Fic: A Close Shave (1/1)
Title: A Close Shave
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “Oh god,” I said. “We’ve been thrown into the middle of a cliché.”
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the brilliant wendymr for BRing. I was challenged to try the shag or die cliché. This is the result.
“A Close Shave”
by Gillian Taylor
It was going to be one of those days, I could tell. Oh, sure, it started off well enough. A good night’s sleep, promise of an adventure on a new planet, and wow can he fill out those jeans, can you reach for that again sort of way. Promising, right?
Ha bloody ha. That was before the designated driver - and wearer of those jeans - decided to prove to all and sundry that he really had no idea how to pilot the TARDIS. I ended up flat on my backside, trying to tell my stomach that there was no need to share with me the remains of my rather large breakfast.
“Don’t tell me,” I groused. “You meant to do that.” He hadn’t even fallen over. The bastard.
“Yup,” he replied, manic grin firmly in place. “Might help if you hold onto something when we materialise.”
“Thanks for that. Ever so helpful, you are,” I grumbled as I sat up, taking stock to make sure all my appendages were still attached. One of these days, I was half-convinced, one of these landings was going to knock me out. Or break something.
I didn’t blame the TARDIS for that. Nope. I blamed him. All big grin, and tight-fitting jeans, and ooh, was it hot in here?
“Rose? Are you all right?” he asked.
Of course I wasn’t all right. I was on the floor, bruised, definitely feeling a bit nauseous and if he got any closer I was going to pull him onto the floor with me. Or on me. I rather liked the idea of on me.
“Jus’ give me a mo’. I’m thinking.”
“Thinking?” he prompted, edging just so much closer.
That was it. I’d had it. He was too close, those jeans were too tight, and there was definitely something to be said about taking advantage of an opportunity. Or was that looking a gift horse in the mouth? No matter. Same idea.
I reached out, grabbed the lapel of his jacket and tugged. The TARDIS - clever girl she was, and most likely in on this entire affair - shook around us for a moment and he lost his balance. Oh, yes, he fell all right.
Right on top of me, too. I was definitely a happy girl.
He had a face full of my chest, I had a body full of his, and I could’ve happily lain there for hours. Until the Doctor got it into his head that this was undignified. Or something.
I’d never seen him move that fast. One second he was on me, the next he was halfway across the room, his ears tinged a rather telling shade of red.
“Doctor?” I asked.
“New planet, right outside those doors.” He dangled that promise like the carrot it was. I had a choice. I could either try to push him into admitting he liked being up close and personal with my breasts or I could humour him and look outside.
I sighed. I was weak.
Forcing myself to my feet, I sort of stagger-walked my way to the door. The TARDIS was nice and still, yes, but feeling was just beginning to return to my extremities. A rough landing plus the Doctor falling on top of me didn’t exactly leave me in the best shape possible for adventuring. At least, not yet.
Once these pins and needles died down, I’d be in top shape.
The doors creaked as I pulled them open to reveal what looked like a city in a snow globe. That was the only definition I had for it. The buildings stretched towards the sky, gleaming in the sunlight. And, above the buildings, I could see the curvature of what looked like, but couldn’t be, glass. At least not any type of glass that I knew of.
“Wow,” I said. Clever, wasn’t I? All of time and space at my fingertips, a new planet right outside the doors, and all I could say was a very unimaginative ‘wow’.
The Doctor was beaming at me. I could catch a flash of his smile out of the corner of my eye.
“What?” I asked somewhat defensively.
He just continued beaming and held out his hand for me to take. How was I supposed to resist that? Slipping my hand into his, we began to walk down the street. It occurred to me that it should’ve been a sign that people were giving us a wide berth. Of the sort that’s big and flashing with neon green letters.
However, I was relatively oblivious until about two minutes later when I felt something sharp poke my back. “What the-?” I began and cut myself off as said sharp object prodded me again.
“Don’t make a sound,” someone snarled, backing up that comment with another poke.
“Might help if you tell us why you’re doin’ this,” the Doctor said, still keeping firm hold of my hand.
“What part of ‘don’t make a sound’ don’t you understand?” the man - it certainly sounded male, at least. Or else a very masculine female - said.
I took it as a good sign that whatever was poking us didn’t actually stab us.
“Bit thick, me. You might have to explain. Like why you’re stickin’ something that feels like a spear into my back,” the Doctor replied.
The man sighed and, with a much put-upon voice, he continued, “You’re under arrest. Everything you say will be held against you, blah, blah, blah. You know the story. Everyone knows the story. Now move.”
Everyone knew the story, huh? What story? I looked at the Doctor and he looked right back. A thousand conversations passed us by in a second, most of them dealing with ‘what, why, and oh, not this again’. It was becoming a bit of a tradition. Land on a planet, get arrested, get thrown in jail. With lots of running sprinkled liberally before, during and after. Or something like that.
“So what is it now? Holding hands? Man and a woman can’t walk together? The Doctor’s clothes? My clothes?” I asked, suddenly deciding that, like the Doctor, I didn’t find spears poking me in the back in the least threatening.
“No,” the man said, sounding somewhat confused. “It’s your hair, of course.”
My - what?
“My hair?” I repeated dumbly. Okay, I had some roots showing but that wasn’t a crime.
“Not yours. His.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I couldn’t help myself, really. Once stated, I had to know.
“You already know. Now shut it,” the man said, emphasizing that last bit with another, more vicious poke.
That explained so much. I already knew. Whatever. This place was rapidly going on my list of ‘came, saw, never, ever want to go back.’
Some ten minutes and at least as many pokings - I was going to become a human pin cushion, I was certain of it - later, we were marched into a rather ominous-looking building. It was large, it was drearier than the rest of the décor around the city and it had uniformed guards. All of which could only mean one thing. We’d arrived at the jail. Or, at least, some government office.
The people that we passed now were giving both of us knowing glances. I hated that. Everyone knew something I didn’t and that was rather annoying. Suddenly, I realised I was facing what looked like a wall. Our guard or captor or whatever he was just kept prodding us forward. The wall moved sideways and I realised it was actually a door.
Very quickly, and very efficiently, we were frisked. My mobile and the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver were confiscated, and then we were pushed into the room. The door slid shut behind us, but I didn’t even bother trying to turn around and bang at the door and demand to be let out. No. My attention was riveted, fixated even, on the one piece of furniture that quite literally dominated the room.
It was a bed.
A really, really big bed.
“Oh god,” I said. “We’ve been thrown into the middle of a cliché.”
I didn’t realise how right I was until the cameras clicked on around the room. At least, I thought they were cameras. There was a red light and some sort of lens-looking thing in the front. One by one they were aimed at us and I could see my every move in vivid Technicolor on one of the walls. And were those my - oh, dear. Respiration up. Heart rate up. Pheromone levels - what?
“Oi!” I exclaimed. It was bad enough to be on telly without permission, but this was too personal.
“You’re right,” the Doctor stated, somehow completely calm despite the very personal statistics scrolling along the edge of the screen.
“I am?” I asked, wondering if there was a way to use the bedclothes to cover up the cameras.
“It is -“ he started, but was immediately cut off by a disembodied voice.
I expected some ominous voice saying that we were doomed or some such. I wasn’t expecting someone who sounded like Jo Brand to declare, “And welcome to everyone’s favourite programme… SHAG OR DIE!”
“Oh. My. God,” I said, eyes wide.
“Why don’t we meet our contestants? Introduce yourselves, please,” the voice said.
“I, er, what?” I asked.
“This is Rose and I’m the Doctor,” the Doctor said in my stead. He moved forward to stand beside me. Every brush of his shoulder against mine comforted me almost as much as one of his hugs. “Mind tellin’ me what this is about?”
“Oh, a feisty one. We like it when the prostitutes step up and take some action, don’t we?”
Was that a canned applause track? Wait a minute. Prostitute? “Prostitute?” I parroted in shock.
The announcer didn’t seem to take notice of my reaction. “Now, Rose, you know how this works. You and the Doctor must shag…or the Doctor will die. You’ve got three hours from this time on to do the deed. We’ll be back with you for your reaction. If he pleases you, he lives. If he doesn’t, he dies. When we come back from these announcements, the main show!”
The voice and the display cut off in an instant. The only sign that we were still being observed was the calmly blinking lights on the cameras.
“Oh. My. God,” I repeated my earlier comment. There didn’t seem to be a better way of putting it. I certainly had no ideas. “Can we get out?”
The Doctor sighed and walked to door. If there were sensors there, they certainly weren’t doing their jobs. Or maybe they were. He felt along the edges and finally shook his head. “Deadlock-sealed,” he stated simply. “Even if I had my sonic screwdriver, it wouldn’t help.”
“They think you’re a prostitute,” I said. If this situation wasn’t already crazy and if I wasn’t worried, I’d be laughing so hard I’d probably burst something.
“Got that, thanks,” he replied.
“Because of your haircut,” I continued. Now my lips were twitching. Maybe I could start laughing here.
“Problem?” he countered.
“Would’ve thought all the leather would’ve been a dead giveaway.” My voice squeaked alarmingly before I simply couldn’t continue. I was laughing too hard.
“Oi! Condemned man here!” he protested.
That managed to sober me. Condemned man. Ah, hell.
“Yeah. Erm. Right. Sorry,” I said. “So, options.”
“Shag. Or I die,” he replied. “That’s it. It’s all right. I’ll jus’ come back. New me, mind. But, well, needs must.”
I blinked. He was seriously suggesting that I should just let him die. Like that. And what was this about coming back? “What?”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Honest. Just a bit of sparks and new me. Never thought I’d go like this-“
I was weighing my options. I could either shag the Doctor in front of possibly millions of strangers or watch him die - and let’s forget all about that coming back and new me stuff, cause even if it meant what it sounded like I still wasn’t happy about the dying thing. What sort of choice was that? Well, I supposed you could say it was the easiest choice possible. But obviously he’d already made up his mind. “Am I really that repulsive?” I asked before I had enough time to even censor myself.
Now it was his turn to say, “What? No! Rose, I didn’t think you’d-“ He cut himself off and looked away. “I don’t want to force you.”
“Force me! You’re not forcin’ me here, Doctor. ‘S this stupid game show. This lot want to see us shag and I’m not gonna watch you die. So, y’see, there’s no choice.”
Somehow he was right in front of me, looking down with hooded eyes. I could get lost in his eyes. “Last chance,” he said.
I lifted my hand and put it around his neck, drawing him close enough that I could almost, but not quite, touch my lips to his. “This is the only choice I can live with.”
And, with those words, I ghosted my lips over his.
From that moment on, everything turned into this haze of sensation. Thinking was highly overrated, I decided, as the Doctor did incredible things with his mouth. There were snogs - long, heated, never ending snogs - that curled my toes and did amazing things to my insides. And then the clothes seemed to just melt away and that was skin and he was there and I was there and oh, look, a bed and it was absolutely…oh.
Yes. Just. There.
Oh.
I was moaning, or else he was, and the speed picked up and I was feeling everything he was doing throughout my entire body and I was running my hands along his back and he was touching me and suddenly, suddenly, I was flying. With a guttural shout, he followed, collapsing on top of me in an echo of this morning.
Oh, yes. This was right where I wanted to be. I felt wonderful. Fantastic, even. My very own Doctor-blanket and the best just-been-shagged feeling ever. I lifted my head to press a kiss against his forehead.
“All right?” he asked, turning slightly so he could face me.
“Nah. I’m not all right,” I replied, grinning at the pout forming on his face. “I’m fantastic.”
That was, of course, when I was reminded of exactly where we were. The Doctor was clever like that. I certainly forgot exactly where we were and why.
Jo Brand declared, “And now we’re back! It certainly looks like you enjoyed yourself, Rose. Quite the screamer, you are. Now, why don’t you rate the Doctor? From one to ten. Just between us.”
“Oh, god,” I said, letting my head drop back onto the bed with a less-than-satisfying ‘thump’.
“Come on, girl. We don’t have all day. Does he live or does he die?”
The Doctor was going to get a big head over this. I knew it. I just knew it. “Eleven,” I stated. “He definitely lives.”
And there it was. A grin. One of his manic ‘see how clever I am’ grins. Next thing he was going to ask me to say it a bit louder. In public.
No, wait. I’d already said it in public, hadn’t I? I just did. I shot a furious glare at the cameras. No fair!
“Brilliant! Now, Rose, you know what happens from here. The Doctor lives and moves on to our next contestant. And you receive ten thousand tris!”
Wait. What? The Doctor lives and moves on to our next contestant? Oh, no. He was mine.
“No,” I said. I’d like to tell myself that I was calm, collected, and that Jo Brand listened to me, but I’d be lying.
“No?” Ah-ha. I’d managed to ruffle the announcer’s feathers.
“I’ll take ‘im instead,” I declared. “Keep the money.”
“That’s just not done!” Jo protested.
“Is now,” I said. I’d probably be completely mortified by this later, but I pushed at the Doctor’s body, telling him to get up without words. I stood and, as nonchalantly as I possibly could - given I was completely starkers - I started picking up my clothes. “Oh, an’ I’d like our things back, too, thanks.”
“The Doctor belongs to Shag or Die Enterprises, Rose. You know this already or you wouldn’t’ve come here.”
“Oi! I don’t belong to anyone, me,” the Doctor says.
“You are a feisty one, aren’t you? Of course you are! Congratulations, Rose! Next time on Shag or Die…has the Doctor met his match with SHIRI YALU? Will he live or will he die? You’ll find out!”
“Not so fast!” I shouted. “You lot got it into your heads that he’s a prostitute. Ever heard of somethin’ called visitors? People stoppin’ by, seein’ the sights, an’ then leaving? That’s who we are! Visitors! Travellers! But, no, you decided that just ‘cause the Doctor’s got short hair he must be a prostitute! Y’know what I call that? Prejudice!”
I was working myself up rather well. There I was, holding my clothes in my hand, making speeches about prejudice, in the nude.
Then all the cameras went out.
“Think I made my point?” I asked, pulling on my t-shirt. I knew the guards or employees or whatever were on their way back. Probably to execute me. Or him. Couldn’t have that, after all. But the last thing I wanted to do was have to run through the streets of this city naked. Well, almost naked. I was still wearing my TARDIS key around my neck.
“Sort of, yeah,” he replied.
By the time I’d shimmied back into my jeans, the Doctor was fully clothed and facing the door. “Ready?” he asked.
I slipped on my shoes and nodded. “Always.”
I could already guess what he wanted to do. Our guards would be back at any moment. I was about to say something completely witty, but that was pushed to the wayside the instant the door slid open.
Three guards. Not so bad, I decided. We could take them.
“You are under arrest,” the man who I decided had to be the leader declared.
“What for?” I asked as I moved to join the Doctor. “Jus’ cause I wouldn’t play your game?”
The man ignored me in favour of looking at the Doctor. “And you are to be disciplined for forgetting your place!”
“Rose?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Run!”
We ran. Past the guards, knocking them off their feet before they had the chance to grab for their spears. The exit was just in front of us when I spotted the impossible off to the left. My mobile and the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. Just sitting there on the counter. Practically asking to be taken.
I made the detour and snatched both objects off the table before following the Doctor out of the building. I could hear shouts and demands for us to stop, but I ignored them. Running was a much better idea.
Somehow we managed to make it back to the TARDIS without getting stopped or shot at. I counted it as something of a miracle. However, before I followed the Doctor inside, I couldn’t help but ask, “Doctor? What’s the value of ten thousand tris?”
He looked at me, confused. “Why do you want to know?”
I smiled. “Have to know if I got the better end of the deal, don’t I?”
END
x-posted to: dark_aegis, hearts_in_time and time_and_chips
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “Oh god,” I said. “We’ve been thrown into the middle of a cliché.”
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the brilliant wendymr for BRing. I was challenged to try the shag or die cliché. This is the result.
“A Close Shave”
by Gillian Taylor
It was going to be one of those days, I could tell. Oh, sure, it started off well enough. A good night’s sleep, promise of an adventure on a new planet, and wow can he fill out those jeans, can you reach for that again sort of way. Promising, right?
Ha bloody ha. That was before the designated driver - and wearer of those jeans - decided to prove to all and sundry that he really had no idea how to pilot the TARDIS. I ended up flat on my backside, trying to tell my stomach that there was no need to share with me the remains of my rather large breakfast.
“Don’t tell me,” I groused. “You meant to do that.” He hadn’t even fallen over. The bastard.
“Yup,” he replied, manic grin firmly in place. “Might help if you hold onto something when we materialise.”
“Thanks for that. Ever so helpful, you are,” I grumbled as I sat up, taking stock to make sure all my appendages were still attached. One of these days, I was half-convinced, one of these landings was going to knock me out. Or break something.
I didn’t blame the TARDIS for that. Nope. I blamed him. All big grin, and tight-fitting jeans, and ooh, was it hot in here?
“Rose? Are you all right?” he asked.
Of course I wasn’t all right. I was on the floor, bruised, definitely feeling a bit nauseous and if he got any closer I was going to pull him onto the floor with me. Or on me. I rather liked the idea of on me.
“Jus’ give me a mo’. I’m thinking.”
“Thinking?” he prompted, edging just so much closer.
That was it. I’d had it. He was too close, those jeans were too tight, and there was definitely something to be said about taking advantage of an opportunity. Or was that looking a gift horse in the mouth? No matter. Same idea.
I reached out, grabbed the lapel of his jacket and tugged. The TARDIS - clever girl she was, and most likely in on this entire affair - shook around us for a moment and he lost his balance. Oh, yes, he fell all right.
Right on top of me, too. I was definitely a happy girl.
He had a face full of my chest, I had a body full of his, and I could’ve happily lain there for hours. Until the Doctor got it into his head that this was undignified. Or something.
I’d never seen him move that fast. One second he was on me, the next he was halfway across the room, his ears tinged a rather telling shade of red.
“Doctor?” I asked.
“New planet, right outside those doors.” He dangled that promise like the carrot it was. I had a choice. I could either try to push him into admitting he liked being up close and personal with my breasts or I could humour him and look outside.
I sighed. I was weak.
Forcing myself to my feet, I sort of stagger-walked my way to the door. The TARDIS was nice and still, yes, but feeling was just beginning to return to my extremities. A rough landing plus the Doctor falling on top of me didn’t exactly leave me in the best shape possible for adventuring. At least, not yet.
Once these pins and needles died down, I’d be in top shape.
The doors creaked as I pulled them open to reveal what looked like a city in a snow globe. That was the only definition I had for it. The buildings stretched towards the sky, gleaming in the sunlight. And, above the buildings, I could see the curvature of what looked like, but couldn’t be, glass. At least not any type of glass that I knew of.
“Wow,” I said. Clever, wasn’t I? All of time and space at my fingertips, a new planet right outside the doors, and all I could say was a very unimaginative ‘wow’.
The Doctor was beaming at me. I could catch a flash of his smile out of the corner of my eye.
“What?” I asked somewhat defensively.
He just continued beaming and held out his hand for me to take. How was I supposed to resist that? Slipping my hand into his, we began to walk down the street. It occurred to me that it should’ve been a sign that people were giving us a wide berth. Of the sort that’s big and flashing with neon green letters.
However, I was relatively oblivious until about two minutes later when I felt something sharp poke my back. “What the-?” I began and cut myself off as said sharp object prodded me again.
“Don’t make a sound,” someone snarled, backing up that comment with another poke.
“Might help if you tell us why you’re doin’ this,” the Doctor said, still keeping firm hold of my hand.
“What part of ‘don’t make a sound’ don’t you understand?” the man - it certainly sounded male, at least. Or else a very masculine female - said.
I took it as a good sign that whatever was poking us didn’t actually stab us.
“Bit thick, me. You might have to explain. Like why you’re stickin’ something that feels like a spear into my back,” the Doctor replied.
The man sighed and, with a much put-upon voice, he continued, “You’re under arrest. Everything you say will be held against you, blah, blah, blah. You know the story. Everyone knows the story. Now move.”
Everyone knew the story, huh? What story? I looked at the Doctor and he looked right back. A thousand conversations passed us by in a second, most of them dealing with ‘what, why, and oh, not this again’. It was becoming a bit of a tradition. Land on a planet, get arrested, get thrown in jail. With lots of running sprinkled liberally before, during and after. Or something like that.
“So what is it now? Holding hands? Man and a woman can’t walk together? The Doctor’s clothes? My clothes?” I asked, suddenly deciding that, like the Doctor, I didn’t find spears poking me in the back in the least threatening.
“No,” the man said, sounding somewhat confused. “It’s your hair, of course.”
My - what?
“My hair?” I repeated dumbly. Okay, I had some roots showing but that wasn’t a crime.
“Not yours. His.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I couldn’t help myself, really. Once stated, I had to know.
“You already know. Now shut it,” the man said, emphasizing that last bit with another, more vicious poke.
That explained so much. I already knew. Whatever. This place was rapidly going on my list of ‘came, saw, never, ever want to go back.’
Some ten minutes and at least as many pokings - I was going to become a human pin cushion, I was certain of it - later, we were marched into a rather ominous-looking building. It was large, it was drearier than the rest of the décor around the city and it had uniformed guards. All of which could only mean one thing. We’d arrived at the jail. Or, at least, some government office.
The people that we passed now were giving both of us knowing glances. I hated that. Everyone knew something I didn’t and that was rather annoying. Suddenly, I realised I was facing what looked like a wall. Our guard or captor or whatever he was just kept prodding us forward. The wall moved sideways and I realised it was actually a door.
Very quickly, and very efficiently, we were frisked. My mobile and the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver were confiscated, and then we were pushed into the room. The door slid shut behind us, but I didn’t even bother trying to turn around and bang at the door and demand to be let out. No. My attention was riveted, fixated even, on the one piece of furniture that quite literally dominated the room.
It was a bed.
A really, really big bed.
“Oh god,” I said. “We’ve been thrown into the middle of a cliché.”
I didn’t realise how right I was until the cameras clicked on around the room. At least, I thought they were cameras. There was a red light and some sort of lens-looking thing in the front. One by one they were aimed at us and I could see my every move in vivid Technicolor on one of the walls. And were those my - oh, dear. Respiration up. Heart rate up. Pheromone levels - what?
“Oi!” I exclaimed. It was bad enough to be on telly without permission, but this was too personal.
“You’re right,” the Doctor stated, somehow completely calm despite the very personal statistics scrolling along the edge of the screen.
“I am?” I asked, wondering if there was a way to use the bedclothes to cover up the cameras.
“It is -“ he started, but was immediately cut off by a disembodied voice.
I expected some ominous voice saying that we were doomed or some such. I wasn’t expecting someone who sounded like Jo Brand to declare, “And welcome to everyone’s favourite programme… SHAG OR DIE!”
“Oh. My. God,” I said, eyes wide.
“Why don’t we meet our contestants? Introduce yourselves, please,” the voice said.
“I, er, what?” I asked.
“This is Rose and I’m the Doctor,” the Doctor said in my stead. He moved forward to stand beside me. Every brush of his shoulder against mine comforted me almost as much as one of his hugs. “Mind tellin’ me what this is about?”
“Oh, a feisty one. We like it when the prostitutes step up and take some action, don’t we?”
Was that a canned applause track? Wait a minute. Prostitute? “Prostitute?” I parroted in shock.
The announcer didn’t seem to take notice of my reaction. “Now, Rose, you know how this works. You and the Doctor must shag…or the Doctor will die. You’ve got three hours from this time on to do the deed. We’ll be back with you for your reaction. If he pleases you, he lives. If he doesn’t, he dies. When we come back from these announcements, the main show!”
The voice and the display cut off in an instant. The only sign that we were still being observed was the calmly blinking lights on the cameras.
“Oh. My. God,” I repeated my earlier comment. There didn’t seem to be a better way of putting it. I certainly had no ideas. “Can we get out?”
The Doctor sighed and walked to door. If there were sensors there, they certainly weren’t doing their jobs. Or maybe they were. He felt along the edges and finally shook his head. “Deadlock-sealed,” he stated simply. “Even if I had my sonic screwdriver, it wouldn’t help.”
“They think you’re a prostitute,” I said. If this situation wasn’t already crazy and if I wasn’t worried, I’d be laughing so hard I’d probably burst something.
“Got that, thanks,” he replied.
“Because of your haircut,” I continued. Now my lips were twitching. Maybe I could start laughing here.
“Problem?” he countered.
“Would’ve thought all the leather would’ve been a dead giveaway.” My voice squeaked alarmingly before I simply couldn’t continue. I was laughing too hard.
“Oi! Condemned man here!” he protested.
That managed to sober me. Condemned man. Ah, hell.
“Yeah. Erm. Right. Sorry,” I said. “So, options.”
“Shag. Or I die,” he replied. “That’s it. It’s all right. I’ll jus’ come back. New me, mind. But, well, needs must.”
I blinked. He was seriously suggesting that I should just let him die. Like that. And what was this about coming back? “What?”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Honest. Just a bit of sparks and new me. Never thought I’d go like this-“
I was weighing my options. I could either shag the Doctor in front of possibly millions of strangers or watch him die - and let’s forget all about that coming back and new me stuff, cause even if it meant what it sounded like I still wasn’t happy about the dying thing. What sort of choice was that? Well, I supposed you could say it was the easiest choice possible. But obviously he’d already made up his mind. “Am I really that repulsive?” I asked before I had enough time to even censor myself.
Now it was his turn to say, “What? No! Rose, I didn’t think you’d-“ He cut himself off and looked away. “I don’t want to force you.”
“Force me! You’re not forcin’ me here, Doctor. ‘S this stupid game show. This lot want to see us shag and I’m not gonna watch you die. So, y’see, there’s no choice.”
Somehow he was right in front of me, looking down with hooded eyes. I could get lost in his eyes. “Last chance,” he said.
I lifted my hand and put it around his neck, drawing him close enough that I could almost, but not quite, touch my lips to his. “This is the only choice I can live with.”
And, with those words, I ghosted my lips over his.
From that moment on, everything turned into this haze of sensation. Thinking was highly overrated, I decided, as the Doctor did incredible things with his mouth. There were snogs - long, heated, never ending snogs - that curled my toes and did amazing things to my insides. And then the clothes seemed to just melt away and that was skin and he was there and I was there and oh, look, a bed and it was absolutely…oh.
Yes. Just. There.
Oh.
I was moaning, or else he was, and the speed picked up and I was feeling everything he was doing throughout my entire body and I was running my hands along his back and he was touching me and suddenly, suddenly, I was flying. With a guttural shout, he followed, collapsing on top of me in an echo of this morning.
Oh, yes. This was right where I wanted to be. I felt wonderful. Fantastic, even. My very own Doctor-blanket and the best just-been-shagged feeling ever. I lifted my head to press a kiss against his forehead.
“All right?” he asked, turning slightly so he could face me.
“Nah. I’m not all right,” I replied, grinning at the pout forming on his face. “I’m fantastic.”
That was, of course, when I was reminded of exactly where we were. The Doctor was clever like that. I certainly forgot exactly where we were and why.
Jo Brand declared, “And now we’re back! It certainly looks like you enjoyed yourself, Rose. Quite the screamer, you are. Now, why don’t you rate the Doctor? From one to ten. Just between us.”
“Oh, god,” I said, letting my head drop back onto the bed with a less-than-satisfying ‘thump’.
“Come on, girl. We don’t have all day. Does he live or does he die?”
The Doctor was going to get a big head over this. I knew it. I just knew it. “Eleven,” I stated. “He definitely lives.”
And there it was. A grin. One of his manic ‘see how clever I am’ grins. Next thing he was going to ask me to say it a bit louder. In public.
No, wait. I’d already said it in public, hadn’t I? I just did. I shot a furious glare at the cameras. No fair!
“Brilliant! Now, Rose, you know what happens from here. The Doctor lives and moves on to our next contestant. And you receive ten thousand tris!”
Wait. What? The Doctor lives and moves on to our next contestant? Oh, no. He was mine.
“No,” I said. I’d like to tell myself that I was calm, collected, and that Jo Brand listened to me, but I’d be lying.
“No?” Ah-ha. I’d managed to ruffle the announcer’s feathers.
“I’ll take ‘im instead,” I declared. “Keep the money.”
“That’s just not done!” Jo protested.
“Is now,” I said. I’d probably be completely mortified by this later, but I pushed at the Doctor’s body, telling him to get up without words. I stood and, as nonchalantly as I possibly could - given I was completely starkers - I started picking up my clothes. “Oh, an’ I’d like our things back, too, thanks.”
“The Doctor belongs to Shag or Die Enterprises, Rose. You know this already or you wouldn’t’ve come here.”
“Oi! I don’t belong to anyone, me,” the Doctor says.
“You are a feisty one, aren’t you? Of course you are! Congratulations, Rose! Next time on Shag or Die…has the Doctor met his match with SHIRI YALU? Will he live or will he die? You’ll find out!”
“Not so fast!” I shouted. “You lot got it into your heads that he’s a prostitute. Ever heard of somethin’ called visitors? People stoppin’ by, seein’ the sights, an’ then leaving? That’s who we are! Visitors! Travellers! But, no, you decided that just ‘cause the Doctor’s got short hair he must be a prostitute! Y’know what I call that? Prejudice!”
I was working myself up rather well. There I was, holding my clothes in my hand, making speeches about prejudice, in the nude.
Then all the cameras went out.
“Think I made my point?” I asked, pulling on my t-shirt. I knew the guards or employees or whatever were on their way back. Probably to execute me. Or him. Couldn’t have that, after all. But the last thing I wanted to do was have to run through the streets of this city naked. Well, almost naked. I was still wearing my TARDIS key around my neck.
“Sort of, yeah,” he replied.
By the time I’d shimmied back into my jeans, the Doctor was fully clothed and facing the door. “Ready?” he asked.
I slipped on my shoes and nodded. “Always.”
I could already guess what he wanted to do. Our guards would be back at any moment. I was about to say something completely witty, but that was pushed to the wayside the instant the door slid open.
Three guards. Not so bad, I decided. We could take them.
“You are under arrest,” the man who I decided had to be the leader declared.
“What for?” I asked as I moved to join the Doctor. “Jus’ cause I wouldn’t play your game?”
The man ignored me in favour of looking at the Doctor. “And you are to be disciplined for forgetting your place!”
“Rose?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Run!”
We ran. Past the guards, knocking them off their feet before they had the chance to grab for their spears. The exit was just in front of us when I spotted the impossible off to the left. My mobile and the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. Just sitting there on the counter. Practically asking to be taken.
I made the detour and snatched both objects off the table before following the Doctor out of the building. I could hear shouts and demands for us to stop, but I ignored them. Running was a much better idea.
Somehow we managed to make it back to the TARDIS without getting stopped or shot at. I counted it as something of a miracle. However, before I followed the Doctor inside, I couldn’t help but ask, “Doctor? What’s the value of ten thousand tris?”
He looked at me, confused. “Why do you want to know?”
I smiled. “Have to know if I got the better end of the deal, don’t I?”
END
x-posted to: dark_aegis, hearts_in_time and time_and_chips