Fic: Romantic Entanglements (3/5)
Romantic Entanglements (3/5)
Author: WynterEyez
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Talk to the Hand
Rating: T
Characters: Ten-II, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble, Captain Jack Harkness, Martha Jones
Beta: None, though that would've been a damn good idea, don't you think?
Spoilers: Journey's End, obviously.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, obviously.
Summary: Follows This Immortal Coil. Rose's attempt to spice up her love life goes a little awry. To put it mildly. Uses the 'alien sex pollen' cliché.
A/N: Wow. I didn't realize it'd been so long since I last updated this until I looked at the A/N I'd previously written and realized I'd hoped to have this chapter up in July. Sorry; so much has happened since then, and it's made it hard to write.
Three - The Joy of Sex (Pollen)
As they navigate the elaborate path leading to the opulent mansion hosting that night’s festivities, Rose realises she needn’t have concerned herself over the Doctor’s choice of costume. He isn’t the only man in drag, and his outfit is positively conservative compared to some. Rose finds herself flustered when a middle-aged business associate of her father’s, a man who makes passes at her every time they meet, winks at her as he walks past, clad only in a leather skirt and studded leather bra. Rose wishes she could unsee the saggy skin and bulges that the skimpy outfit reveals.
Even the Doctor seems a little nonplussed by this, and fidgets with his outfit as though to assure himself that he isn’t displaying any unseemly bulges.
“That’s Michael Harrison, one of the Vitex board members. He fancies me, you know,” Rose says absently. The Doctor’s head jerks up and he stumbles on his heels.
“Does he? And do you fancy him? Should I be worried?” He’s genuinely curious about this; like his Time Lord counterpart, the Doctor seemingly lacks the jealous possessive streak all of Rose’s human boyfriends have had.
Rose wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, no. I just thought I’d warn you in case he comes up and tries to make conversation. He’ll be smarmy with me and rude towards you, and that’s why.”
“Ah.” He sounds as if he doesn’t quite understand, but is willing to play along anyway.
“And watch out for his wife, the woman dressed as the male biker with the beard. She’s a real man-eater. They’re a charming couple, really.” Unlike the Doctor, Rose does have a very human jealous streak, and she’d seen how the cross-dressing biker had been eying the Doctor like one would examine their next meal.
“She’s a cannibal?” the Doctor asks, his expression adorably confused, alarmed, and more than a little intrigued. “I wasn’t aware that was a common practice in Pete’s World.”
“She doesn’t actually eat them,” Rose says, exasperated. The Doctor’s face falls. “She uses them for her own entertainment, then discards them. They both do, actually; it’s a game to them.”
Now this he understands, having encountered several such personalities while working as a gossip columnist. “Ah. Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Just… watch out. Don’t eat or drink anything they give you, because they have been known to use aphrodisiacs without consent.”
“Charming,” the Doctor sighs as they reach the door. “Avoid the bearded lady and her Slitheen biker babe husband, got it.” Rose shows the doorman her invitation, and they enter the mansion.
Rose has grown accustomed to the splendor of the Tyler mansion, and she’s lived inside the TARDIS and is used to enormous rooms and seemingly endless corridors, but the enormity of this mansion and its expensive décor is startling. This seems excessive even to her.
No wonder their host had assured them that all couples would be able to have their own private rooms.
“Posh,” is all the Doctor says, turning to examine a painting that looks like a Van Gogh, but no Van Gogh that had ever been painted in their home universe.
“A bit, yeah,” Rose says, idly wondering when she’d become so blasé about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
Beside her, the Doctor suddenly stiffens. He whirls around, eyes wide as he scans the crowded room ahead of them.
“What is it?” Rose asks, instantly alert.
“I thought I felt…” he frowns, his gaze sweeping the crowd streaming into what looks like a massive ballroom. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He tightens his grip on her hand and leads her forward. “Come on, Rose Tyler, show me how Valentine’s Day is really supposed to be celebrated!” he purrs.
Rose hesitates, not fooled by his abrupt shift, but the promise of a romantic evening without the interference of Torchwood is just too much to resist, and she allows herself to be pulled along.
They pause just before the ballroom threshold so the Doctor can make last minute adjustments to his costume and Rose can pull on the eyepatch he’d insisted she wear. He’d seemed to find it a source of amusement when the first discussed it, calling her Evil Rose and giggling helplessly when she tried it on. She’s sure there’s some sort of inside joke there, but he has yet to explain it to her.
Rose takes a moment to scan the crowd, seeking the source of the Doctor’s earlier unease. But she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Not that ’ordinary’ could be easily applied to a crowd dressed as anything from harem girls to little green men, but nothing stands out to Rose’s Torchwood-honed observation skills. It‘s just a party, and a low-key one at that: there aren’t any rowdy revelers, the music is sensual without being raunchy, and for the most part, the costumes are tasteful. Several couples are on the dance floor; others have gravitated towards associates and are quietly conversing. Rose breathes a sigh of relief. Part of her had expected, at best, drunken, half naked couples making out in full view of everyone and at worst, a full-blown orgy.
Beside her, the Doctor relaxes as well. She guesses that after his last few weeks of pub and club hopping with Donna, he’s not to keen on another wild night in the company of strangers. They head into the crowd, stopping to greet her father’s business associates and play the Vitex Heiress role she so loathes. Most of them are charmed by the Doctor and not at all put off by his choice of costume; either it’s normal, or his reputation has preceded him. Either way, Rose is having fun showing him off. He’s certainly proving to be an effective deterrent against her father’s rich friends who have single sons that she ’just has to meet.’
She loses the Doctor for awhile when he spots the nibbles and, with a delighted squeal, flounces over to the table to help himself to the heart-shaped chocolates and biscuits. She should stop him, she supposes; sugar amps up his natural hyperactivity and further loosens his gob. But she leaves him alone, since he’ll have an outlet for all that energy later.
Rose scans the crowd as she sips at a drink a server had discretely slipped into her hand. Her mum and Pete haven’t arrived yet; they’re putting in an appearance at Harriet Jones’ party before arriving fashionably late. She’s a little relieved, since she really isn’t ready to face her mum in such a sexual environment, no matter how subdued the atmosphere is.
She’s worried her mum might want to share stories about past masquerades. No good can come of that.
She spots the Harrisons off in the corner speaking to a man in an old-fashioned red military coat. She breathes a sigh of relief; they’d selected their prey for the evening, and would leave Rose and the Doctor alone.
“Rose, look!” the Doctor’s voice, shrill with excitement, interrupts her reverie. She turns around just in time to see him run up to her, his chest bouncing up and down with each step. “The chocolates have edible ball bearings!” he beams, handing her one in the shape of a heart.
Rose takes a bite, and almost moans in ecstasy at the taste. Wow. She needs to know what kind of chocolate this is now. Probably some foreign brand that costs more than her flat’s monthly rent. She finishes it, and is about to lick her lips when the Doctor darts in and kisses her, tongue flicking out to clear off the rest of the chocolate.
“Dance?” he purrs into her ear, taking her arm and leading her onto the dance floor before she can reply.
He’s surprisingly competent at dancing in his heeled boots, though she wishes he wasn’t wearing them; they put his falsies at eye level, and Rose worries every time he draws her near that they might put an eye out. Maybe the eyepatch is a good idea, after all, since at least one of them is protected.
A few people attempt to cut in, either to woo the Vitex Heiress or get the scoop on her mystery man, but Rose fends them off. This is Rose and the Doctor’s night, and nothing is going to ruin it. Even friendly mingling has no appeal; they’re here for one thing only.
And with that in mind, Rose glances around, trying to determine if they’d mingled long enough that they can slip away without seeming impolite. At parties like this, it’s good etiquette to wait for the host of the party to leave before following suit.
The crowd has thinned considerably since they’d arrived, and Rose decides she can’t wait any longer. She takes the Doctor’s hand and leads him back towards the entryway, where a table has been set up at the foot of the elaborate stairwell.
A servant selects a key tagged with Tyler, R. from a silver dish, and together head upstairs to private rooms. Rose’s skin is flushed in anticipation, and even the Doctor’s skin is human-warm beneath her touch. They find the room, and Rose gasps when she sees it.
The room is gorgeous, with a creamy shag carpet and a polished wooden four-post bed with gauzy curtains drawn back to reveal red satin sheets and a pile of pillows on a king-size mattress. On a nightstand is the copper censer she‘d requested for the pollen, which must be inhaled for maximum effectiveness.
Rose heads towards the censer, and the Doctor digs the pollen from his cleavage, doing his best to look sexy as he did so but failing miserably. She supposes she should be glad that he hasn’t mastered the art of pulling things out of bras. Though she wonders if he practices when she’s away on missions.
Rose accepts the packet of pollen and pours the pink crystals into a wire mesh basket, which she then nestles in the censer. As Rose prepares the pollen, the Doctor hops on the bed, smiling gleefully as he bounces up and down, his phony assets jiggling realistically. He then flops onto his side, raised on one elbow, his ’come hither’ look slightly spoiled by the wig that hangs into his eyes. Rose finishes up and slides on to the bed next to him, and gives one of the fake breasts a poke. “Are you going to take those off, first?” she asks.
He looks down, and frowns. “I… I can‘t remove them,” he says guiltily. “The adhesive I’m using is guaranteed to last for twelve hours. I just… I never really thought about it…” He smiles weakly. “It’s not like they’re real, so it shouldn’t be an issue, right?”
“They’ll certainly make things interesting,” Rose says. Okay, so maybe this night isn’t going to quite live up to her fantasies. She can deal with it. Never let it be said that Rose Tyler isn’t open to new experiences. She wonders if this counts as a lesbian encounter.
When the pollen takes effect, it’s like being hit with a mallet. One moment, Rose is lightly running her fingers down the Doctor’s abdomen, toying with the laces of his top and the next, she finds herself tugging at them frantically.
He captures her wrists and gently pushes her hands away. “I’m not ready yet,” he says apologetically.
She almost lunges at him anyway, fingers curled into claws ready to rip the dress away. But she stops herself; she won’t act until the Doctor feels the effects. He frowns, clearly distressed by her need and his own inability to attend to it. He even sticks his nose into the censer and breathes deeply; this results in watering eyes and a sneezing fit so violent it knocks his wig askew. “Not doing that again,” he chokes. “Odd, though… there’s something about the smell that I wasn’t expecting…”
Rose, caught up in her desperate need, doesn‘t hear him. “Do you feel anything yet?” she moans.
His shoulders slump. “Nope. Guess my system’s just a little slow on the uptake.”
They wait.
And wait.
And then wait a little bit longer.
By this point, Rose wants to lunge forward and pin the Doctor to the bed and rip off his dress, but she manages to hold back the urge. Barely. She hopes the sheets aren’t expensive, though, because she’s scrunching them so tightly in her hands that her nails have punctured them.
“You said it would work!” she wails accusingly. She’s vaguely aware that desperation has made her sound whiny and petulant, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. She needs him now, and his lack of cooperation is frustrating.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I honestly thought it would overcome my Time Lord DNA, or my hormones, or whatever it is that‘s causing this.” He looks so miserable, huddled at the end of the bed, that she wants to hold him and reassure him that it’s not his fault, except she’s certain that if she gets too close to him, she may hump his leg.
“At least I can still help you through this,” he says softly, leaning over and beginning to unlace her trousers, and Rose almost sobs with relief.
Of course, that’s when the screaming begins.
~oOo~
The screaming comes from the next room over, and as they listen through the door, it abruptly cuts off. “Think it’s someone getting lucky?” Rose asks, a little enviously. But the part of her brain that hasn’t been affected by the pollen insists that those hadn’t been screams of pleasure. And the absolute silence that follows adds to the feeling that something is very, very wrong.
The Doctor sticks his hand down the front of his dress. Thanks to the lingering effects of the pollen, Rose still finds herself rather turned on by this despite the potential danger. “Doctor, this isn’t the time -” she begins, when she realises she’s perilously close to jumping him. But then he cries “Aha!” and pulls out the sonic screwdriver.
“Call Pete,” he says, as he sets to work on the lock. Rose instinctively reaches for her pockets, then realises she doesn’t have any. Her mobile is in her bag, which she’d left with a servant downstairs
“Damn,” she mutters. “I don’t suppose you have your mobile?”
Without pausing, the Doctor fishes his out of his cleavage and tosses it to her.
“Is your cleavage bigger on the inside?” Rose asks incredulously, as she dials Pete’s number.
“No pockets,” he says defensively, voice rising to Donna levels of shrillness. “I had to put my things somewhere!”
To Rose’s surprise, Pete actually answers his mobile. She’d used the emergency code, true, but she hadn’t been sure he wouldn‘t ignore it anyway. Rose has trouble hearing Pete over her mum’s angry yelling, but she gets through to him just as the Doctor gets the door open. “We’d better have a situation, because if this is a false alarm, Mum is going to kill us.”
The Doctor sniffs. “Do you smell that? It’s like - ” He takes a step inside, then freezes. “Tell Pete we have a situation,” he says grimly. Rose peers around him; she doesn’t immediately see the problem, because the room is lit only by the moonlight, but then her eyes finally make sense of the dark shapes before them.
They stare in horror at the sight: a naked couple laying in a tangle of limbs, the creamy sheets beneath them dyed scarlet with blood. Rose can see glistening flesh and bone, and she tries not to let it distract her. Instead, she focuses on identifying the couple.
The Harrisons. Rose feels her gorge rise as she steps forward for a better look. But the Doctor’s hand closes on her arm, and he gestures with the sonic towards the floor, where a bloody trail leads away from the bed. He directs the light from the tip of the sonic along the trail until he found it.
It’s a plant. But it’s unlike any plant her mother had failed to keep alive; this is a monstrous thing, still coated in blood and tissue from its grisly birth. It slithers towards the open balcony door on its dexterous roots, and the moonlight illuminates jagged, fleshy teeth at the center of still-wet petals.
“Get it!” The Doctor cries, sprinting towards the plant as it loops a coil of roots over the balcony’s edge and hauls itself up. He raises the sonic, not quite sure what he’s going to do with it (did plants count as wood?) but it’s his only defense.
He needn’t have bothered; the plant was more interested in escape. It dropped from the balcony to the garden below. The Doctor didn’t hesitate to follow, climbing over the rail and hanging from it a moment before dropping into a hedge. After a moment, Rose follows.
“Did you see where it went?” Rose asks, brushing twigs from her outfit.
“This way,” the Doctor says, trotting off toward the center of the garden. Rose follows, but freezes when she hears movement in the hedge to her left.
“Doctor?” she calls, then notices he’s already stopped, and is staring at something ahead of him. Rose automatically reaches for a weapon, finding only the plastic sword that comes with her costume. Well… maybe she’ll luck out and the plant is allergic to plastic. She draws it, trying not to feel foolish as she holds it in front of herself defensively. Then she gets a good look at their foe, and her heart sinks.
It’s not a carnivorous plant. It’s much worse.
“Not so fast Doctor Smith, Miss Tyler.” Captain Jack Harkness is standing before them, gun trained on the Doctor. There’s a rustling off to their left, and then he’s joined by Martha Jones, who covers Rose with her own weapon. “The seeding of Level 5 planets is in violation of the Shadow Proclamation. You’re coming with us.”
~tbc~