Sultry Heat
Rose was more than willing to follow wherever the Doctor led, eager even. Usually that meant excitement, danger and running for your life, and in one case hopping for their lives.
But this time, following the Doctor, her hand firmly grasped in his larger one, she was more than simply eager to follow, she was trembling with the NEED to go where he led.
They picked their way through some underbrush, just a bit northeast of the camp. There was a small clearing there, covered with soft moss. Word of it had spread fast. And the Doctor had taken a red strip of cloth from atop a fallen branch and tied it around the sapling ten feet back, a signal that the clearing was occupied.
He did not let go of her hand as he turned. Instead he pulled her closer by that point. His free hand moved up, his fingers moved to take a lock of her hair, rubbing the strands.
Rose felt a flash of embarrassment, because she knew her roots were growing out now. The constant sun was naturally bleaching, but she’d always been fussy ‘bout her hair. Came from having a mother who was a hairdresser.
“Don’t. You’re perfect the way you are.” He gazed down at her with hooded lids and Rose felt her knees go a bit weak.
He had the most amazing eyes. Not just the steal blue beauty of them, or the depths of pain she longed to ease, or even the weight of time itself that often filled them. No, it was how expressive they were. And when he looked at her like that, she found it hard to breathe. She remembered the first time this very heavy, sensual look turned on her. In the basement of the Albion Hospital in 1941. Even the threat of becoming a zombie had slipped her mind at that… this look.
He sometimes seemed uncomfortable with his appearance, although it kept him from any sense of vanity she’d gotten used to from other blokes, it was a bit sad. Because to her… he was beautiful. Individual features she might never have found attractive on their own, somehow merged into a face that was unconventionally striking. He had no idea just how attractive he was, no matter how often he got flirted with almost anywhere they went.
The fingers of her own free hand went to trace along his jaw, the lobe of his ear, to flutter across that spot just behind his left ear that she had found was so very sensitive.
His eyes shuttered closed and a soft sigh escaped him. Rose felt a small thrill of feminine power.
He released her hand as his eyes snapped open once more, and he shrugged out of his battered leather jacket, spreading it out over the moss. He straightens and frames her face with his hands, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. Dry and cool, yet firm, almost unyielding, his lips were able to be so gentle, or even occasionally ruthless.
Now they were teasing her lightly, soft brushes that might be considered chaste, if there were less erotic intent behind them. She slid her fingers under his jumper and let her fingers trace light patterns along his skin, just above the waistband of his jeans.
Her own stomach as fluttering, a heat slowly building in her, pooling low. They hadn’t done this since Molly’s announcement of their impending parenthood. She’d been half afraid he was going to take the overprotection to the point where he was afraid to do this. She had been planning drastic measures within the next few days. So glad she didn’t need them.
His teasing lips became a bit more aggressive, the kiss deepening, one hand moving to cup the back of her head as his tongue begged entrance she was only too happy to give.
(OOC: I'm in the mood to write some smut...)
But this time, following the Doctor, her hand firmly grasped in his larger one, she was more than simply eager to follow, she was trembling with the NEED to go where he led.
They picked their way through some underbrush, just a bit northeast of the camp. There was a small clearing there, covered with soft moss. Word of it had spread fast. And the Doctor had taken a red strip of cloth from atop a fallen branch and tied it around the sapling ten feet back, a signal that the clearing was occupied.
He did not let go of her hand as he turned. Instead he pulled her closer by that point. His free hand moved up, his fingers moved to take a lock of her hair, rubbing the strands.
Rose felt a flash of embarrassment, because she knew her roots were growing out now. The constant sun was naturally bleaching, but she’d always been fussy ‘bout her hair. Came from having a mother who was a hairdresser.
“Don’t. You’re perfect the way you are.” He gazed down at her with hooded lids and Rose felt her knees go a bit weak.
He had the most amazing eyes. Not just the steal blue beauty of them, or the depths of pain she longed to ease, or even the weight of time itself that often filled them. No, it was how expressive they were. And when he looked at her like that, she found it hard to breathe. She remembered the first time this very heavy, sensual look turned on her. In the basement of the Albion Hospital in 1941. Even the threat of becoming a zombie had slipped her mind at that… this look.
He sometimes seemed uncomfortable with his appearance, although it kept him from any sense of vanity she’d gotten used to from other blokes, it was a bit sad. Because to her… he was beautiful. Individual features she might never have found attractive on their own, somehow merged into a face that was unconventionally striking. He had no idea just how attractive he was, no matter how often he got flirted with almost anywhere they went.
The fingers of her own free hand went to trace along his jaw, the lobe of his ear, to flutter across that spot just behind his left ear that she had found was so very sensitive.
His eyes shuttered closed and a soft sigh escaped him. Rose felt a small thrill of feminine power.
He released her hand as his eyes snapped open once more, and he shrugged out of his battered leather jacket, spreading it out over the moss. He straightens and frames her face with his hands, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. Dry and cool, yet firm, almost unyielding, his lips were able to be so gentle, or even occasionally ruthless.
Now they were teasing her lightly, soft brushes that might be considered chaste, if there were less erotic intent behind them. She slid her fingers under his jumper and let her fingers trace light patterns along his skin, just above the waistband of his jeans.
Her own stomach as fluttering, a heat slowly building in her, pooling low. They hadn’t done this since Molly’s announcement of their impending parenthood. She’d been half afraid he was going to take the overprotection to the point where he was afraid to do this. She had been planning drastic measures within the next few days. So glad she didn’t need them.
His teasing lips became a bit more aggressive, the kiss deepening, one hand moving to cup the back of her head as his tongue begged entrance she was only too happy to give.
(OOC: I'm in the mood to write some smut...)