who fic: "my body bruised" (Nine/Rose, NC17)
title: my body bruised
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
spoilers: none
rating: NC17 , Mature
warning: violence
This story is based on prompts by isilienelenihin at the spring Doctor/Rose fixathon
* Nine/Rose “The Dugout,” Siegfried Sassoon
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen cold
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadow’d from the candle’s guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head…
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
* Doctor/Rose U2: With or Without You
“My hands are tired, my body bruised / she’s got me with nothing to win / and nothing left to lose / and you give yourself away / and you give yourself away”
This is also in response to ahedonia's request for fic where the Doctor and Rose are forced to disrobe.
====
Naked. Beaten. Imprisoned. The Doctor had lived through worse -- but nothing could be worse, could it, than the sight of Rose's tender body, naked, bruised and torn, huddled exhausted on the cold stone floor of their cell?
Yes, sometimes, his supposedly vast knowledge failed him. Sometimes, his Tardis landed him in a time not exactly amenable to cosmopolitan tourism. This time had been a blunder so simple, yet of such enormity. Clothing, etiquette -- everything had been appropriate -- except that Rose, because of her bleached blonde hair, was taken to be a Free Woman of the South, and the Doctor because of his shorn hair was taken to be her Concubine, and the North was presently hostile to the South, such that all Free Women were to be stripped, beaten, and thrown into prison, and their Concubines beaten half-dead.
The execution of their sentence was swift and merciless. The Doctor was stripped and beaten first, brutally, and if he had been human it would have been fatal. The citizens of this planet didn't bother to take a medical scan of the Doctor before they began the beating -- they just delivered their harshest blows to where a human's vital organs would have been, and the Doctor feigned agony and went down, spitting as much blood as he could muster from a chewed through lip. The slight terra cotta hue to his blood went un-noticed, and he put himself into a light trance that would resemble a coma to the unsophisticated examiners of the age, while he remained aware of the proceedings.
Rose uttered not a sound as he was beaten. He could hear her horror and outrage in the breaths she struggled to keep even. She kept her eyes half-closed, trying to veil his punishment from her senses, as he'd requested. The Northerners assumed that the best punishment of a Free Woman was to destroy her concubine before her eyes, to prove to her how powerless she was to protect him. After he died in their cell, she would be deported to the South. The Doctor couldn't imagine anything more cruel.
Rose's beating was meant to punish, not to kill. As far as the Doctor could understand their mentality, the Northerners regarded women as keepers of purity. The beatings they delivered to Free Women were meant to restore that ideal of purity, while their Concubines were to be purged --- unwed men, symbols of filthy lust, unfit to walk the streets without the bonds of wedlock tight around their loins. Rose had laughed when the Doctor had wound the long scarlet cloth around his waist and looped it between his legs, to hang down in front and behind; he had tied it correctly, but his hair should've been long and braided back into a queue, while hers should've been dyed black. Ah, the devil was in the details. It always was.
The Doctor eased his eyes open as he restored his heartbeat and respiration to normal. His body screamed in pain at the beating he had taken, but no one was more well-trained in stoicism than a Time Lord. He acknowledged his pain, pushed it to the back of his brain, and ignored it. He would heal quickly enough. He needed to focus on Rose.
Reaching out with his heightened Time Lord senses, he ascertained that they were alone. There was a lone guard at the end of a long corridor, two turns away and one level up. There were no cameras, no electronics of any kind -- just the one dim light recessed into the wall behind unbreakable glassine. There was a tap over a drain, and there was one thin blanket -- as though the planet's governing body, which had not yet advanced sufficiently to be contacted by the Shadow Proclamation, had nevertheless decided to follow the letter of some law of decency with its prisoners, if not the spirit.
Rose was asleep on the blanket. The Doctor hated to wake her, but he was afraid the cold of the dungeon would put her in danger of slipping into hypothermia.
Silently, he moved across the floor of the cell to Rose's side and lay down beside her on the stone floor. It wouldn't hurt him like it would Rose for the cold stone to leech away his body heat since his metabolism constantly drew energy from the Vortex. He took her by the shoulder, turning her sleeping body gently so that she was lying mostly on top of him. He pulled the thin, stained blanket over her, hoping the added insulation would aid in her recovery. His body temperature was naturally lower than hers, but his cool body was a lot warmer than the floor. Hopefully she would forgive him the impropriety. He allowed himself one moment, and one only, of relishing the soft warmth of her, pressing against him. He settled his arms around her, holding the blanket in place, then he turned to concentrating on raising his surface temperature to feed warmth into Rose's chilled body.
Rose mumbled something incomprehensible, let out a long deep sigh, and burrowed her head into the Doctor's shoulder. She was a strong sleeper, his Rose-- even after such an ordeal, she was able to let go and find surcease in sleep, to balm her hurt mind and knit the raveled sleeve of care.
Rose mumbled again, gave a groan, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked down at him with her bleary gaze, but he could feel the rising heat of her skin as she blushed at their proximity.
"Hiya," the Doctor whispered with a smile.
"Argh," Rose moaned.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor answered.
Rose groaned again, "Not your fault," she muttered. Her face was swollen in several places from the beating -- a black eye, a split lip, a mottled bruise across one cheek. The Doctor clamped down on the furious desire for vengeance that burned in him at the sight of her. He had to focus on her safety and getting back to the Tardis somehow.
"Are you in much pain?" the Doctor asked gently.
"Yes," Rose answered through gritted teeth.
"I'm so sorry," the Doctor repeated in chagrin.
"Nothing you can do about it," Rose said.
"Yeah, there is, actually, if you let me," the Doctor said.
"Let me guess," Rose smiled. It hurt the Doctor to see her bruised face twist her bright smile crooked, but he felt a fierce rush of pride at her strength and resilience. "You can go into my mind and telepathically block my pain."
"I could do -- do you want that?" he asked, surprised.
"I wouldn't mind," she said. His hearts beat a little faster with the thrill of it-- she trusted him now, enough to let him in.
"I can block the pain -- but I can also fix some of the injuries," the Doctor said.
"I've been hurt before and you've never done that!" Rose accused.
"I have so!" he replied. "When you get hurt we go to the infirmary straight away."
"And you sonic it better," she said. "Thank you. But …." Rose didn't want to say it. They had stripped the Doctor before her eyes, casting his clothing into a fire-- including the jacket and all the useful things he kept in his pockets.
"Sonic's just a short cut," he said brusquely. "Stimulates healing by setting up certain vibrations. Time Lord, me -- I can do that without the sonic."
"Show me," Rose demanded; she did sound a little bit impressed.
"I'll need to touch you -- is that okay?" the Doctor said.
Rose laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, Doctor, we're pressed together naked under this blanket."
"Yes, I had noticed," he said drily. "I'm warming you -- can't you tell?"
In the dim light of the cell, Rose's eyes were dark and deep, gazing at him softly. "You do feel warm-- it's not a fever, is it?"
"No -- conscious control of my physiology. Easy enough to heat myself up to keep you warm."
Rose's mouth widened into a smile. "It feels lovely, Doctor, thank you."
"You're welcome, Rose," he said. He allowed himself that moment of happiness, satisfaction. He had gotten her into this mess, but at least, right now, he was doing something right.
"So I may touch you, then?" he asked again after the moment had passed.
"Yes," she laughed, then cringed as the laughter pulled at her injuries and died away into a groan.
"Touch telepath, Rose -- touch is more intimate for me than for a human. I have to be sure."
"But we're naked!" Rose exclaimed.
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Psychic barriers -- hard to maintain, but here, in the dark, lying still, I can manage it. Usually, I just rely on the heavy clothes to keep any random touch at bay."
"So when you grabbed my hand that first time… " Rose mused.
"I never wanted to let you go, Rose. My hand, now…. it yearns for you, always," he murmured.
"Oh," Rose said, and the peaceful warmth they shared under the blanket became a little more charged, a little more sultry. "But, then… if you touch me-- with your hand, to heal me…"
"Yes, Rose," he said softly.
"You'll want to touch me again," she whispered.
"Yes," he stated, absolute.
"And… you want to touch me now?" she whispered. The darkness of the cell seemed to close around them, heightening every sense: to the Doctor the humming of the dim lights along the corridor was like a roar, the dank smell of the dripping tap and the fetid grate below it niggled at his nostrils, which were pleasantly filled right now with the intoxicating scents of Rose. He could hardly feel the hard, cold stone he was cushioning her from, he was so distracted by the delightful sensations of her body pressed against him.
"I want, Rose, I've wanted, I'll want to touch you always," the Doctor said, mildly frustrated by the English language and its tediously limited tenses.
"Me too," Rose said, and she found his hand with her own. Their familiar grip, under the blankets, made everything real, a beacon of joy growing secretly brighter in the bleak darkness of the dungeon. She led his hand to her ribcage, and he lay his hand gently across her torso, reveling in the feeling, as though he possessed her, as though he was big enough and powerful enough to keep her forever from harm, as though, lying small under his hand, she belonged to him.
"This hurts," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he felt her injured rib, investigating it with an exploratory tendril of his awareness. "It's cracked," he said, his voice rumbling with repressed emotion. Regeneration energy was wild, dangerous, tearing through a Time Lord's mortally injured body with all the chaotic and mutagenic power of the Vortex. But that link to the Vortex was always there, on some subatomic level in the Gallifreyan body…. a secret, limitless reservoir of power that meant he needed little sleep, utilized food haphazardly, healed quickly, and would live, now that the Council was no more, potentially forever. It also meant that he could channel that energy, with quiet and concentration, into the body of his companion, helping her to heal as he himself would heal. He could feel the rib under his ministrations knitting within the space of a minute.
"I love you," she said.
"What?" he said, startled. He jerked slightly, but there was no where to go. He was naked, on his back, on the floor, and she was on top of him, where he'd put her.
"They were beating you. They burned up your jacket." Rose was shaking, and he realized she was crying. Too many emotions, all at once, too much for her to keep up with.
"Sh," he said, helplessly. This wasn't something Time Lord energy could knit together. He put her declaration down to her heightened emotional state.
"Your jacket was in the fire. And your sonic and everything. And they were beating you. And I just loved you so much, and I couldn't say anything, or do anything, and they were beating you, and you were naked, and they took that! You, you were so beautiful, and they just kept beating you till you fell, and I …"
"Sh, sh," he said, trying to rock her or pat her or something.
"No! No, I had, I had to look. I had to watch them beat you, my eyes were so hungry for your body, I was looking between the blows, Doctor. I'm sorry!"
The Doctor stroked her, trying to comfort her, trying to send little feelings of wellbeing and relaxation through his hands. It wasn't easy. He had guilt of his own in the way. "I looked at you, too, Rose. You were so beautiful, so unashamed. I was so proud of you."
"A right pair we are," Rose choked, between laughing and crying. "Ogling each other while aliens try to kill us."
The Doctor's hands roamed aimlessly over Rose's back, finding little hurts and soothing them. His hands felt hot and shivery, but he didn't want to stop. He didn't ever want to stop touching her, soothing her, and if he'd locked his body away behind a dampening barrier, at least his hands were allowed to know her, to learn her strength and her softness in the way he'd longed to since he touched her and run with her that very first time.
At last Rose broke the silence. "It feels so good, your hands… you feel so good," she whispered.
"I'm getting the hang of it," he murmured, concentrating on the trick he was doing. It felt quite good to him as well, the trickles of energy heating his hands, the play of connections between his nervous system and hers as he touched her.
"How are those barriers holding up?" she asked at length, her voice gone a little rough.
"Fairly well," he murmured. The contours of her body were endlessly mesmerizing as he slowly stroked her with his radiating hands. Her ribs were all mended. Her cuts were all closed. Her deeper bruises were soothed and healed. Now his hands were traveling on a pleasure circuit of their own devising, channelling wellness and health deep inside her body, feathering along her skin with the gentlest of touches.
"Can't you… lower them?" she asked.
He looked up into her eyes at last, startled out of the trance he'd fallen into. And there she was, his Rose -- her beautiful face restored, the swelling and injuries gone. He didn't even remember touching her face. But yes, oh yes, he remembered… the soft fullness of her lips under his questing fingers, the way she pressed her cheeks into his hand, her little moan of pleasure as his touch ghosted carefully over her face again, seeking for any discomfort and leaving only bliss in its wake.
Now her eyes were wide open, dark and full of passion. "Doctor," she said, and his name had never sounded lovelier, "please, don't stop touching me… but I want to touch you too... I want you to feel it…"
Her pupils were blown wide, her lips full and parted, a blush high on her cheeks. Nestled against his body, she was totally relaxed and open to him, every nerve singing a siren's call to his. Dare he? Dare he drop his guard?
"Please," she whispered. "Let me touch you…"
How could he resist such an entreaty? such beauty, such devotion? such love?
"Yes," he breathed, and his psychic barriers melted away like thunderclouds, and from behind them broke the radiant sun.
The heat and light of Rose's love flooded over him, pouring into him, through skin that was no barrier at all, directly into his nervous system and up into his brain. It was like a hit of some impossibly glorious drug, flooding every sense and inundating his awareness.
"Rose!" he gasped. "Ah, Rose!"
Sinuously, she moved against him, her skin dragging over his like silk. "Doctor! I can feel it-- what you feel! It's so good!"
"It could be-- even better -- " he gasped -- "mind to mind--" He was so far gone, so full of the rush of heat and light, that he didn't even blush at his scandalous suggestion. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. Right now, it seemed to him, she was all that made life worth living.
"Yeah?" Rose said, breathless. "I can't imagine anything better than this --"
"May I?" he asked, desperate for her invitation. Distantly, he felt a twinge of worry -- could she take it? but at that moment, he felt Rose was the answer to his every question, and his doubts were swept aside by her eager response.
"So much more polite than usual! Yes, please, Doctor!"
His hands, his clever, clever hands, reached up to frame her face between them, long fingers seeking her temples as he pulled her down into a devouring kiss. The floodgates of his emotions opened wide, and the storm swept into her.
Her mind was so bright -- so open -- so receptive. It was as though the clash and tumult of his thoughts spread out into a cloudless sky full of birdsong and light. She took him in, every bit of him, and somehow, set him right.
And ringing through her mind was her declaration of love, her conviction that he was beautiful, amazing, perfect in every way, and her fierce desire to claim him as her own and never to let him be alone again.
"Oh, love, I'm far from perfect," he sang out, laughing.
"Love you, I love you I love you!" Rose sang in answer.
Their minds met like old friends and calmed as things became familiar. There was Rose's eagerness and curiosity, matching up to his impetuousness and vanity, turning his every flaw into a new brilliance. Their minds swirled and learned one another all over again, just as their hungry hands had already learned each other by touch.
"Doctor?" Rose asked, her mind like a brilliant sunset he'd never tire of gazing at, magenta clouds shot through with ribbons of gold.
"Yes, love?" he answered, absently, stroking her.
"Haven't you ever held a naked woman before?" she asked.
"Well, yes, I must've -- right?" he said, concentrating on the double feel of her body's delight under his hands, and the way her mind lit up at his touch.
"I'm not so sure!" she laughed. "I'm just saying… if you wanted to take things a little farther -- I wouldn't mind!"
"Farther?" he asked. Her nerves were so alive, and the song her mind made when he swept her with brushes of ecstasy -- it was fascinating.
"Make love to me," she said, boldly staring at him.
He blankly stared back.
"Sex?" she said, a little crestfallen.
"Oh!" This time he really did blush. "Here? Now?"
Rose frowned. "Please, Doctor! I'm human, I want you! We nearly died! I can't wait, not one more minute!"
"I haven't… with a human…. " he stammered.
"Do… do you want me, that way?" she asked, pulling back slightly.
"Just show me what you want, what feels right to you," he urged, uncertain of his own response.
"Touch me, here," Rose asked, and she guided his hand between her legs -- he'd avoided the place in respect to her modesty -- but now, if she was asking…
Tentatively he slotted his finger between her folds, dipping in a little to find the moisture. She was so hot there, slick, dripping wet, and…
"Oh!" he gasped. "Oh, Rose!"
"Yes, Doctor, yes!" she cried, her hips thrusting powerfully against his hand.
Now he understood. Of all the nerves in her body, this little cluster was the one happiest to be touched, designed for it, aching for it. She quivered under his gentle touches, arching and begging for more, more.
"Please, Doctor, oh please," she begged.
He was a little chagrined by his ignorance. "Show me, in your head," he said.
She grabbed his free hand and pressed it hard against her temple. Images of coupling slammed into his brain… so many images of things he'd schooled himself his whole life not to think of, not to want -- all painted in glowing reds and golds, rippling in the heat of her all-consuming desire. He could feel it begin to work on him in an instant -- her want, her need, delving into his body, into places that had long been dormant, bringing him instantly awake and more fully alive than he could scarce remember being.
"Like this?" he asked her, showing her his thoughts. He had rippled through the images, Rose Tyler's personal Kama Sutra, zeroing in on the one that set him on fire.
"Oh my god, Doctor -- yes!"
As swift as thought, he lifted her gently off him and rolled up to his knees. He turned her to face away from him. "All fours," he said, and a powerful rush ran through him as she instantly complied, presently her willing backside, and greedily looked back at him over her shoulder.
He ran his hands appreciatively over her back, the swell of her hips. He knelt up behind her, and for the first time in hundreds of years, unleashed his sexual response upon a ready female.
He couldn't help but remember, though dimly, the mother of his daughter -- her proposal, his agreement, the sedate ceremony of her impregnation.
Nothing like this. Nothing at all.
Rose was a sea of golden fire, and he was diving into the flames.
He gripped her hips, holding back so as not to bruise her again, after he'd just gone to so much trouble to free her from pain, and he pulled her backside flush against his groin, allowing his awakening sex to slip inside her. Fire, fire and heat like Earth's golden sun, was all he could see or imagine. He let it sweep over him as his sex grew within her.
"Doctor, that's … what's it… oh, yes, right there!" The Doctor felt as his sex woke to hers, linking him to her most sensitive nerves and stimulating them directly with his own electrical impulses, which fed on her responses in an intensifying loop. Rose collapsed to her elbows with a lusty groan, offering herself up for him to ravish, and he gave in to the urge to thrust-- each movement rippling through the grip of her strong inner muscles, awakening each nerve with pleasure as he touched it so intimately.
But it was more than that, wasn't it-- more than just his telepathic nervous system feeding ecstasy into hers.
It was the feeling of trust, of belonging. She wanted him, inside her, filling her, moving in a dance so dark and mysterious, yet charged with so much energy and power. She answered every thrust with one of her own, opening to him, clinging and gripping onto him every time he tried to withdraw. He did not remember a time when he'd felt so powerful, so necessary, so wanted. No wonder humans became addicted to this.
He pulled her up so that she was sitting back on his lap. Her skin glowed with sweat in the dim light. Her every exhalation was a little moan of pleasure, and he was the one who was making her feel so good. He could give her more. He could give her everything.
"You're so beautiful, Rose," he whispered, touching her temple for a moment to show her the brilliant vision of herself, naked, wanton, wild with pleasure in his arms.
"Your breasts -- so perfect -- I want to suckle them -- and I will -- but right now, just feel how soft and luscious they are to me -- " He ran his hands lightly over her breasts, sparking every nerve with pleasure. "The heft and weight of them is perfect. The flesh so soft, so delightful. Made for pleasure you were!" he growled, pinching lightly at her nipples and taking great satisfaction in her moan as he coupled his pinches with tiny thrusts inside her.
"Your belly, so smooth and strong -- and what lies hidden -- the wonderful secret -- thank you for sharing it with me, Rose --" he said, dipping the fingers of his right hand between the wet folds, scooping up the slickness there, and rubbing teasingly across the lively little organ that made Rose shake and dance with pleasure. He let himself go, luxuriating in the smell of her rising all around him, teasing at her breasts with his left hand, while his right hand played in concert with his sex inside her, stroking her in counterpoint to his thrusts.
"The little sounds you make, Rose -- just as beautiful as the rest of you -- like a symphony that plays along to the colors exploding in your head, so gorgeous."
He had brought her to a point of nearly constant bliss, and he kept her there, thrusting deeply inside her, playing with her slickness, until even without reaching into her thoughts, he could feel her litany of need, begging him to take her with him over the edge.
"Rose, love, I've got you-- " he said, and felt, amazed, as her body locked around his. Pounding into the tightness and heat of her core, he pressed against her with the palm of his hand and rubbed her whole sex in time with his thrusts. She screamed, hoarsely, and came apart around him, shouting his name in her mind, drawing him in, pulling him down, and he let go with a feeling that time, in all its maddening complexity, had finally stopped.
He regained his composure after what seemed a long time. Someone was coming.
"Rose, I'm playing dead. Fool the guard," he whispered into her mind. He rolled way from her, off the blanket, into a loose sprawl on the floor and slowed his respiration and heartbeat to nearly nothing. He was fully aware, but as good as dead to the casual observer. He quickly chilled his body temperature, sending the excess heat into the stone below.
He could see Rose clearly in his mind's eye, standing there, regally draped in the stained rag of a blanket. He had never imagined anyone more beautiful.
The guard came to the door of the cell, demanding to know what all the noise was about.
"My lover is dead," Rose said dispassionately. "You've done your worst, now let us out."
The guard sneered and unlocked the door, stepping past Rose to examine the Doctor's body. The Doctor waited until the man had stood, then sprang to his feet, terrifying the guard, who stumbled and fell back. Instantly the Doctor knelt upon him and strangled him until he lost consciousness.
Luckily his clothes were only a little bit too large for the Doctor, who put on the trousers, shirt and shoes. Rose put on the jacket, and wrinkling her nose, put on the socks as well to protect her feet if they needed to run. She wrapped the dingy blanket around her waist. They seized each other's hands and without a word, left the cell.
They came across one camera at the end of the hallway where the guard's room had been. There, on his desk, lay the sonic!
"They must've rifled your pockets before they brought in the jacket for burning!" Rose exclaimed. It had all been such a blur they hadn't even considered that possibility, but it was true, the Doctor's jacket had been confiscated before the mockery of a trial.
Quickly the Doctor sonicked the camera and hacked into the guard's computer system, finding the layout of the complex and where the other guards were stationed.
Rose and the Doctor crept silently through the building. Apparently it was the dead of night and few people were stirring. Just a provincial jail in the middle of nowhere, almost no security -- and it had almost been the death of them.
In minutes they were outside, gratefully breathing in the cool night air, running for the Tardis. The Doctor sonicked open the door and they slammed it behind them, more than ready to see the last of the nasty little planet.
Rose leaned against one of the coral struts, watching in relief as the Doctor danced around the console, taking them safely into the Vortex.
"Let's just catch our breath before our next adventure, shall we?" the Doctor said.
"Catch our breath, yeah," Rose said. She walked right up to the Doctor, in a way she'd clearly been wanting to for quite some time.
"Or lose our breaths," he said, staring down into her glowing brown eyes. "However you like best."
"However I like best?" Rose breathed, and pulled him down for a passionate kiss that nearly took his breath away, just as she'd hinted.
"Let's get out of these clothes -- of our own free will this time," he suggested.
"I'm up for it!" Rose grinned. The Doctor felt that old yearning in his hand, the yearning to touch Rose, but now it was even stronger than before.
Luckily, now there was no more reason in the universe for him to hold back.
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
spoilers: none
rating: NC17 , Mature
warning: violence
This story is based on prompts by isilienelenihin at the spring Doctor/Rose fixathon
* Nine/Rose “The Dugout,” Siegfried Sassoon
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen cold
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadow’d from the candle’s guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head…
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
* Doctor/Rose U2: With or Without You
“My hands are tired, my body bruised / she’s got me with nothing to win / and nothing left to lose / and you give yourself away / and you give yourself away”
This is also in response to ahedonia's request for fic where the Doctor and Rose are forced to disrobe.
====
Naked. Beaten. Imprisoned. The Doctor had lived through worse -- but nothing could be worse, could it, than the sight of Rose's tender body, naked, bruised and torn, huddled exhausted on the cold stone floor of their cell?
Yes, sometimes, his supposedly vast knowledge failed him. Sometimes, his Tardis landed him in a time not exactly amenable to cosmopolitan tourism. This time had been a blunder so simple, yet of such enormity. Clothing, etiquette -- everything had been appropriate -- except that Rose, because of her bleached blonde hair, was taken to be a Free Woman of the South, and the Doctor because of his shorn hair was taken to be her Concubine, and the North was presently hostile to the South, such that all Free Women were to be stripped, beaten, and thrown into prison, and their Concubines beaten half-dead.
The execution of their sentence was swift and merciless. The Doctor was stripped and beaten first, brutally, and if he had been human it would have been fatal. The citizens of this planet didn't bother to take a medical scan of the Doctor before they began the beating -- they just delivered their harshest blows to where a human's vital organs would have been, and the Doctor feigned agony and went down, spitting as much blood as he could muster from a chewed through lip. The slight terra cotta hue to his blood went un-noticed, and he put himself into a light trance that would resemble a coma to the unsophisticated examiners of the age, while he remained aware of the proceedings.
Rose uttered not a sound as he was beaten. He could hear her horror and outrage in the breaths she struggled to keep even. She kept her eyes half-closed, trying to veil his punishment from her senses, as he'd requested. The Northerners assumed that the best punishment of a Free Woman was to destroy her concubine before her eyes, to prove to her how powerless she was to protect him. After he died in their cell, she would be deported to the South. The Doctor couldn't imagine anything more cruel.
Rose's beating was meant to punish, not to kill. As far as the Doctor could understand their mentality, the Northerners regarded women as keepers of purity. The beatings they delivered to Free Women were meant to restore that ideal of purity, while their Concubines were to be purged --- unwed men, symbols of filthy lust, unfit to walk the streets without the bonds of wedlock tight around their loins. Rose had laughed when the Doctor had wound the long scarlet cloth around his waist and looped it between his legs, to hang down in front and behind; he had tied it correctly, but his hair should've been long and braided back into a queue, while hers should've been dyed black. Ah, the devil was in the details. It always was.
The Doctor eased his eyes open as he restored his heartbeat and respiration to normal. His body screamed in pain at the beating he had taken, but no one was more well-trained in stoicism than a Time Lord. He acknowledged his pain, pushed it to the back of his brain, and ignored it. He would heal quickly enough. He needed to focus on Rose.
Reaching out with his heightened Time Lord senses, he ascertained that they were alone. There was a lone guard at the end of a long corridor, two turns away and one level up. There were no cameras, no electronics of any kind -- just the one dim light recessed into the wall behind unbreakable glassine. There was a tap over a drain, and there was one thin blanket -- as though the planet's governing body, which had not yet advanced sufficiently to be contacted by the Shadow Proclamation, had nevertheless decided to follow the letter of some law of decency with its prisoners, if not the spirit.
Rose was asleep on the blanket. The Doctor hated to wake her, but he was afraid the cold of the dungeon would put her in danger of slipping into hypothermia.
Silently, he moved across the floor of the cell to Rose's side and lay down beside her on the stone floor. It wouldn't hurt him like it would Rose for the cold stone to leech away his body heat since his metabolism constantly drew energy from the Vortex. He took her by the shoulder, turning her sleeping body gently so that she was lying mostly on top of him. He pulled the thin, stained blanket over her, hoping the added insulation would aid in her recovery. His body temperature was naturally lower than hers, but his cool body was a lot warmer than the floor. Hopefully she would forgive him the impropriety. He allowed himself one moment, and one only, of relishing the soft warmth of her, pressing against him. He settled his arms around her, holding the blanket in place, then he turned to concentrating on raising his surface temperature to feed warmth into Rose's chilled body.
Rose mumbled something incomprehensible, let out a long deep sigh, and burrowed her head into the Doctor's shoulder. She was a strong sleeper, his Rose-- even after such an ordeal, she was able to let go and find surcease in sleep, to balm her hurt mind and knit the raveled sleeve of care.
Rose mumbled again, gave a groan, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked down at him with her bleary gaze, but he could feel the rising heat of her skin as she blushed at their proximity.
"Hiya," the Doctor whispered with a smile.
"Argh," Rose moaned.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor answered.
Rose groaned again, "Not your fault," she muttered. Her face was swollen in several places from the beating -- a black eye, a split lip, a mottled bruise across one cheek. The Doctor clamped down on the furious desire for vengeance that burned in him at the sight of her. He had to focus on her safety and getting back to the Tardis somehow.
"Are you in much pain?" the Doctor asked gently.
"Yes," Rose answered through gritted teeth.
"I'm so sorry," the Doctor repeated in chagrin.
"Nothing you can do about it," Rose said.
"Yeah, there is, actually, if you let me," the Doctor said.
"Let me guess," Rose smiled. It hurt the Doctor to see her bruised face twist her bright smile crooked, but he felt a fierce rush of pride at her strength and resilience. "You can go into my mind and telepathically block my pain."
"I could do -- do you want that?" he asked, surprised.
"I wouldn't mind," she said. His hearts beat a little faster with the thrill of it-- she trusted him now, enough to let him in.
"I can block the pain -- but I can also fix some of the injuries," the Doctor said.
"I've been hurt before and you've never done that!" Rose accused.
"I have so!" he replied. "When you get hurt we go to the infirmary straight away."
"And you sonic it better," she said. "Thank you. But …." Rose didn't want to say it. They had stripped the Doctor before her eyes, casting his clothing into a fire-- including the jacket and all the useful things he kept in his pockets.
"Sonic's just a short cut," he said brusquely. "Stimulates healing by setting up certain vibrations. Time Lord, me -- I can do that without the sonic."
"Show me," Rose demanded; she did sound a little bit impressed.
"I'll need to touch you -- is that okay?" the Doctor said.
Rose laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, Doctor, we're pressed together naked under this blanket."
"Yes, I had noticed," he said drily. "I'm warming you -- can't you tell?"
In the dim light of the cell, Rose's eyes were dark and deep, gazing at him softly. "You do feel warm-- it's not a fever, is it?"
"No -- conscious control of my physiology. Easy enough to heat myself up to keep you warm."
Rose's mouth widened into a smile. "It feels lovely, Doctor, thank you."
"You're welcome, Rose," he said. He allowed himself that moment of happiness, satisfaction. He had gotten her into this mess, but at least, right now, he was doing something right.
"So I may touch you, then?" he asked again after the moment had passed.
"Yes," she laughed, then cringed as the laughter pulled at her injuries and died away into a groan.
"Touch telepath, Rose -- touch is more intimate for me than for a human. I have to be sure."
"But we're naked!" Rose exclaimed.
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Psychic barriers -- hard to maintain, but here, in the dark, lying still, I can manage it. Usually, I just rely on the heavy clothes to keep any random touch at bay."
"So when you grabbed my hand that first time… " Rose mused.
"I never wanted to let you go, Rose. My hand, now…. it yearns for you, always," he murmured.
"Oh," Rose said, and the peaceful warmth they shared under the blanket became a little more charged, a little more sultry. "But, then… if you touch me-- with your hand, to heal me…"
"Yes, Rose," he said softly.
"You'll want to touch me again," she whispered.
"Yes," he stated, absolute.
"And… you want to touch me now?" she whispered. The darkness of the cell seemed to close around them, heightening every sense: to the Doctor the humming of the dim lights along the corridor was like a roar, the dank smell of the dripping tap and the fetid grate below it niggled at his nostrils, which were pleasantly filled right now with the intoxicating scents of Rose. He could hardly feel the hard, cold stone he was cushioning her from, he was so distracted by the delightful sensations of her body pressed against him.
"I want, Rose, I've wanted, I'll want to touch you always," the Doctor said, mildly frustrated by the English language and its tediously limited tenses.
"Me too," Rose said, and she found his hand with her own. Their familiar grip, under the blankets, made everything real, a beacon of joy growing secretly brighter in the bleak darkness of the dungeon. She led his hand to her ribcage, and he lay his hand gently across her torso, reveling in the feeling, as though he possessed her, as though he was big enough and powerful enough to keep her forever from harm, as though, lying small under his hand, she belonged to him.
"This hurts," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he felt her injured rib, investigating it with an exploratory tendril of his awareness. "It's cracked," he said, his voice rumbling with repressed emotion. Regeneration energy was wild, dangerous, tearing through a Time Lord's mortally injured body with all the chaotic and mutagenic power of the Vortex. But that link to the Vortex was always there, on some subatomic level in the Gallifreyan body…. a secret, limitless reservoir of power that meant he needed little sleep, utilized food haphazardly, healed quickly, and would live, now that the Council was no more, potentially forever. It also meant that he could channel that energy, with quiet and concentration, into the body of his companion, helping her to heal as he himself would heal. He could feel the rib under his ministrations knitting within the space of a minute.
"I love you," she said.
"What?" he said, startled. He jerked slightly, but there was no where to go. He was naked, on his back, on the floor, and she was on top of him, where he'd put her.
"They were beating you. They burned up your jacket." Rose was shaking, and he realized she was crying. Too many emotions, all at once, too much for her to keep up with.
"Sh," he said, helplessly. This wasn't something Time Lord energy could knit together. He put her declaration down to her heightened emotional state.
"Your jacket was in the fire. And your sonic and everything. And they were beating you. And I just loved you so much, and I couldn't say anything, or do anything, and they were beating you, and you were naked, and they took that! You, you were so beautiful, and they just kept beating you till you fell, and I …"
"Sh, sh," he said, trying to rock her or pat her or something.
"No! No, I had, I had to look. I had to watch them beat you, my eyes were so hungry for your body, I was looking between the blows, Doctor. I'm sorry!"
The Doctor stroked her, trying to comfort her, trying to send little feelings of wellbeing and relaxation through his hands. It wasn't easy. He had guilt of his own in the way. "I looked at you, too, Rose. You were so beautiful, so unashamed. I was so proud of you."
"A right pair we are," Rose choked, between laughing and crying. "Ogling each other while aliens try to kill us."
The Doctor's hands roamed aimlessly over Rose's back, finding little hurts and soothing them. His hands felt hot and shivery, but he didn't want to stop. He didn't ever want to stop touching her, soothing her, and if he'd locked his body away behind a dampening barrier, at least his hands were allowed to know her, to learn her strength and her softness in the way he'd longed to since he touched her and run with her that very first time.
At last Rose broke the silence. "It feels so good, your hands… you feel so good," she whispered.
"I'm getting the hang of it," he murmured, concentrating on the trick he was doing. It felt quite good to him as well, the trickles of energy heating his hands, the play of connections between his nervous system and hers as he touched her.
"How are those barriers holding up?" she asked at length, her voice gone a little rough.
"Fairly well," he murmured. The contours of her body were endlessly mesmerizing as he slowly stroked her with his radiating hands. Her ribs were all mended. Her cuts were all closed. Her deeper bruises were soothed and healed. Now his hands were traveling on a pleasure circuit of their own devising, channelling wellness and health deep inside her body, feathering along her skin with the gentlest of touches.
"Can't you… lower them?" she asked.
He looked up into her eyes at last, startled out of the trance he'd fallen into. And there she was, his Rose -- her beautiful face restored, the swelling and injuries gone. He didn't even remember touching her face. But yes, oh yes, he remembered… the soft fullness of her lips under his questing fingers, the way she pressed her cheeks into his hand, her little moan of pleasure as his touch ghosted carefully over her face again, seeking for any discomfort and leaving only bliss in its wake.
Now her eyes were wide open, dark and full of passion. "Doctor," she said, and his name had never sounded lovelier, "please, don't stop touching me… but I want to touch you too... I want you to feel it…"
Her pupils were blown wide, her lips full and parted, a blush high on her cheeks. Nestled against his body, she was totally relaxed and open to him, every nerve singing a siren's call to his. Dare he? Dare he drop his guard?
"Please," she whispered. "Let me touch you…"
How could he resist such an entreaty? such beauty, such devotion? such love?
"Yes," he breathed, and his psychic barriers melted away like thunderclouds, and from behind them broke the radiant sun.
The heat and light of Rose's love flooded over him, pouring into him, through skin that was no barrier at all, directly into his nervous system and up into his brain. It was like a hit of some impossibly glorious drug, flooding every sense and inundating his awareness.
"Rose!" he gasped. "Ah, Rose!"
Sinuously, she moved against him, her skin dragging over his like silk. "Doctor! I can feel it-- what you feel! It's so good!"
"It could be-- even better -- " he gasped -- "mind to mind--" He was so far gone, so full of the rush of heat and light, that he didn't even blush at his scandalous suggestion. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. Right now, it seemed to him, she was all that made life worth living.
"Yeah?" Rose said, breathless. "I can't imagine anything better than this --"
"May I?" he asked, desperate for her invitation. Distantly, he felt a twinge of worry -- could she take it? but at that moment, he felt Rose was the answer to his every question, and his doubts were swept aside by her eager response.
"So much more polite than usual! Yes, please, Doctor!"
His hands, his clever, clever hands, reached up to frame her face between them, long fingers seeking her temples as he pulled her down into a devouring kiss. The floodgates of his emotions opened wide, and the storm swept into her.
Her mind was so bright -- so open -- so receptive. It was as though the clash and tumult of his thoughts spread out into a cloudless sky full of birdsong and light. She took him in, every bit of him, and somehow, set him right.
And ringing through her mind was her declaration of love, her conviction that he was beautiful, amazing, perfect in every way, and her fierce desire to claim him as her own and never to let him be alone again.
"Oh, love, I'm far from perfect," he sang out, laughing.
"Love you, I love you I love you!" Rose sang in answer.
Their minds met like old friends and calmed as things became familiar. There was Rose's eagerness and curiosity, matching up to his impetuousness and vanity, turning his every flaw into a new brilliance. Their minds swirled and learned one another all over again, just as their hungry hands had already learned each other by touch.
"Doctor?" Rose asked, her mind like a brilliant sunset he'd never tire of gazing at, magenta clouds shot through with ribbons of gold.
"Yes, love?" he answered, absently, stroking her.
"Haven't you ever held a naked woman before?" she asked.
"Well, yes, I must've -- right?" he said, concentrating on the double feel of her body's delight under his hands, and the way her mind lit up at his touch.
"I'm not so sure!" she laughed. "I'm just saying… if you wanted to take things a little farther -- I wouldn't mind!"
"Farther?" he asked. Her nerves were so alive, and the song her mind made when he swept her with brushes of ecstasy -- it was fascinating.
"Make love to me," she said, boldly staring at him.
He blankly stared back.
"Sex?" she said, a little crestfallen.
"Oh!" This time he really did blush. "Here? Now?"
Rose frowned. "Please, Doctor! I'm human, I want you! We nearly died! I can't wait, not one more minute!"
"I haven't… with a human…. " he stammered.
"Do… do you want me, that way?" she asked, pulling back slightly.
"Just show me what you want, what feels right to you," he urged, uncertain of his own response.
"Touch me, here," Rose asked, and she guided his hand between her legs -- he'd avoided the place in respect to her modesty -- but now, if she was asking…
Tentatively he slotted his finger between her folds, dipping in a little to find the moisture. She was so hot there, slick, dripping wet, and…
"Oh!" he gasped. "Oh, Rose!"
"Yes, Doctor, yes!" she cried, her hips thrusting powerfully against his hand.
Now he understood. Of all the nerves in her body, this little cluster was the one happiest to be touched, designed for it, aching for it. She quivered under his gentle touches, arching and begging for more, more.
"Please, Doctor, oh please," she begged.
He was a little chagrined by his ignorance. "Show me, in your head," he said.
She grabbed his free hand and pressed it hard against her temple. Images of coupling slammed into his brain… so many images of things he'd schooled himself his whole life not to think of, not to want -- all painted in glowing reds and golds, rippling in the heat of her all-consuming desire. He could feel it begin to work on him in an instant -- her want, her need, delving into his body, into places that had long been dormant, bringing him instantly awake and more fully alive than he could scarce remember being.
"Like this?" he asked her, showing her his thoughts. He had rippled through the images, Rose Tyler's personal Kama Sutra, zeroing in on the one that set him on fire.
"Oh my god, Doctor -- yes!"
As swift as thought, he lifted her gently off him and rolled up to his knees. He turned her to face away from him. "All fours," he said, and a powerful rush ran through him as she instantly complied, presently her willing backside, and greedily looked back at him over her shoulder.
He ran his hands appreciatively over her back, the swell of her hips. He knelt up behind her, and for the first time in hundreds of years, unleashed his sexual response upon a ready female.
He couldn't help but remember, though dimly, the mother of his daughter -- her proposal, his agreement, the sedate ceremony of her impregnation.
Nothing like this. Nothing at all.
Rose was a sea of golden fire, and he was diving into the flames.
He gripped her hips, holding back so as not to bruise her again, after he'd just gone to so much trouble to free her from pain, and he pulled her backside flush against his groin, allowing his awakening sex to slip inside her. Fire, fire and heat like Earth's golden sun, was all he could see or imagine. He let it sweep over him as his sex grew within her.
"Doctor, that's … what's it… oh, yes, right there!" The Doctor felt as his sex woke to hers, linking him to her most sensitive nerves and stimulating them directly with his own electrical impulses, which fed on her responses in an intensifying loop. Rose collapsed to her elbows with a lusty groan, offering herself up for him to ravish, and he gave in to the urge to thrust-- each movement rippling through the grip of her strong inner muscles, awakening each nerve with pleasure as he touched it so intimately.
But it was more than that, wasn't it-- more than just his telepathic nervous system feeding ecstasy into hers.
It was the feeling of trust, of belonging. She wanted him, inside her, filling her, moving in a dance so dark and mysterious, yet charged with so much energy and power. She answered every thrust with one of her own, opening to him, clinging and gripping onto him every time he tried to withdraw. He did not remember a time when he'd felt so powerful, so necessary, so wanted. No wonder humans became addicted to this.
He pulled her up so that she was sitting back on his lap. Her skin glowed with sweat in the dim light. Her every exhalation was a little moan of pleasure, and he was the one who was making her feel so good. He could give her more. He could give her everything.
"You're so beautiful, Rose," he whispered, touching her temple for a moment to show her the brilliant vision of herself, naked, wanton, wild with pleasure in his arms.
"Your breasts -- so perfect -- I want to suckle them -- and I will -- but right now, just feel how soft and luscious they are to me -- " He ran his hands lightly over her breasts, sparking every nerve with pleasure. "The heft and weight of them is perfect. The flesh so soft, so delightful. Made for pleasure you were!" he growled, pinching lightly at her nipples and taking great satisfaction in her moan as he coupled his pinches with tiny thrusts inside her.
"Your belly, so smooth and strong -- and what lies hidden -- the wonderful secret -- thank you for sharing it with me, Rose --" he said, dipping the fingers of his right hand between the wet folds, scooping up the slickness there, and rubbing teasingly across the lively little organ that made Rose shake and dance with pleasure. He let himself go, luxuriating in the smell of her rising all around him, teasing at her breasts with his left hand, while his right hand played in concert with his sex inside her, stroking her in counterpoint to his thrusts.
"The little sounds you make, Rose -- just as beautiful as the rest of you -- like a symphony that plays along to the colors exploding in your head, so gorgeous."
He had brought her to a point of nearly constant bliss, and he kept her there, thrusting deeply inside her, playing with her slickness, until even without reaching into her thoughts, he could feel her litany of need, begging him to take her with him over the edge.
"Rose, love, I've got you-- " he said, and felt, amazed, as her body locked around his. Pounding into the tightness and heat of her core, he pressed against her with the palm of his hand and rubbed her whole sex in time with his thrusts. She screamed, hoarsely, and came apart around him, shouting his name in her mind, drawing him in, pulling him down, and he let go with a feeling that time, in all its maddening complexity, had finally stopped.
He regained his composure after what seemed a long time. Someone was coming.
"Rose, I'm playing dead. Fool the guard," he whispered into her mind. He rolled way from her, off the blanket, into a loose sprawl on the floor and slowed his respiration and heartbeat to nearly nothing. He was fully aware, but as good as dead to the casual observer. He quickly chilled his body temperature, sending the excess heat into the stone below.
He could see Rose clearly in his mind's eye, standing there, regally draped in the stained rag of a blanket. He had never imagined anyone more beautiful.
The guard came to the door of the cell, demanding to know what all the noise was about.
"My lover is dead," Rose said dispassionately. "You've done your worst, now let us out."
The guard sneered and unlocked the door, stepping past Rose to examine the Doctor's body. The Doctor waited until the man had stood, then sprang to his feet, terrifying the guard, who stumbled and fell back. Instantly the Doctor knelt upon him and strangled him until he lost consciousness.
Luckily his clothes were only a little bit too large for the Doctor, who put on the trousers, shirt and shoes. Rose put on the jacket, and wrinkling her nose, put on the socks as well to protect her feet if they needed to run. She wrapped the dingy blanket around her waist. They seized each other's hands and without a word, left the cell.
They came across one camera at the end of the hallway where the guard's room had been. There, on his desk, lay the sonic!
"They must've rifled your pockets before they brought in the jacket for burning!" Rose exclaimed. It had all been such a blur they hadn't even considered that possibility, but it was true, the Doctor's jacket had been confiscated before the mockery of a trial.
Quickly the Doctor sonicked the camera and hacked into the guard's computer system, finding the layout of the complex and where the other guards were stationed.
Rose and the Doctor crept silently through the building. Apparently it was the dead of night and few people were stirring. Just a provincial jail in the middle of nowhere, almost no security -- and it had almost been the death of them.
In minutes they were outside, gratefully breathing in the cool night air, running for the Tardis. The Doctor sonicked open the door and they slammed it behind them, more than ready to see the last of the nasty little planet.
Rose leaned against one of the coral struts, watching in relief as the Doctor danced around the console, taking them safely into the Vortex.
"Let's just catch our breath before our next adventure, shall we?" the Doctor said.
"Catch our breath, yeah," Rose said. She walked right up to the Doctor, in a way she'd clearly been wanting to for quite some time.
"Or lose our breaths," he said, staring down into her glowing brown eyes. "However you like best."
"However I like best?" Rose breathed, and pulled him down for a passionate kiss that nearly took his breath away, just as she'd hinted.
"Let's get out of these clothes -- of our own free will this time," he suggested.
"I'm up for it!" Rose grinned. The Doctor felt that old yearning in his hand, the yearning to touch Rose, but now it was even stronger than before.
Luckily, now there was no more reason in the universe for him to hold back.