who fic: "Gallifreyan Kama Sutra" (Nine/Rose, NC17)
title: Gallifreyan Kama Sutra
Author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: NC17, Mature
summary: Rose looks in the Tardis's library for something to read for an afternoon, and finds a sumptuously bound little red book. It turns out to be the old Gallifreyan equivalent of the Kama Sutra.
For bloose09's prompt for a Gallifreyan Kama Sutra at the spring Doctor/Rose fixathon
Note: Yes, I did used to have a little red Kama Sutra. It was not as beautifully illustrated as the one in my story -- more's the pity! The Kama Sutra in this story is based on the notes from wikipedia; in my mind, it is from ancient Gallifrey and was written by the old Gallifreyans, not the Time Lords. Please excuse the liberties I've taken with the great classic text; I hope it will not offend.
===
Rose wandered into the Tardis library, bored and a little keyed up. The Doctor was under the console, tinkering, and he'd likely be there for the next twelve to eighteen hours. They'd had a bit of a rough time with a hostile takeover on a supposedly peaceful planet, and the Doctor needed a little quality time with his Tardis to wind down. He called it "diagnostics," but as far as Rose could tell, he would make minute adjustments while listening for nearly imperceptible fluctuations in the Tardis's hum. It calmed him, taking care of his ship. It was something immediate, tactile and real, and it didn't involve the lives of any civilians. Rose left him to it, and took herself to the library to while away the day in her own way.
"What have you got for me today, hmm?" Rose said. The Tardis library was, of course, unlike any other. Secretly, Rose thought of it as enchanted. If you were looking for a particular book, you had only to approach the second rank of shelves, turn right, go to the middle, and the book would be right there at eye level, with several related books around it.
If you were just browsing, you had to go to the fifth rank of shelves and work backwards, trailing your fingers over the spines, and when you stopped, the most amazing book would be right there under your fingertips, the perfect book for your mood, whatever it was.
Rose was browsing.
She let her fingertips trail along the spines, leather, cloth, paper, other undetermined materials, and titles in languages by the hundreds, shimmering into English if she stopped for long to gaze at them. Rose stopped in the middle of the fourth shelf, and there, under her fingers, was a sweet little book. It was a rich red in color, bound in what felt like rough silk, thick and nubbly to the touch. The pages were edged in gilt, and the writing, also embossed in gold, was all some kind of complicated interlocked circles that wavered before her eyes but didn't seem to translate. Rose recognized the script. The book was Gallifreyan! How exciting!
She pulled it carefully off the shelf and carried it like a secret treasure to the reading area. She snuggled herself into one corner of the enormous, comfy sofa, and let the bright light of the reading lamp glitter for a moment on the golden swirls of the title before easing open the cover.
The paper inside was just as thick and luxurious as the outside of the book suggested. Rose had once taken a school trip to the British Museum, where they had stood in the library looking at the old books made of pure cotton rag. This paper looked like that, heavy, but creamy smooth. As her fingers stroked the page, a feeling of slightly expectant tranquillity crept into her mind. The circular images remained unchanged before her eyes, but when her eyes slipped closed for a moment, hints of meaning began to tease at her mind, and as she concentrated, she could just hear chiming strains of music. It appeared she'd found the table of contents, and Rose realized this was no ordinary book - it was slightly psychic, and it was trying to communicate directly into her mind.
Was that safe, to let a Gallifreyan book into her head? Would she be hypnotized -- would she fall into the book like some kind of futuristic Alice in Wonderland?
Cautiously, she stared at the first line of symbols again, closed her eyes, and waited. This time, the images resolved more quickly into music, and words floated into her mind along with the song -- the first chapter was called "Virtue, Prosperity, Pleasure, and Liberation." As she continued to listen, the chiming grew stronger and seemed to wind around the words as they drifted across the surface of her mind. The longer she waited, the more the words expanded, until she realized that she was contemplating the ideals of Old Gallifreyan society: Virtue, as opposed to hedonism and selfishness; Prosperity, as opposed to luxury and waste; Pleasure, as opposed to the jaded lassitude of a bored elite; and Liberation, the ideal of self-control embraced by individuals who were raised up in a society that literally had the universe under its fingertips.
Rose opened her eyes, sensing that quite a few minutes had passed, and she'd only read four words. No wonder the Tardis couldn't translate Gallifreyan, if this endless deepening of resonance lay within the meaning of every symbol. It was certainly an interesting way to pass an afternoon.
Rose stared at the second chapter title until the meaning came clear: "Discerning the Strengths of Women and Men." The next several titles came more quickly: chapter three, "Lovers, Old Friends, and Acquaintances;" chapter four, "Taking a Partner," and chapter five, "A Spouse's Privileges." Rose laughed softly to herself as she thought about the implications of this book being in the Doctor's library --he seemed like such a bachelor in so many ways! -- and then she blushed, because the Tardis had more or less handed it to her, as if to say, "read this."
As Rose read the title of the sixth chapter, "Amorous Advances and Sexual Union" her hands went sweaty and hot- the book she was holding was more than a bachelor's advice book -- it was a sex manual! One hand flew up to cover her mouth as it fell open in a shocked gasp -- this was basically the Gallifreyan Kama Sutra! As if in confirmation, the translations of the many subsections of chapter six rose up into her mind in a pornographic parade: "the Game of Love: Stimulation of Desire; Embraces, caressing, and kisses; Marking, biting, slapping, and moaning; Penetration, oral sex, and frottage."
Rose's blush deepened as she realized that when she thought about "The Game of Love and the Stimulation of Desire" she imagined the Doctor's penetrating stare, the way he drank her in with his gaze, and his flush when she stared back until he turned away, the grip of his hand on hers, the open admiration on his face when she came out dressed in clothes the Tardis had provided -- like that time in Cardiff when, slack-jawed, he'd declared her beauty. She knew it was more than a game to him though-- "amorous advances" indeed! The Doctor had been flirting with her this whole time, and really, she had known it all along.
"Embraces, caressing, and kisses" -- although he had never kissed her, he embraced her as if he couldn't help himself, wrapping his strong arms around her, pulling her close, sometimes lifting her off the tips of her toes. His hand caressed hers tenderly when they were merely walking down the street. And she knew she hadn't imagined the touch of his lips against her forehead, more than once. She knew he treasured her, but she also knew he was too mule-headed to follow her lead -- so she'd just been not-so-patiently waiting for him to make the next move.
Almost without her conscious intent, she found herself flipping the book open. As though her hand were moving on autopilot, she skipped right past the opening chapter on the virtues and the long philosophical parts about selecting a lover, and went straight to the section on Amorous Advances.
There, before her eyes, shone the most beautiful, most mouth-watering images she'd ever seen. The pages almost seemed to glow-- and they featured a curvy blonde making love with a rangy man with strong, masculine features -- the slightly-psychic book had incorporated images from her own imagination of the Doctor and herself into the illustrations!
Rose's face burned as she drank in the images, flipping slowly through the pages, staring at the various embraces, as the Gallifreyan pictographs translated themselves in her head.
-- Rose and the Doctor sprawled together on the library sofa, relaxed, disheveled, the Doctor stroking her back as she lay atop him, kissing gently, intently, all their senses full of one another.
-- Rose sitting innocently on a chair in the galley while the Doctor feasted on her neck from behind, kissing from behind one ear all around to the other side, as his clever hands danced along her shoulders and arms, kneading away any tension.
-- The Doctor comfortable in a wing chair, fully clothed in his jeans and heavy jacket, while she sprawled naked across his lap, his hands deftly exploring her body, offered up for his caresses.
-- The Doctor on a straight backed chair, naked, while Rose straddled him in a lacy negligee, her feet braced against the rungs while they devoured one another with kisses.
Rose couldn't imagine anything more erotic. The pictures of her and the Doctor in a variety of poses, in various states of undress, heated her body until she burned with desire. And as she kept turning the pages, the fire inside her grew hotter and hotter.
"Marking," the Gallifreyan sang in her mind, and there was a picture of the Doctor, sprawled naked on his back, his head tossed to one side in sensual abandon, while Rose reveled in his vulnerability, choosing the places on his body where she'd leave a bitten bruise -- there, on the long, elegant neck -- there, near the nipple, or there, so close to the place of his desire, low on his belly or inside his thigh.
She turned the page, and she was gazing at her own back, scored with red lines drawn carefully by his well-trimmed fingernails. Rose shuddered in sympathy with the image of herself, and could almost feel the tantalizing traces of those nails, dragging with soothing irritation across her skin.
On the next page, the Doctor and Rose lay facing one another, smiling devilishly, as each used their nails upon the sensitive nipples of the other. Rose stared and stared, feeling her own breasts tingle with arousal as she looked upon the pinched-red peaks of the Rose in the picture, the tight little nubs standing to attention on the Doctor's smooth, lightly haired chest.
Rose was breathing hard already, but when she turned the page, she almost felt as if every breath had left her body. There she was on all fours, her mouth open in a perfectly submissive moan, while the Doctor's large hand left reddened prints on the white and tender flesh of her backside. Rose had never been spanked, and the idea of it frightened her, but the picture made her ache with a jolt of arousal, and she knew her knickers were sodden by now.
Still she kept turning the pages, and with every page, the images grew more brazen, more explicit, and her body thrummed with hunger as Rose yearned to experience the things she was reading about.
"Frottage" -- Rose knew the French word that the Gallifreyan evoked in her mind. The image was of the Doctor and Rose dancing together in a public place -- a crowded bar by the looks of it -- and people were dressed to the nines -- Rose in a silky red cocktail dress and stiletto heels-- the Doctor never let her out of the Tardis in heels like that in real life -- but in the picture, he was pressed up against her, clearly rubbing his groin into her backside, heating his cool hands against the warm silk of her sides, and his eyes burned with a possessive passion that made Rose moan, right there in the library. She started up guiltily, biting her knuckles and looking around. She was still alone… he was probably still tinkering… but oughtn't she to carry the book back to her room-- someplace more private?
She knew she ought, but she couldn't bring herself to move from the sofa. The book was far more hypnotic than she had feared -- its stunning images had burrowed deep into her brain. Sex with the Doctor, laid out in images glowing black and red and gold -- she couldn't stop turning the pages.
The Doctor and Rose in the pictures were exploring one another's genitalia now. If Rose had ever wondered how the Doctor was hung (she had, of course!) -- now she knew. She saw pictures of herself unfastening his trousers, reaching in, and gently stroking him there… pulling down his pants to reveal his genital slit (the Gallifreyan commentary sang in her mind a vivid description of the emergence of his sexual organ during the height of arousal)… the book described the correct way to lick at him, how to stroke his opening gently with a finger, how to press her own sex against his until his organ emerged…. and then the book delineated the ways he would return the favor, giving him a guided tour of her labia, clitoris, and various other clusters of nerves he could lick, suck, press and stroke until her body was rapt with pleasure.
Rose looked down at a picture of the Doctor, fully clothed, his hand up under her skirt as she writhed on his bed, and she felt her body seize, right there on the library couch, clenching untouched in a powerful spasm that whited out her thoughts; she could almost feel his long fingers fucking into her dripping cunt as he feasted his hungry gaze on the ripeness of her body, his brilliant blue stare arrogant and proud as Rose lay wracked by the powerful orgasm he'd given her.
As she gasped, coming down, she wondered -- dare she go on? The book went on. How much farther would it go? All the way, that was for sure! No, she didn't dare. She had to get to her room to continue this in private.
Catching her breath, she clasped the book to her chest, one finger marking the place. She stole from the library, made the left that would take her back to the privacy of her room--and ran smack into the Doctor.
"Rose!" he smiled, his strong hands gently steadying on her upper arms.
She was the picture of guilt, she knew it -- her eyes dark and dilated with arousal, her lips bitten plump, her face hot and flushed with desire, the guilty book clenched tight in her hands. She stared up at him like a puppy caught chewing the slippers.
"What's this?" he said, and lightly touched the red silk book. Rose's mouth fell open, but she couldn't answer, and she saw the instant he realized what book it was she was holding.
His eyes widened, then narrowed. His grip on her arms tightened. His lips quirked in a smile that was almost cruel.
"Should I let you go, then, Rose?" he asked. His voice was low and steady -- too steady, his words quick and clipped as he prepared himself to overlook her blunder.
She shook her head, desperately hoping.
His eyebrows rose, and then he looked back down at her and the gleam was back in his eye, like fire -- like terror, or like hope. "Want to show me?" he said.
She nodded, stepped back, and opened the book before his gaze.
"Penetration," he said softly, his gaze like lightning, like all the stars in a galaxy, like who he was, and none other -- the Doctor.
He caught the book in one hand, and Rose in the other. Together, they stared at the picture: the Doctor's bed, a big four-poster even though he hardly needed sleep -- spread with rich red sheets, and Rose tossed back against the pillows, her hands clasped over her head, her legs spread wide and high, her pelvis tilted just right to take him all the way in, the Doctor's narrow hips nestled tight between her thighs, his sex thrust deeply into hers.
"You shouldn't read this book on your own," the Doctor murmured.
Rose shook her head, mortified, but still, achingly aroused, wanting him so much.
"Better together," he added, glancing at her with his startling blue eyes.
Rose nodded and finally found her voice. "Yes," she said, hopefully.
"You can't just skip around," he said. His free hand, as usual, was caressing her tenderly.
"Right," Rose agreed.
"'Taking a Partner' is key," he said, " -- and I want to make sure you understand the last chapter, 'Bonding.'"
"Okay," Rose agreed, but she couldn't stop staring at him, melting softly against him, wanting him to pick her up and carry her to his room, to throw her down on those crimson sheets, and do everything in the book to her.
"Let's start at the beginning," he said.
Rose felt like she would break apart with happiness.
He took her into his arms, into his familiar embrace, and the Doctor swept her into a passionate kiss which Rose gave back as good as she got. Kiss after kiss carried them down the corridor to his room, where they began joyful new explorations of pleasure and liberation, and the book lay forgotten on the bedside table as they made their way from Virtues to Bonding with only their hearts, unerring, to guide them.
Author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: NC17, Mature
summary: Rose looks in the Tardis's library for something to read for an afternoon, and finds a sumptuously bound little red book. It turns out to be the old Gallifreyan equivalent of the Kama Sutra.
For bloose09's prompt for a Gallifreyan Kama Sutra at the spring Doctor/Rose fixathon
Note: Yes, I did used to have a little red Kama Sutra. It was not as beautifully illustrated as the one in my story -- more's the pity! The Kama Sutra in this story is based on the notes from wikipedia; in my mind, it is from ancient Gallifrey and was written by the old Gallifreyans, not the Time Lords. Please excuse the liberties I've taken with the great classic text; I hope it will not offend.
===
Rose wandered into the Tardis library, bored and a little keyed up. The Doctor was under the console, tinkering, and he'd likely be there for the next twelve to eighteen hours. They'd had a bit of a rough time with a hostile takeover on a supposedly peaceful planet, and the Doctor needed a little quality time with his Tardis to wind down. He called it "diagnostics," but as far as Rose could tell, he would make minute adjustments while listening for nearly imperceptible fluctuations in the Tardis's hum. It calmed him, taking care of his ship. It was something immediate, tactile and real, and it didn't involve the lives of any civilians. Rose left him to it, and took herself to the library to while away the day in her own way.
"What have you got for me today, hmm?" Rose said. The Tardis library was, of course, unlike any other. Secretly, Rose thought of it as enchanted. If you were looking for a particular book, you had only to approach the second rank of shelves, turn right, go to the middle, and the book would be right there at eye level, with several related books around it.
If you were just browsing, you had to go to the fifth rank of shelves and work backwards, trailing your fingers over the spines, and when you stopped, the most amazing book would be right there under your fingertips, the perfect book for your mood, whatever it was.
Rose was browsing.
She let her fingertips trail along the spines, leather, cloth, paper, other undetermined materials, and titles in languages by the hundreds, shimmering into English if she stopped for long to gaze at them. Rose stopped in the middle of the fourth shelf, and there, under her fingers, was a sweet little book. It was a rich red in color, bound in what felt like rough silk, thick and nubbly to the touch. The pages were edged in gilt, and the writing, also embossed in gold, was all some kind of complicated interlocked circles that wavered before her eyes but didn't seem to translate. Rose recognized the script. The book was Gallifreyan! How exciting!
She pulled it carefully off the shelf and carried it like a secret treasure to the reading area. She snuggled herself into one corner of the enormous, comfy sofa, and let the bright light of the reading lamp glitter for a moment on the golden swirls of the title before easing open the cover.
The paper inside was just as thick and luxurious as the outside of the book suggested. Rose had once taken a school trip to the British Museum, where they had stood in the library looking at the old books made of pure cotton rag. This paper looked like that, heavy, but creamy smooth. As her fingers stroked the page, a feeling of slightly expectant tranquillity crept into her mind. The circular images remained unchanged before her eyes, but when her eyes slipped closed for a moment, hints of meaning began to tease at her mind, and as she concentrated, she could just hear chiming strains of music. It appeared she'd found the table of contents, and Rose realized this was no ordinary book - it was slightly psychic, and it was trying to communicate directly into her mind.
Was that safe, to let a Gallifreyan book into her head? Would she be hypnotized -- would she fall into the book like some kind of futuristic Alice in Wonderland?
Cautiously, she stared at the first line of symbols again, closed her eyes, and waited. This time, the images resolved more quickly into music, and words floated into her mind along with the song -- the first chapter was called "Virtue, Prosperity, Pleasure, and Liberation." As she continued to listen, the chiming grew stronger and seemed to wind around the words as they drifted across the surface of her mind. The longer she waited, the more the words expanded, until she realized that she was contemplating the ideals of Old Gallifreyan society: Virtue, as opposed to hedonism and selfishness; Prosperity, as opposed to luxury and waste; Pleasure, as opposed to the jaded lassitude of a bored elite; and Liberation, the ideal of self-control embraced by individuals who were raised up in a society that literally had the universe under its fingertips.
Rose opened her eyes, sensing that quite a few minutes had passed, and she'd only read four words. No wonder the Tardis couldn't translate Gallifreyan, if this endless deepening of resonance lay within the meaning of every symbol. It was certainly an interesting way to pass an afternoon.
Rose stared at the second chapter title until the meaning came clear: "Discerning the Strengths of Women and Men." The next several titles came more quickly: chapter three, "Lovers, Old Friends, and Acquaintances;" chapter four, "Taking a Partner," and chapter five, "A Spouse's Privileges." Rose laughed softly to herself as she thought about the implications of this book being in the Doctor's library --he seemed like such a bachelor in so many ways! -- and then she blushed, because the Tardis had more or less handed it to her, as if to say, "read this."
As Rose read the title of the sixth chapter, "Amorous Advances and Sexual Union" her hands went sweaty and hot- the book she was holding was more than a bachelor's advice book -- it was a sex manual! One hand flew up to cover her mouth as it fell open in a shocked gasp -- this was basically the Gallifreyan Kama Sutra! As if in confirmation, the translations of the many subsections of chapter six rose up into her mind in a pornographic parade: "the Game of Love: Stimulation of Desire; Embraces, caressing, and kisses; Marking, biting, slapping, and moaning; Penetration, oral sex, and frottage."
Rose's blush deepened as she realized that when she thought about "The Game of Love and the Stimulation of Desire" she imagined the Doctor's penetrating stare, the way he drank her in with his gaze, and his flush when she stared back until he turned away, the grip of his hand on hers, the open admiration on his face when she came out dressed in clothes the Tardis had provided -- like that time in Cardiff when, slack-jawed, he'd declared her beauty. She knew it was more than a game to him though-- "amorous advances" indeed! The Doctor had been flirting with her this whole time, and really, she had known it all along.
"Embraces, caressing, and kisses" -- although he had never kissed her, he embraced her as if he couldn't help himself, wrapping his strong arms around her, pulling her close, sometimes lifting her off the tips of her toes. His hand caressed hers tenderly when they were merely walking down the street. And she knew she hadn't imagined the touch of his lips against her forehead, more than once. She knew he treasured her, but she also knew he was too mule-headed to follow her lead -- so she'd just been not-so-patiently waiting for him to make the next move.
Almost without her conscious intent, she found herself flipping the book open. As though her hand were moving on autopilot, she skipped right past the opening chapter on the virtues and the long philosophical parts about selecting a lover, and went straight to the section on Amorous Advances.
There, before her eyes, shone the most beautiful, most mouth-watering images she'd ever seen. The pages almost seemed to glow-- and they featured a curvy blonde making love with a rangy man with strong, masculine features -- the slightly-psychic book had incorporated images from her own imagination of the Doctor and herself into the illustrations!
Rose's face burned as she drank in the images, flipping slowly through the pages, staring at the various embraces, as the Gallifreyan pictographs translated themselves in her head.
-- Rose and the Doctor sprawled together on the library sofa, relaxed, disheveled, the Doctor stroking her back as she lay atop him, kissing gently, intently, all their senses full of one another.
-- Rose sitting innocently on a chair in the galley while the Doctor feasted on her neck from behind, kissing from behind one ear all around to the other side, as his clever hands danced along her shoulders and arms, kneading away any tension.
-- The Doctor comfortable in a wing chair, fully clothed in his jeans and heavy jacket, while she sprawled naked across his lap, his hands deftly exploring her body, offered up for his caresses.
-- The Doctor on a straight backed chair, naked, while Rose straddled him in a lacy negligee, her feet braced against the rungs while they devoured one another with kisses.
Rose couldn't imagine anything more erotic. The pictures of her and the Doctor in a variety of poses, in various states of undress, heated her body until she burned with desire. And as she kept turning the pages, the fire inside her grew hotter and hotter.
"Marking," the Gallifreyan sang in her mind, and there was a picture of the Doctor, sprawled naked on his back, his head tossed to one side in sensual abandon, while Rose reveled in his vulnerability, choosing the places on his body where she'd leave a bitten bruise -- there, on the long, elegant neck -- there, near the nipple, or there, so close to the place of his desire, low on his belly or inside his thigh.
She turned the page, and she was gazing at her own back, scored with red lines drawn carefully by his well-trimmed fingernails. Rose shuddered in sympathy with the image of herself, and could almost feel the tantalizing traces of those nails, dragging with soothing irritation across her skin.
On the next page, the Doctor and Rose lay facing one another, smiling devilishly, as each used their nails upon the sensitive nipples of the other. Rose stared and stared, feeling her own breasts tingle with arousal as she looked upon the pinched-red peaks of the Rose in the picture, the tight little nubs standing to attention on the Doctor's smooth, lightly haired chest.
Rose was breathing hard already, but when she turned the page, she almost felt as if every breath had left her body. There she was on all fours, her mouth open in a perfectly submissive moan, while the Doctor's large hand left reddened prints on the white and tender flesh of her backside. Rose had never been spanked, and the idea of it frightened her, but the picture made her ache with a jolt of arousal, and she knew her knickers were sodden by now.
Still she kept turning the pages, and with every page, the images grew more brazen, more explicit, and her body thrummed with hunger as Rose yearned to experience the things she was reading about.
"Frottage" -- Rose knew the French word that the Gallifreyan evoked in her mind. The image was of the Doctor and Rose dancing together in a public place -- a crowded bar by the looks of it -- and people were dressed to the nines -- Rose in a silky red cocktail dress and stiletto heels-- the Doctor never let her out of the Tardis in heels like that in real life -- but in the picture, he was pressed up against her, clearly rubbing his groin into her backside, heating his cool hands against the warm silk of her sides, and his eyes burned with a possessive passion that made Rose moan, right there in the library. She started up guiltily, biting her knuckles and looking around. She was still alone… he was probably still tinkering… but oughtn't she to carry the book back to her room-- someplace more private?
She knew she ought, but she couldn't bring herself to move from the sofa. The book was far more hypnotic than she had feared -- its stunning images had burrowed deep into her brain. Sex with the Doctor, laid out in images glowing black and red and gold -- she couldn't stop turning the pages.
The Doctor and Rose in the pictures were exploring one another's genitalia now. If Rose had ever wondered how the Doctor was hung (she had, of course!) -- now she knew. She saw pictures of herself unfastening his trousers, reaching in, and gently stroking him there… pulling down his pants to reveal his genital slit (the Gallifreyan commentary sang in her mind a vivid description of the emergence of his sexual organ during the height of arousal)… the book described the correct way to lick at him, how to stroke his opening gently with a finger, how to press her own sex against his until his organ emerged…. and then the book delineated the ways he would return the favor, giving him a guided tour of her labia, clitoris, and various other clusters of nerves he could lick, suck, press and stroke until her body was rapt with pleasure.
Rose looked down at a picture of the Doctor, fully clothed, his hand up under her skirt as she writhed on his bed, and she felt her body seize, right there on the library couch, clenching untouched in a powerful spasm that whited out her thoughts; she could almost feel his long fingers fucking into her dripping cunt as he feasted his hungry gaze on the ripeness of her body, his brilliant blue stare arrogant and proud as Rose lay wracked by the powerful orgasm he'd given her.
As she gasped, coming down, she wondered -- dare she go on? The book went on. How much farther would it go? All the way, that was for sure! No, she didn't dare. She had to get to her room to continue this in private.
Catching her breath, she clasped the book to her chest, one finger marking the place. She stole from the library, made the left that would take her back to the privacy of her room--and ran smack into the Doctor.
"Rose!" he smiled, his strong hands gently steadying on her upper arms.
She was the picture of guilt, she knew it -- her eyes dark and dilated with arousal, her lips bitten plump, her face hot and flushed with desire, the guilty book clenched tight in her hands. She stared up at him like a puppy caught chewing the slippers.
"What's this?" he said, and lightly touched the red silk book. Rose's mouth fell open, but she couldn't answer, and she saw the instant he realized what book it was she was holding.
His eyes widened, then narrowed. His grip on her arms tightened. His lips quirked in a smile that was almost cruel.
"Should I let you go, then, Rose?" he asked. His voice was low and steady -- too steady, his words quick and clipped as he prepared himself to overlook her blunder.
She shook her head, desperately hoping.
His eyebrows rose, and then he looked back down at her and the gleam was back in his eye, like fire -- like terror, or like hope. "Want to show me?" he said.
She nodded, stepped back, and opened the book before his gaze.
"Penetration," he said softly, his gaze like lightning, like all the stars in a galaxy, like who he was, and none other -- the Doctor.
He caught the book in one hand, and Rose in the other. Together, they stared at the picture: the Doctor's bed, a big four-poster even though he hardly needed sleep -- spread with rich red sheets, and Rose tossed back against the pillows, her hands clasped over her head, her legs spread wide and high, her pelvis tilted just right to take him all the way in, the Doctor's narrow hips nestled tight between her thighs, his sex thrust deeply into hers.
"You shouldn't read this book on your own," the Doctor murmured.
Rose shook her head, mortified, but still, achingly aroused, wanting him so much.
"Better together," he added, glancing at her with his startling blue eyes.
Rose nodded and finally found her voice. "Yes," she said, hopefully.
"You can't just skip around," he said. His free hand, as usual, was caressing her tenderly.
"Right," Rose agreed.
"'Taking a Partner' is key," he said, " -- and I want to make sure you understand the last chapter, 'Bonding.'"
"Okay," Rose agreed, but she couldn't stop staring at him, melting softly against him, wanting him to pick her up and carry her to his room, to throw her down on those crimson sheets, and do everything in the book to her.
"Let's start at the beginning," he said.
Rose felt like she would break apart with happiness.
He took her into his arms, into his familiar embrace, and the Doctor swept her into a passionate kiss which Rose gave back as good as she got. Kiss after kiss carried them down the corridor to his room, where they began joyful new explorations of pleasure and liberation, and the book lay forgotten on the bedside table as they made their way from Virtues to Bonding with only their hearts, unerring, to guide them.