confidently towards the check-in window while Rose took her time gathering their items from the back of the truck and stuffing them into the duffel bag. She chucked out the remains of paper cups and burger wrappers at the nearby bin, then walked over to the Doctor, who was staring intently at the single key in his palm.
“Oi, y’all right?” She nudged him with her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah.” He was still staring at the key. “Jus’ that... well, they only had one room left. An’ it’s only got one bed.”
“Well, how big’s the bed then?”
“”S a double, he says.”
“Should be all right.” Rose gave him a bright grin. “I’ve shared worse with Shireen. Remind me to tell ‘bout that camping trip we had in secondary school.” She lifted the duffel bag and cocked her head towards the stairs. “Come on, Doctor. I need a shower.”
He chuckled and took the duffel from her. “Be careful what you wish for, Rose.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, y’know, you’ll never know what creepy crawlies they have in these kinds of places.”
“You mean like that movie Mum made me watch on Halloween night, with the lady in the shower stall who was murdered by, what’s his name again? Bates, yeah?”
“No, I don’t think anyone’d want to do that. Plus they’d have to get through me, yeah?”
“I knew I kept you around for something, Doctor.”
“Oi!”
She laughed as they finally stood in front of 9C. He slotted the key into the lock, gave an insistent twist, and pushed the door open. “Your quarters await,” he said formally, a spark of amusement in his storm-blue eyes.
“Ooooh, Doctor,” she responded in the same formal tones, trying not to break out into giggles. “It looks... well... “
The walls had an old-fashioned ivy vine pattern that stretched from floor to ceiling. The carpet was thin and moss-green, and Rose didn’t trust herself to go barefoot across the floor. The bed dominated most of the space, with a heavy wooden headboard and roundels. There were two floral-pattered armchairs pushed against the nearest wall. A television set and a bar fridge completed the room. The air-conditioner pinged as its ancient machinery attempted to cool down the room. The entire place smelled of stale cookies and mothballs.
The Doctor pushed his way through the door and dumped the duffel bag on one of the armchairs, shedding his leather jacket and folding it neatly at the back of the seat. Rose found it a bit disconcerting to just see him in his jumper and trousers -- as though he’d shed his armour. “Well?” he asked her. “Shower, yeah?”
“What about you?”
He looked at the bed. “S’pose I could catch some sleep.”
“Thought you didn’t sleep as much as us apes.”
“Thought I’d give it a try.” He flopped down on the bed, all lanky limbs and rangy muscles, easing his arms up and folding his hands behind his head. “See, all comfy.”
You’d be a lot more comfortable if I were on top of you, she thought idly, then, horrified, tried to clamp down on the thought. While he’d promised he’d never look into her head, Rose was very careful about her own thoughts whenever she was around him. Uncomfortably, and without saying a word, she walked over to where he’d left the bag, rummaged around for a pair of shorts and a tank top, and went to the bathroom at the other end of the room without making eye contact with him.
Once the door had closed behind her, she dumped her clothes on top of the toilet lid and tried to keep her traitorous thoughts under control. She knew it was going to happen eventually -- all that running-for-their-lives, all that hand-holding and hugs and long, soul-searching talks in the middle of the night in the TARDIS control room or the galley or the library or, heck, even the swimming pool one starlit night. She knew that her body was going to respond to that manic smile, those bright blue eyes, that body that he kept hidden beneath leather and wool, those hands, God almighty. Rose shuddered and braced her hands on the sink counter. “This is not appropriate,” she whispered to herself, staring at her dishevelled reflection in the mirror.
But she knew, that secret part of her knew, that this was an inevitability. Her body was positively thrumming with desire, and now, as she shed her clothes and stepped into the shower. With the lukewarm water sluicing off her skin, she allowed her hands to wander all over her body, tracing the curves and planes of her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. She imagined the Doctor’s hands -- smooth, cool, like the surface of a much-handled penny, the grooves smoothed away by time -- over her overheated skin, skimming the sensitive parts of her body. Her fingers drifted lower, drawn inexorably to the junction between her thighs. She’s wet, she knew that, her forefinger rubbing over the slick nub of her clit. She imagined the Doctor kneeling in front of her, his hands splayed over her hips, his tongue -- his marvelous tongue, she thought -- touching her clit, opening her up to the most intimate part of her --
“Rose?” It was the Doctor’s voice outside the bathroom door.
She jerked up, slip-sliding across the slick tiles, her hand flying up to grab the shower curtain railing in an effort to keep herself upright. Shit.
“Rose? Y’all right?”
“... yeah.” Her voice was wavering, her nerve endings still tingling from the almost-orgasm. “‘M all right, Doctor.”
“Er.” His voice was now colored with embarrassment. “D’you mind it if I use the toilet?”
There was a long pause. Of all the things. Rose knocked her forehead once on the tiles, and then forced her voice to reply, “Sure, go right ahead. Shall I unlock it?”
“Nah, jus’ stay covered up. I’ll sonic the lock. Shouldn’t be a prob -- “ She heard an audible snick, and the sound of another pair of feet pad into the bathroom, “ -- lem.”
“Right.” She stepped back beneath the spray, trying not to pay attention to the sounds on the other side of the curtain. But -- ah, there’s his zip, and then the sound of clothing being shuffled off, and -- Rose’s mind blanked out. The Doctor’s an alien, she remembered. So how did it work? Would he be able to do, well, what others guys did? In fact, did he even have the required parts?
Cautiously, she shifted so that she was facing the other end of the shower curtain, the flimsy plastic the only thing separating her naked body from the Doctor’s. Just a peek, she told herself adamantly. Just to check if there’s, mmm, hope. Carefully, she peeled away the edge of the curtain and peered over to where the Doctor was standing, his pants around his knees. His bum was truly a work of art, Rose noted, her eyes cataloguing the heft and swell of his buttocks. Nice legs -- from all the running -- and, just a change of the angle, Doctor, I just want to see if --
“Oi! Eyes up here.” His teasing Northern voice filtered through her imagination. Rose flushed and clutched the curtain protectively around her breasts. The Doctor’s eyes was filled with amusement, which made Rose blush all the more. He’d already pulled up his pants, though his belt and top button were still undone. “Saw what you wanted to see, eh?”
“Er. I was just...”
“Reaching for the towel? Wanted the shampoo?” The Doctor grinned and, with work-roughened fingers, peeled the plastic curtain away from Rose. “I can smell your arousal from here,” he said, his voice now a low whisper that sent tendrils of desire coursing through her body.
“And what do you intend to do about it?” she asked, a challenge in her voice.
“Intend? Oh, I intend to do a lot of things, precious girl.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek, and she leaned unconsciously into his touch. His eyes darkened, blue shifting to the black of need and want and desire, and he bent down for a kiss.
He tasted of the universe, of newborn stars and swirling nebulae. He tasted of time and tea leaves and rainwater falling on an uninhabited planet. Rose reached upwards, her wet arms twining around his neck for balance, deepening the kiss. She could feel him vibrating, a moan rising up from the depths of his chest. Reluctantly, they parted, allowing oxygen back into their systems.
“Famous respiratory bypass system?” teased Rose.
“Not when you’re around, love.” The Doctor favoured her with a tentative smile, silently asking her if it was all right to call her that. She nodded. “You take my breath away.”
Rose grinned. “That’s such a cheesy line.”
“You deserve it!”
*
They were a week into their road trip and halfway towards the TARDIS. The Doctor was at the passenger seat, his eyes half-lidded, head leaning against the side of the truck, the top two buttons of his shirt popped open. Rose was at the wheel, her brown eyes concentrating on the steady undulation of the road. The morning heat beat down on their Buick, making the red metal surface hot to the touch. The radio was tuned to a Top 40 Countdown station, and Rose was quietly singing the latest pop song under her breath.
After their first morning sleeping together (quite literally), Rose wondered if the Doctor was feeling antsy about having to move through time in a linear fashion, and asked him just as much over breakfast. He favoured her with another one of his rare smiles. “Haven’t lived like this in centuries. ‘S an adventure for me as well, y’know -- living day to day.” His eyes darkened with desire. “And yeah, it’s better with two.”
Now, Rose couldn’t imagine sleeping in a separate bed from the Doctor’s -- and while they hadn’t broken the barriers of their clothes, each morning she’d wake up with his erection pressing against her belly or her bum, his wandering hands underneath her tank top or slipping beneath the elastic of her shorts. He’d wake her up with long, lingering kisses that left her breathless and wanting. But even before she could yank his shirt over his head, he’d be off the bed like a rocket and heading to the bathroom.
And it wasn’t just the sleeping arrangements. Rose remembered the day they stopped by a country fair, like the ones she’d seen in movies, with the brightly coloured tents and the rickety Ferris wheel and calliope music piping out of the merry-go-round. She’d managed to get the Doctor to ride the Ferris wheel with her, snogging him breathlessly when they reached the zenith of the ride. She could taste the cotton candy on her tongue, and the popcorn they’d had earlier, and his own, personal flavour, as though he was a particular delicacy that she was finally allowed to savour. He’d held her hand throughout the afternoon, refusing to let go as they wandered around the fairgrounds, people giving them a second glance as they passed by. Rose couldn’t tell if it was because they were British -- the accent was a dead giveaway -- or if they noticed the age difference between them. A good few centuries, she figured, was enough to give a lot of people something to think about.
And yet... she felt as though this was the most comfortable place she’d been in with him. The tension had dissipated to a slight tremble in the air, and she felt as though it was her place to be right beside him as they made their way through the world. Maybe this was why Americans said that a road trip was a rite of passage. There was something about taking the slow route, the day-to-day movement of the sun and moon and stars, that spoke to the soul.
A flash of green caught Rose’s eye as she trundled down the highway. She pulled to a stop, the truck sliding off the main highway and towards the dirt tracks. She turned right and drove the truck through the rambling dirt road, feeling each jolt and spring against her bum. The Doctor sat up straight, all traces of lassitude disappearing. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but it looked interesting,” said Rose.
“We’re on a schedule, y’know,” he said mildly.
“Yeah, but look -- “ The truck stopped at the edge of a lake. Rose switched off the radio and stretched her arms over her head. Sunlight shimmered off the surface of the water, and the trees that surrounded the area provided shade and protection from prying eyes. The scent of honeysuckle and earth filled the air. “Isn’t this lovely, Doctor?”
He paused, his blue eyes taking in the oasis in front of them. Something in his stance, in his expression, relaxed. “On Gallifrey,” he said quietly, so quiet that Rose had to lean closer just to hear his voice, “there was a small lake near our home, where the grass was red and the trees were silver, and the great dome of the Citadel shimmered in the reflection of the water. I would play there, beside the water, with my cousins.” He took a deep breath. “This place reminds me of it.”
“There’s still beauty in the world, Doctor,” Rose said unexpectedly. She reached across the seat to twine her fingers around his.
He turned to her, his eyes impossibly blue in the dappled light. “There’s you.”
Her breath hitched in her throat.
And before she could say anything, the Doctor hauled her on to his lap, pulling her down to him for a kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips, searching for hers. His hands scrabbled for purchase on her body, sliding beneath her thin cotton shirt, cool hands spanning the width of her waist. She gripped the sides of his face, the pads of her fingers against the cropped length of his hair, her breath ghosting across his face. Even before she was conscious of it, she could feel his length thrusting between her legs, a delicious frission against her clothed clit.
Cradling her in his arms, he laid her carefully across the length of the seat bench. Scooting downwards, he nudged his door open, slid further down until he was eye level with her crotch. With steady fingers, he undid the button of her denim shorts, slid down the zip, and parted the pieces of cloth apart. She lifted her bum as he slipped off her shorts and knickers, tossing them down the floor of the truck. And against the sun-warmed seat, the Doctor spread her legs apart and gave her cunt a long, tender lick.
Rose shuddered against him, thrusting forward, offering herself to him. And he took her, greedily, his strong fingers keeping her thighs parted as his nose pressed against her clit and his lips and tongie traced her name over and over again against her cunt. She could feel herself getting slick and over-warm with her own juices. Soon, his fingers joined in, tracing her folds before slipping smoothly inside her -- one finger, then two, and soon three fingers were pumping in and out of her as the Doctor worked her towards her orgasm.
It came quietly, a gasp, shattering sunlight. One final thrust and her hips were off the seat and she was cresting on waves and waves of pleasure as she crashed against his touch, sure and steady. Slowly, the feeling ebbed away, leaving behind a warm, summer-drenched afterglow. Rose opened her eyes to see the Doctor still between her legs, chin resting against her belly, a cat-got-the-canary grin on his face. She leaned against the door, exhausted and sated. “What about you?” she asked, reaching down to cup the Doctor’s cheek in her small palm.
“Got what I wanted, din’t I?” he said smugly. “Rose Tyler, callin’ me a god.”
She grinned, too relaxed to rise to the bait. “I love you, you know,” she said quietly.
“I know. An’ I -- “
Her finger pressed against his lips. “I know you can’t say it yet. ‘S all right, Doctor. I understand.”
He kissed her finger and shifted it away. “As I was sayin’, Rose, an’ I love you too, all right?”
Something inside her started to swell -- love, or happiness, or euphoria, or simply the pieces of their little world finally falling into place. She looked down at him, lying over her, his face alight with pleasure. With love. “Oh, Doctor,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for some time, folded across each other like interlocking pieces of the same small thing. Rose stroked his shorn hair idly, wondering if tonight, she’d actually be able to finally feel him inside her.
After a while, he shifted, pulling her upright and handing her her clothes back. She shimmied back into her shorts, tucking her knickers into his jeans pockets. She still wasn’t used to this look from him -- jeans and cotton shirt instead of trousers and wool. But the Doctor still wore his leather jacket from time to time, although he’d been leaving in behind more and more. She wondered if that said something about him.
“So,” he said, urging her to shift to the passenger seat so he could climb into the driver’s side, “what do you think about this road trip?”
She laughed, pulling her hair back up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d say it was one of your better ideas yet.”
“So,” he said, urging her to shift to the passenger seat so he could climb into the driver’s side, “what do you think about this road trip?”
She laughed, pulling her hair back up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d say it was one of your better ideas yet.” (4,072 words)
Author's Note: Prompt pictures used: 01 and 18. Usual disclaimers apply -- I don't own them, I don't make money off them. No beta, so all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine. Mea culpa.
*
“...of all the stupid, idiotic things that you could do,” groused Rose as they trudged down the winding dirt road, bordered on both sides by tall, yellowish grass that almost reached her waist. The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun beating down on her exposed neck, and she was sure she was turning into a lobster, given the midday heat. If she developed skin cancer, she was certain she would never let the Doctor hear the end of it.
Speaking of the Doctor -- he walked beside her in his usual leather coat and wool jumper, seemingly impervious to the heat, his boots clomping on the soft ground and his blue eyes twinkling. “Lookit this, Rose,” he exclaimed, stretching his lanky arms wide open as if to encompass the sky. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
She glared at him and tossed her sweat-slick hair over her shoulder, wishing that she’d brought a hair band to keep her bangs away from her forehead. She was tired and sticky and verging on uncomfortable. “How far is it to the TARDIS, Doctor?” she asked, unable to keep a whine out of her voice.
The Doctor peered at his watch, which, she noticed, never told the time. “It’ll take us fourteen days by road.”
“By road? What do you mean, ‘by road’?” She was tired, sweaty, and she was sure there was plant life growing on her denims.
They turned a corner and emerged at an empty stretch of a highway, a row of scraggly trees bordering the side of the road. Across the road was a small wooden shack with the words “Crazy Dave’s Car Emporium” etched in red letters across an aluminium signage. Behind the shack were rows upon rows of old, dusty cars that looked like they were ready to be sent to the scrapyard instead of driven by human beings. The Doctor beamed at Rose. “Fantastic!” he crowed, stalking across the road towards the shack. Rose trotted behind, hoping against hope that at least whatever the Doctor picked had, at the very least, air-conditioning.
*
The red Buick truck looked as though it had seen better days. The leather upholstery was peeling in several places, the windows were stuck and refused to budge, and an distinctly odd smell that reminded Rose of a mixture of beer and bleach made her want to stick her head out of the window at all times. The Doctor simply grinned at her, threw his leather jacket at the front passenger seat, slid into the driver’s side of the truck and motioned for her to get in.
“One of the great American past-times, Rose,” he told her. “We’re going on a road trip.”
“I can see that, Doctor.”
“We’ll see the sights, eat all the strange food, and then make our way across this -- ow!” The Doctor scowled as the engine sputtered to life and one of the myriad gears in front of him spurted some unnameable black sludge on his trousers. He glared at the wheel as though it was the truck’s fault and not him. Rose couldn’t help but laugh -- he looked so far removed from his usual Time Lord persona, his brows knitted together in consternation and a scowl forming at the corners of his lips (she desperately wanted to kiss it away, dammit). He turned to her, eyebrow raised.
“Oh come on, Doctor. Road trip!” She gave him a saucy wink and fiddled with the radio dials as the Doctor maneuvered the truck out of the lot and down the open highway.
*
They stopped by the nearest clothing store at the next town they encountered. Rose picked out several pairs of denim shorts and plaid cotton shirts, tank tops of every colour of the rainbow, and a second pair of trainers. If she was going to be on a road trip across America, she might as well dress the part. A pair of large plastic sunglasses, hair ties, and a bright red paisley-pattered scarf completed her collection. The boy at the till, his eyes wide at her purchases, helped her stuff everything into a duffel bag (which she also purchased) and rang up her clothes.
The Doctor, meanwhile, clomped over to the men’s section of the store and stared forlornly at the selection of t-shirts that proclaimed the name of the town (“Hopburn, the best place for hops!”), acid-washed jeans, and trucker boots. Rose plodded over to him, her hair tied back and her face clean and fresh from make-up. “Haven’t decided yet?” she asked.
“There aren’t any jumpers, Rose,” he said sadly. “All they have are these silly clothes.”
“Well, you did say, yeah -- new cultures and all that? And you do need a change, Doctor.” She leaned closer and sniffed. “Do Time Lords need deodorant?”
He gave her an affronted look and grabbed a plain button-down shirt from the rack. “Fine.”
“Hey, just wanted to know.”
“Well, now you know.”
“That you do?” she replied cheekily. “For a superior being, you’d think you’d be done smellin’ like sweat.”
He rolled his eyes as he picked out several more shirts -- the same style as the first one, and all in various shades of blue. “I can control each and every chemical function of my body, y’know, so ‘s not like I really need to put on all those products you seem fond of.” He wrinkled his nose as he perused the shelves for a pair of denims that were neither ripped, torn, nor acid-washed. “Plus, dunno why y’ need to put on all that perfume and claptrap. You smell lovely as it is, Rose Tyler.”
Rose raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. (She distinctly remembered another time he’d given her a backhanded sort of compliment: “Blimey, you look beautiful... considering you’re human.”)
But the Doctor didn’t seem to need to qualify his statement -- he simply picked out a couple of pairs of dark blue jeans, placed it on the pile of clothes already cradled in his arms, and started moving towards the cashier. “Coming, Rose?” he called over his shoulder.
*
The sun was already sinking down the horizon, spreading beams of scarlet and orange across the desert sky. Rose folded her arms at the edge of the window of the passenger seat and stared at the stark beauty that seemed to envelop the whole scene. Beside her, the Doctor drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel and hummed quietly to a bluegrass song that she didn’t know the name of.
They pulled up at the next motel they found at the side of the highway, their red truck fitting in perfectly with the other dust-spattered vehicles in the parking lot. The Doctor jumped down from his side of the truck and strode confidently towards the check-in window while Rose took her time gathering their items from the back of the truck and stuffing them into the duffel bag. She chucked out the remains of paper cups and burger wrappers at the nearby bin, then walked over to the Doctor, who was staring intently at the single key in his palm.
“Oi, y’all right?” She nudged him with her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah.” He was still staring at the key. “Jus’ that... well, they only had one room left. An’ it’s only got one bed.”
“Well, how big’s the bed then?”
“”S a double, he says.”
“Should be all right.” Rose gave him a bright grin. “I’ve shared worse with Shireen. Remind me to tell ‘bout that camping trip we had in secondary school.” She lifted the duffel bag and cocked her head towards the stairs. “Come on, Doctor. I need a shower.”
He chuckled and took the duffel from her. “Be careful what you wish for, Rose.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, y’know, you’ll never know what creepy crawlies they have in these kinds of places.”
“You mean like that movie Mum made me watch on Halloween night, with the lady in the shower stall who was murdered by, what’s his name again? Bates, yeah?”
“No, I don’t think anyone’d want to do that. Plus they’d have to get through me, yeah?”
“I knew I kept you around for something, Doctor.”
“Oi!”
She laughed as they finally stood in front of 9C. He slotted the key into the lock, gave an insistent twist, and pushed the door open. “Your quarters await,” he said formally, a spark of amusement in his storm-blue eyes.
“Ooooh, Doctor,” she responded in the same formal tones, trying not to break out into giggles. “It looks... well... “
The walls had an old-fashioned ivy vine pattern that stretched from floor to ceiling. The carpet was thin and moss-green, and Rose didn’t trust herself to go barefoot across the floor. The bed dominated most of the space, with a heavy wooden headboard and roundels. There were two floral-pattered armchairs pushed against the nearest wall. A television set and a bar fridge completed the room. The air-conditioner pinged as its ancient machinery attempted to cool down the room. The entire place smelled of stale cookies and mothballs.
The Doctor pushed his way through the door and dumped the duffel bag on one of the armchairs, shedding his leather jacket and folding it neatly at the back of the seat. Rose found it a bit disconcerting to just see him in his jumper and trousers -- as though he’d shed his armour. “Well?” he asked her. “Shower, yeah?”
“What about you?”
He looked at the bed. “S’pose I could catch some sleep.”
“Thought you didn’t sleep as much as us apes.”
“Thought I’d give it a try.” He flopped down on the bed, all lanky limbs and rangy muscles, easing his arms up and folding his hands behind his head. “See, all comfy.”
You’d be a lot more comfortable if I were on top of you, she thought idly, then, horrified, tried to clamp down on the thought. While he’d promised he’d never look into her head, Rose was very careful about her own thoughts whenever she was around him. Uncomfortably, and without saying a word, she walked over to where he’d left the bag, rummaged around for a pair of shorts and a tank top, and went to the bathroom at the other end of the room without making eye contact with him.
Once the door had closed behind her, she dumped her clothes on top of the toilet lid and tried to keep her traitorous thoughts under control. She knew it was going to happen eventually -- all that running-for-their-lives, all that hand-holding and hugs and long, soul-searching talks in the middle of the night in the TARDIS control room or the galley or the library or, heck, even the swimming pool one starlit night. She knew that her body was going to respond to that manic smile, those bright blue eyes, that body that he kept hidden beneath leather and wool, those hands, God almighty. Rose shuddered and braced her hands on the sink counter. “This is not appropriate,” she whispered to herself, staring at her dishevelled reflection in the mirror.
But she knew, that secret part of her knew, that this was an inevitability. Her body was positively thrumming with desire, and now, as she shed her clothes and stepped into the shower. With the lukewarm water sluicing off her skin, she allowed her hands to wander all over her body, tracing the curves and planes of her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. She imagined the Doctor’s hands -- smooth, cool, like the surface of a much-handled penny, the grooves smoothed away by time -- over her overheated skin, skimming the sensitive parts of her body. Her fingers drifted lower, drawn inexorably to the junction between her thighs. She’s wet, she knew that, her forefinger rubbing over the slick nub of her clit. She imagined the Doctor kneeling in front of her, his hands splayed over her hips, his tongue -- his marvelous tongue, she thought -- touching her clit, opening her up to the most intimate part of her --
“Rose?” It was the Doctor’s voice outside the bathroom door.
She jerked up, slip-sliding across the slick tiles, her hand flying up to grab the shower curtain railing in an effort to keep herself upright. Shit.
“Rose? Y’all right?”
“... yeah.” Her voice was wavering, her nerve endings still tingling from the almost-orgasm. “‘M all right, Doctor.”
“Er.” His voice was now colored with embarrassment. “D’you mind it if I use the toilet?”
There was a long pause. Of all the things. Rose knocked her forehead once on the tiles, and then forced her voice to reply, “Sure, go right ahead. Shall I unlock it?”
“Nah, jus’ stay covered up. I’ll sonic the lock. Shouldn’t be a prob -- “ She heard an audible snick, and the sound of another pair of feet pad into the bathroom, “ -- lem.”
“Right.” She stepped back beneath the spray, trying not to pay attention to the sounds on the other side of the curtain. But -- ah, there’s his zip, and then the sound of clothing being shuffled off, and -- Rose’s mind blanked out. The Doctor’s an alien, she remembered. So how did it work? Would he be able to do, well, what others guys did? In fact, did he even have the required parts?
Cautiously, she shifted so that she was facing the other end of the shower curtain, the flimsy plastic the only thing separating her naked body from the Doctor’s. Just a peek, she told herself adamantly. Just to check if there’s, mmm, hope. Carefully, she peeled away the edge of the curtain and peered over to where the Doctor was standing, his pants around his knees. His bum was truly a work of art, Rose noted, her eyes cataloguing the heft and swell of his buttocks. Nice legs -- from all the running -- and, just a change of the angle, Doctor, I just want to see if --
“Oi! Eyes up here.” His teasing Northern voice filtered through her imagination. Rose flushed and clutched the curtain protectively around her breasts. The Doctor’s eyes was filled with amusement, which made Rose blush all the more. He’d already pulled up his pants, though his belt and top button were still undone. “Saw what you wanted to see, eh?”
“Er. I was just...”
“Reaching for the towel? Wanted the shampoo?” The Doctor grinned and, with work-roughened fingers, peeled the plastic curtain away from Rose. “I can smell your arousal from here,” he said, his voice now a low whisper that sent tendrils of desire coursing through her body.
“And what do you intend to do about it?” she asked, a challenge in her voice.
“Intend? Oh, I intend to do a lot of things, precious girl.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek, and she leaned unconsciously into his touch. His eyes darkened, blue shifting to the black of need and want and desire, and he bent down for a kiss.
He tasted of the universe, of newborn stars and swirling nebulae. He tasted of time and tea leaves and rainwater falling on an uninhabited planet. Rose reached upwards, her wet arms twining around his neck for balance, deepening the kiss. She could feel him vibrating, a moan rising up from the depths of his chest. Reluctantly, they parted, allowing oxygen back into their systems.
“Famous respiratory bypass system?” teased Rose.
“Not when you’re around, love.” The Doctor favoured her with a tentative smile, silently asking her if it was all right to call her that. She nodded. “You take my breath away.”
Rose grinned. “That’s such a cheesy line.”
“You deserve it!”
*
They were a week into their road trip and halfway towards the TARDIS. The Doctor was at the passenger seat, his eyes half-lidded, head leaning against the side of the truck, the top two buttons of his shirt popped open. Rose was at the wheel, her brown eyes concentrating on the steady undulation of the road. The morning heat beat down on their Buick, making the red metal surface hot to the touch. The radio was tuned to a Top 40 Countdown station, and Rose was quietly singing the latest pop song under her breath.
After their first morning sleeping together (quite literally), Rose wondered if the Doctor was feeling antsy about having to move through time in a linear fashion, and asked him just as much over breakfast. He favoured her with another one of his rare smiles. “Haven’t lived like this in centuries. ‘S an adventure for me as well, y’know -- living day to day.” His eyes darkened with desire. “And yeah, it’s better with two.”
Now, Rose couldn’t imagine sleeping in a separate bed from the Doctor’s -- and while they hadn’t broken the barriers of their clothes, each morning she’d wake up with his erection pressing against her belly or her bum, his wandering hands underneath her tank top or slipping beneath the elastic of her shorts. He’d wake her up with long, lingering kisses that left her breathless and wanting. But even before she could yank his shirt over his head, he’d be off the bed like a rocket and heading to the bathroom.
And it wasn’t just the sleeping arrangements. Rose remembered the day they stopped by a country fair, like the ones she’d seen in movies, with the brightly coloured tents and the rickety Ferris wheel and calliope music piping out of the merry-go-round. She’d managed to get the Doctor to ride the Ferris wheel with her, snogging him breathlessly when they reached the zenith of the ride. She could taste the cotton candy on her tongue, and the popcorn they’d had earlier, and his own, personal flavour, as though he was a particular delicacy that she was finally allowed to savour. He’d held her hand throughout the afternoon, refusing to let go as they wandered around the fairgrounds, people giving them a second glance as they passed by. Rose couldn’t tell if it was because they were British -- the accent was a dead giveaway -- or if they noticed the age difference between them. A good few centuries, she figured, was enough to give a lot of people something to think about.
And yet... she felt as though this was the most comfortable place she’d been in with him. The tension had dissipated to a slight tremble in the air, and she felt as though it was her place to be right beside him as they made their way through the world. Maybe this was why Americans said that a road trip was a rite of passage. There was something about taking the slow route, the day-to-day movement of the sun and moon and stars, that spoke to the soul.
A flash of green caught Rose’s eye as she trundled down the highway. She pulled to a stop, the truck sliding off the main highway and towards the dirt tracks. She turned right and drove the truck through the rambling dirt road, feeling each jolt and spring against her bum. The Doctor sat up straight, all traces of lassitude disappearing. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but it looked interesting,” said Rose.
“We’re on a schedule, y’know,” he said mildly.
“Yeah, but look -- “ The truck stopped at the edge of a lake. Rose switched off the radio and stretched her arms over her head. Sunlight shimmered off the surface of the water, and the trees that surrounded the area provided shade and protection from prying eyes. The scent of honeysuckle and earth filled the air. “Isn’t this lovely, Doctor?”
He paused, his blue eyes taking in the oasis in front of them. Something in his stance, in his expression, relaxed. “On Gallifrey,” he said quietly, so quiet that Rose had to lean closer just to hear his voice, “there was a small lake near our home, where the grass was red and the trees were silver, and the great dome of the Citadel shimmered in the reflection of the water. I would play there, beside the water, with my cousins.” He took a deep breath. “This place reminds me of it.”
“There’s still beauty in the world, Doctor,” Rose said unexpectedly. She reached across the seat to twine her fingers around his.
He turned to her, his eyes impossibly blue in the dappled light. “There’s you.”
Her breath hitched in her throat.
And before she could say anything, the Doctor hauled her on to his lap, pulling her down to him for a kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips, searching for hers. His hands scrabbled for purchase on her body, sliding beneath her thin cotton shirt, cool hands spanning the width of her waist. She gripped the sides of his face, the pads of her fingers against the cropped length of his hair, her breath ghosting across his face. Even before she was conscious of it, she could feel his length thrusting between her legs, a delicious frission against her clothed clit.
Cradling her in his arms, he laid her carefully across the length of the seat bench. Scooting downwards, he nudged his door open, slid further down until he was eye level with her crotch. With steady fingers, he undid the button of her denim shorts, slid down the zip, and parted the pieces of cloth apart. She lifted her bum as he slipped off her shorts and knickers, tossing them down the floor of the truck. And against the sun-warmed seat, the Doctor spread her legs apart and gave her cunt a long, tender lick.
Rose shuddered against him, thrusting forward, offering herself to him. And he took her, greedily, his strong fingers keeping her thighs parted as his nose pressed against her clit and his lips and tongie traced her name over and over again against her cunt. She could feel herself getting slick and over-warm with her own juices. Soon, his fingers joined in, tracing her folds before slipping smoothly inside her -- one finger, then two, and soon three fingers were pumping in and out of her as the Doctor worked her towards her orgasm.
It came quietly, a gasp, shattering sunlight. One final thrust and her hips were off the seat and she was cresting on waves and waves of pleasure as she crashed against his touch, sure and steady. Slowly, the feeling ebbed away, leaving behind a warm, summer-drenched afterglow. Rose opened her eyes to see the Doctor still between her legs, chin resting against her belly, a cat-got-the-canary grin on his face. She leaned against the door, exhausted and sated. “What about you?” she asked, reaching down to cup the Doctor’s cheek in her small palm.
“Got what I wanted, din’t I?” he said smugly. “Rose Tyler, callin’ me a god.”
She grinned, too relaxed to rise to the bait. “I love you, you know,” she said quietly.
“I know. An’ I -- “
Her finger pressed against his lips. “I know you can’t say it yet. ‘S all right, Doctor. I understand.”
He kissed her finger and shifted it away. “As I was sayin’, Rose, an’ I love you too, all right?”
Something inside her started to swell -- love, or happiness, or euphoria, or simply the pieces of their little world finally falling into place. She looked down at him, lying over her, his face alight with pleasure. With love. “Oh, Doctor,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for some time, folded across each other like interlocking pieces of the same small thing. Rose stroked his shorn hair idly, wondering if tonight, she’d actually be able to finally feel him inside her.
After a while, he shifted, pulling her upright and handing her her clothes back. She shimmied back into her shorts, tucking her knickers into his jeans pockets. She still wasn’t used to this look from him -- jeans and cotton shirt instead of trousers and wool. But the Doctor still wore his leather jacket from time to time, although he’d been leaving in behind more and more. She wondered if that said something about him.
“So,” he said, urging her to shift to the passenger seat so he could climb into the driver’s side, “what do you think about this road trip?”
She laughed, pulling her hair back up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d say it was one of your better ideas yet.”