who fic: "Five Time it was Sex Pollen (wasn't it?)" (Nine/Rose, Teen/PG13)
title: Five Times it was Sex Pollen (wasn't it?)
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: PG13 /Teen for sexy thoughts
words: 3076
Summary: The Doctor is exposed to pollen and can't stop thinking about Rose.
for then there's us challenge 004 : five times!
and for my lovely beta, my darling husband MWAH! who took one look at the picture prompts and said "sex pollen" :D
1.
Rose wandered down the garden path as if in a daze, trailing her hands through the greenery, lifting her face to the dappled sunlight. The Doctor was mesmerized by the yellow of her hair against the saffron tree blossoms that filled the air with their sweet and musky odor. But it was nowhere near as delightful a scent as the scent of Rose herself. She was wearing that soft, thin shirt, the pink one with the flowers printed on it, and soft pink trackie bottoms that clung delightfully to her form, and of course, shoes for running. She'd twisted a band around her hair so that it hung in a mesmerizing bob, swaying back and forth with every step.
"Doctor?" she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Her face, in profile, almost glowed--her eyes dark and hooded, her lips full and soft, her neck and the curve of her shoulder so very bitable, the span of her waist perfect for his hands to seize as he pressed himself against her…
He coughed, somewhat appalled at himself. "Yes, Rose?" Had she noticed? He'd been so sure the blossoms were no danger to him or Rose, but clearly he should have administered a counteragent at least to himself before risking this garden. His willpower was getting dangerously close to the breaking point.
"I'm feeling -- strange? Do I look flushed?"
She looked perfect. Utterly edible. He could smell her: delicious. He could almost feel the heat of her, just an arm's length away. It was all he could do not to throw her down under the trees, rip off her clothes, and take her right there. This kind of pollen didn't affect humans -- he was sure of that at least. If she was feeling the effects, it meant that he needed to clamp down harder on his psychic shields.
She'd know something was wrong if he took her back now -- but if he didn't, he didn't trust himself to be responsible for his actions.
"Yes -- let's go back. Something slipped my mind. You just have a kip while I… think of what I need…."
He towed her back along the path and through the black metal gate, the heat of her hand searing into his. He didn't dare slow down, or even look at her. They were back to the Tardis in no time, and he practically ran to his quarters, leaving her in the console room, staring after him.
He hadn't been this tormented by bodily hunger this strong in ages. Stupid, stupid of him to expose himself to the pollen without taking precautions. He locked the door of his ensuite, threw off his clothes, and turned on the shower as cold as he could stand. He felt as if it practically sizzled against his skin. Still, he needed to make sure none of the pollen remained on his body. He rubbed himself all over with soap, washed his hair, and sluiced the water off his skin.
Still, his body ached, yearning-- his mind picturing Rose, outlined against the edenic profusion of yellow and green. He sluiced the cold water over himself, let it spray into his face. He became almost entranced as it danced against his fingers. Slowly, slowly, he regained his composure.
2.
Rose and the Doctor had been sent on a simple errand -- row across the lake and bring back a ceremonial tribute of flowers. The two warring tribes at either end of the lake had finally reached a detente, and this last exchange of flowers would seal their fledgling peace. As outsiders, Rose and the Doctor were perfect go-betweens.
It was just like his life, thought the Doctor, that the flowers were chosen for their strong aphrodisiac qualities. Of course they were. These two tribes had been picking fights and ceremonially making up for centuries. It was their way. Every ten years or so tensions would build to the breaking point, and again they'd fight and finally make peace, eventually falling into bed together, yet another generation.
So Rose sat and held the bouquet while the Doctor rowed with all his might. They fairly flew from one end of the lake to the other -- and it was a long, long lake, separating and yet at the same time connecting the opposite ends of a long rift valley. The Doctor rowed without tiring, his eyes feasting upon Rose, his every sense filled up with her, as she sat, uncomfortable in the hot sun, the flowers all up in her nose, filling her with a desire they both knew was chemically induced (this time at least, they'd been forewarned).
By the time they got back to the first village, they were both hot and bothered and barely civil as they delivered the flowers to the sister chieftesses with perfunctory courtesy.
They made their excuses and escaped into the Tardis, heading for their respective showers without a word.
Once again the Doctor stood in the shivery water, trying in vain to calm his body from its heated desire for Rose.
3.
It was a perfect dessert -- or so the Doctor thought. How sweet of Rose to order it for them to share -- a three scoop banana split, neapolitan ice-cream, whipped cream, maraschino cherries, and two spoons.
Little had Rose known that the yellow drizzle had been made from the syrup from the fruit of the saffron tree blossoms that hit the Doctor so hard. He'd been enjoying the perfectly ripe banana with little enhancements of ice cream and chocolate fudge sauce -- when his eyes tracked on Rose plucking a cherry from her end of the split. Somehow all he could see were her delicate fingers, her perfect sparkly pink manicure, and that glistening cherry dangling on its stem, put to shame by her luscious red lips. The inside of his mouth was still cold from the ice cream, but once again, he knew he had a date with the coldest setting on his shower. The yellow color of the drizzle on the vanilla end should have given it away, that faint, floral, saffron flavor -- but the effects were unmistakable.
"Aren't you hungry, Doctor?" Rose asked after pulling the stem free with a little pop.
"I don't need much," he answered -- feeling in truth like he was starving, like he'd never be sated again.
4.
The Doctor was beginning to think the universe really was out to get him. There was no sign at all of saffron blossoms -- just innocent tin buckets of plain pink carnations and roses. Roses! The most common of all earth flowers, having spread across the galaxy with every expansion of the human empire.
So why -- now -- were they having this effect on him, when they hadn't ever before?
Rose had been ensnared by the sight of the familiar flowers in the exotic alien marketplace -- the fresh pale pink of the budding roses, next to brighter fuchsia ones that had already begun to open. Biting her lip with a question in her eye, Rose had smiled widely at his encouraging shrug, bending down to gather a bouquet of pinks and yellows into an empty bucket.
"Oh, Doctor -- just smell them!" she laughed, so happy -- and then he felt it, the heady exhilaration, the dizziness, the sense that the whole universe had narrowed down to just one pair of laughing brown eyes, one broad happy grin -- one brave girl who'd thrown off her cares to laugh into a bunch of flowers-- who'd hang on the arm of a desperate fighter still pretending he was no more than a renegade or a clown. Her warmth set him on fire from where she linked her arm through his, the deadly bunch of roses blending its mind-bending aroma with her own. He just knew she'd put them in the galley to brighten up the place. He'd be living on nutrition bars for the next week then -- maybe Rose would bring him tea now and again if he asked very nicely.
Tea would be nice -- hot, warming tea. He wasn't looking forward to the icy, icy showers.
5.
"Rose -- no!" he cried, but it was too late.
She'd scooped up a double handful of dust, brought it to her chin, and laughing, blown it all over him.
He could feel the effects of the pollen already sinking in. They were miles from the Tardis by now -- walking along the scenic cliff top trail of Xandrogleides, watching the giant mantas breach and soar in the strange pink ocean under the vivid orange sky. The sand along the cliff top was micaceous, glittering brilliantly in the light of the double red suns.
Rose couldn't help but pick up a giant batch of the stuff and send it all over them both -- just as the Doctor noticed, once again, the yellow-blooming trees that seemed to be everywhere lately.
His warning rang out too late. Rose had already covered him with the stuff. She seemed entirely immune to it, but apparently his expression amused her greatly -- because she reached down with a teasing hand, grabbed another fistful, and did it again.
"Oh, Doctor! your face!" she laughed, and danced away.
Watching her skip away from him was unbearable. He felt a growl rise up from the bottom of his belly, erupting from his throat as he leapt after her. She gave a squeal and away she ran, quick and nimble and shrieking with laughter.
His predatory instincts kicked in, and between them and the pollen, every higher thought fell away. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so desirable, a girl made of gold under two fiery suns, and no one was around -- no one would know -- no one to be offended or to haul them off to a jail cell overnight for breaking local custom -- no Tardis to hum disapprovingly when he surreptitiously stared, no monsters, no villains to threaten or reason with. Just Rose, beautiful, laughing, sweet smelling Rose, always ready with a hand and a smile for the saddest, loneliest, most woebegone creature in the Universe.
He caught her around the waist. She laughed and laughed up at him, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
Those little yellow-flowered trees were merely shrubs on this windswept cliff, but the Doctor felt the effects of their pollen no less clearly.
Rose stared up into his eyes, her smile slowly changing -- becoming, if anything, sweeter as she stared at him.
Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Doctor -- look!"
He turned, and a gigantic manta had breached the surface of the water, soaring a hundred feet up into the air, its wings spread wide. It made one complete turn along its axis, shooting skyward, then bending like a diver to angle itself perfectly for a splashless reentry.
"Wow!" Rose said.
"Beautiful," he said, staring fixedly at her face.
"This planet, you mean," she said, blushing.
"No," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
Rose just looked up him, growing more and more serious.
"You've been acting -- a little different -- recently," she said, haltingly. She made as if to step back from him, but he just held on.
"Have I?" he said, staring. He had nothing left -- no more willpower, no more resistance. How he hungered for her. How he longed for her. He'd tried, he really had -- but there was only so much a man could take.
Rose blushed. "A girl -- might get -- ideas," she said, her brave gaze finally failing her.
"Ideas?" he prompted. He felt her body heat rise a notch as adrenaline coursed through her.
She glanced up at him, pupils blown wide. Desire too. Oh, yes, he could smell it. There was no holding back this time.
"Ideas, like -- you want -- something more?" She was adorable -- blushing so hot -- was she really trying to protect him, his modesty, his archaic sensibilities?
"Rose," he rumbled, just to feel her shiver.
"Yes?" she answered. All traces of playfulness had fallen away from her. Lips parted, face flushed, she gazed up at him, pressed hot against him, awaiting his desire.
He leaned slowly in, mouth near the delicate shell of her ear. "Don't run, just listen. I want you," he breathed. "I want you -- all of you. So much," he said, and he felt her melt in his arms. He pulled her even closer.
"But why would I run?" she gasped.
"Pollen -- this pollen, it's like a drug to me," he whispered, holding her close.
"A drug?" she asked, shocked -- but she didn't pull away.
"Making me want you," he said.
"What?" Shock gave way to anger in her voice.
"Don't be angry," he said. "Please. Just -- let me hold you, just for a bit. Till we can get back to the Tardis. This isn't the first time, you know…"
"I know, but …" Now shock and anger had faded, and the Doctor heard sadness. "I didn't think it was -- some kind of drug… I thought it was us."
"I can't take that chance," he said, but he couldn't let her go. The lightest hint of saffron mingled with the fragrance of her hair, driving him wild. But was it her, or the pollen?
"It wasn't us, that time on the lake," Rose whispered.
"No," he agreed with resignation.
"But I've seen you look at me -- like this -- so many times -- it couldn't have been the pollen."
"The time in the garden…" he whispered, not wanting to make her sad -- but needing her to understand.
"Oh, yeah," she said, sadly, remembering. "But… really? Every time?"
"The time on the lake, that time with the yellow flowers in the garden, the roses…."
"The roses? Really?" she said. "No-- they were just roses!"
"But they made me feel -- like this -- " he said, squeezing her for emphasis.
"Surely, some time in your life you've felt 'like this'," she retorted, squeezing back. "Don't tell me your friend Jabe was putting out pollen."
The Doctor frowned a little at the mention of Jabe. She'd been a good friend for a very short time. He squeezed Rose again for good measure, adding, "Not the same."
"Or that time on the motorcycle? Or that time on Nova Lupina?"
The Doctor remembered the motorcycle. It had been a bit flash of him really, but he couldn't resist the thought of driving Rose down the California highway on what may have been the Earth's most beautiful summer day ever -- or at least, it had certainly seemed like it at the time with Rose behind him, her warm arms wrapped tight around his body. Though there were plenty of other mind-altering substances to be had, there wasn't any such pollen extant in 1960s California.
Nor on Nova Lupina, and certainly not in the middle of winter, when they'd rescued a young Wolf who'd been kidnapped from his parents, and foiled a ring of slavers trying to export psychic wolves as mere guard animals. Rose had gotten on so well with the Wolves; he'd been very proud of her ability to understand the differences between them and their ancient Earth ancestors. He had to admit, he'd been awash in delight at the celebration, with happy Wolves howling their joy at being reunited, he and Rose joining in as well as they were able. There had certainly been no pollen, but he'd still been as proud as any Alpha to have Rose by his side.
Rose was still remembering -- "the time we caught that panicked alien squirrel on those fire escapes in Brooklyn?"
The Squirrellian had a high-pitched scream that it wielded to paralyze its victims. But Rose had earplugs in her pocket from the rock show they'd gone to the night before -- so she'd been able to corner the Squirellian long enough for the Doctor to calm it down.
"The stained glass walkways on New New New Chartres?" Rose sounded so sad. That had been an amazing day. A hundred-foot walkway built entirely of stained glass was a common place thing on New New New Chartres, where stained glass had been made the art form of every day life. Every surface on the planet sparkled like gemstones. Rose had been so happy there, and the Doctor had basked in her happiness.
"No pollen there either," he said. "None in Brooklyn, Nova Lupina, or California on the motorbike."
"So…" Rose said.
The Doctor felt his hearts beat faster. "You could be right, Rose," he allowed.
Rose tightened her grip around the Doctor. "In case I'm not," she said, "kiss me just once."
Whatever was making the Doctor crazy for Rose, the longing in her voice was real, and he couldn't refuse.
"If I kiss you, I might not ever let you go," he said.
"I'm okay with that," Rose whispered.
He loosened his grip on her just enough to bring his mouth away from her ear, her tempting neck, her fragrant hair. He grazed her jaw with his lips and felt the shiver, the silent moan she fought to repress, until his mouth found hers. And then, he feasted.
Just the tiniest hint of saffron tainted her taste. The rest was all Rose. He wanted her so much. She kissed him like her life depended on it.
"Rose -- let me go," he said.
"No!" she cried.
"But what if -- " he murmured through the kiss.
She pulled back long enough to say, "You're supposed to be psychic, you tell me!"
Oh! Why hadn't he thought of that? He'd tamped down his telepathy so viciously after the incident in the garden, that he'd automatically dismissed the possibility.
Tentatively, he began to relax, letting his natural telepathy reach out for Rose.
The moment he let go, his emotions went wild. His senses nearly overloaded, glutting themselves on Rose. His whole mentality ached for a chance to reach out to her -- right there, so close!
It could never have been the pollen. It certainly hadn't been the roses -- and even the aphrodisiac bouquet had had only a 2% effect on his overall attraction to the woman in his arms.
He loved her. That was all.
"Rose?" he whispered through her kisses.
"Yeah?" she said, hopefully, still kissing him intently.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too," she answered.
They kissed again with no more thought of stopping. At some point, they sank to the ground. The Doctor's leather jacket was flung aside. They managed to pull out the picnic blanket from the pack where they'd had it stowed.
Then neither of them worried about pollen anymore, caught up in loving, pure and simple -- purely the Doctor and his Rose.
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: PG13 /Teen for sexy thoughts
words: 3076
Summary: The Doctor is exposed to pollen and can't stop thinking about Rose.
for then there's us challenge 004 : five times!
and for my lovely beta, my darling husband MWAH! who took one look at the picture prompts and said "sex pollen" :D
1.
Rose wandered down the garden path as if in a daze, trailing her hands through the greenery, lifting her face to the dappled sunlight. The Doctor was mesmerized by the yellow of her hair against the saffron tree blossoms that filled the air with their sweet and musky odor. But it was nowhere near as delightful a scent as the scent of Rose herself. She was wearing that soft, thin shirt, the pink one with the flowers printed on it, and soft pink trackie bottoms that clung delightfully to her form, and of course, shoes for running. She'd twisted a band around her hair so that it hung in a mesmerizing bob, swaying back and forth with every step.
"Doctor?" she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Her face, in profile, almost glowed--her eyes dark and hooded, her lips full and soft, her neck and the curve of her shoulder so very bitable, the span of her waist perfect for his hands to seize as he pressed himself against her…
He coughed, somewhat appalled at himself. "Yes, Rose?" Had she noticed? He'd been so sure the blossoms were no danger to him or Rose, but clearly he should have administered a counteragent at least to himself before risking this garden. His willpower was getting dangerously close to the breaking point.
"I'm feeling -- strange? Do I look flushed?"
She looked perfect. Utterly edible. He could smell her: delicious. He could almost feel the heat of her, just an arm's length away. It was all he could do not to throw her down under the trees, rip off her clothes, and take her right there. This kind of pollen didn't affect humans -- he was sure of that at least. If she was feeling the effects, it meant that he needed to clamp down harder on his psychic shields.
She'd know something was wrong if he took her back now -- but if he didn't, he didn't trust himself to be responsible for his actions.
"Yes -- let's go back. Something slipped my mind. You just have a kip while I… think of what I need…."
He towed her back along the path and through the black metal gate, the heat of her hand searing into his. He didn't dare slow down, or even look at her. They were back to the Tardis in no time, and he practically ran to his quarters, leaving her in the console room, staring after him.
He hadn't been this tormented by bodily hunger this strong in ages. Stupid, stupid of him to expose himself to the pollen without taking precautions. He locked the door of his ensuite, threw off his clothes, and turned on the shower as cold as he could stand. He felt as if it practically sizzled against his skin. Still, he needed to make sure none of the pollen remained on his body. He rubbed himself all over with soap, washed his hair, and sluiced the water off his skin.
Still, his body ached, yearning-- his mind picturing Rose, outlined against the edenic profusion of yellow and green. He sluiced the cold water over himself, let it spray into his face. He became almost entranced as it danced against his fingers. Slowly, slowly, he regained his composure.
2.
Rose and the Doctor had been sent on a simple errand -- row across the lake and bring back a ceremonial tribute of flowers. The two warring tribes at either end of the lake had finally reached a detente, and this last exchange of flowers would seal their fledgling peace. As outsiders, Rose and the Doctor were perfect go-betweens.
It was just like his life, thought the Doctor, that the flowers were chosen for their strong aphrodisiac qualities. Of course they were. These two tribes had been picking fights and ceremonially making up for centuries. It was their way. Every ten years or so tensions would build to the breaking point, and again they'd fight and finally make peace, eventually falling into bed together, yet another generation.
So Rose sat and held the bouquet while the Doctor rowed with all his might. They fairly flew from one end of the lake to the other -- and it was a long, long lake, separating and yet at the same time connecting the opposite ends of a long rift valley. The Doctor rowed without tiring, his eyes feasting upon Rose, his every sense filled up with her, as she sat, uncomfortable in the hot sun, the flowers all up in her nose, filling her with a desire they both knew was chemically induced (this time at least, they'd been forewarned).
By the time they got back to the first village, they were both hot and bothered and barely civil as they delivered the flowers to the sister chieftesses with perfunctory courtesy.
They made their excuses and escaped into the Tardis, heading for their respective showers without a word.
Once again the Doctor stood in the shivery water, trying in vain to calm his body from its heated desire for Rose.
3.
It was a perfect dessert -- or so the Doctor thought. How sweet of Rose to order it for them to share -- a three scoop banana split, neapolitan ice-cream, whipped cream, maraschino cherries, and two spoons.
Little had Rose known that the yellow drizzle had been made from the syrup from the fruit of the saffron tree blossoms that hit the Doctor so hard. He'd been enjoying the perfectly ripe banana with little enhancements of ice cream and chocolate fudge sauce -- when his eyes tracked on Rose plucking a cherry from her end of the split. Somehow all he could see were her delicate fingers, her perfect sparkly pink manicure, and that glistening cherry dangling on its stem, put to shame by her luscious red lips. The inside of his mouth was still cold from the ice cream, but once again, he knew he had a date with the coldest setting on his shower. The yellow color of the drizzle on the vanilla end should have given it away, that faint, floral, saffron flavor -- but the effects were unmistakable.
"Aren't you hungry, Doctor?" Rose asked after pulling the stem free with a little pop.
"I don't need much," he answered -- feeling in truth like he was starving, like he'd never be sated again.
4.
The Doctor was beginning to think the universe really was out to get him. There was no sign at all of saffron blossoms -- just innocent tin buckets of plain pink carnations and roses. Roses! The most common of all earth flowers, having spread across the galaxy with every expansion of the human empire.
So why -- now -- were they having this effect on him, when they hadn't ever before?
Rose had been ensnared by the sight of the familiar flowers in the exotic alien marketplace -- the fresh pale pink of the budding roses, next to brighter fuchsia ones that had already begun to open. Biting her lip with a question in her eye, Rose had smiled widely at his encouraging shrug, bending down to gather a bouquet of pinks and yellows into an empty bucket.
"Oh, Doctor -- just smell them!" she laughed, so happy -- and then he felt it, the heady exhilaration, the dizziness, the sense that the whole universe had narrowed down to just one pair of laughing brown eyes, one broad happy grin -- one brave girl who'd thrown off her cares to laugh into a bunch of flowers-- who'd hang on the arm of a desperate fighter still pretending he was no more than a renegade or a clown. Her warmth set him on fire from where she linked her arm through his, the deadly bunch of roses blending its mind-bending aroma with her own. He just knew she'd put them in the galley to brighten up the place. He'd be living on nutrition bars for the next week then -- maybe Rose would bring him tea now and again if he asked very nicely.
Tea would be nice -- hot, warming tea. He wasn't looking forward to the icy, icy showers.
5.
"Rose -- no!" he cried, but it was too late.
She'd scooped up a double handful of dust, brought it to her chin, and laughing, blown it all over him.
He could feel the effects of the pollen already sinking in. They were miles from the Tardis by now -- walking along the scenic cliff top trail of Xandrogleides, watching the giant mantas breach and soar in the strange pink ocean under the vivid orange sky. The sand along the cliff top was micaceous, glittering brilliantly in the light of the double red suns.
Rose couldn't help but pick up a giant batch of the stuff and send it all over them both -- just as the Doctor noticed, once again, the yellow-blooming trees that seemed to be everywhere lately.
His warning rang out too late. Rose had already covered him with the stuff. She seemed entirely immune to it, but apparently his expression amused her greatly -- because she reached down with a teasing hand, grabbed another fistful, and did it again.
"Oh, Doctor! your face!" she laughed, and danced away.
Watching her skip away from him was unbearable. He felt a growl rise up from the bottom of his belly, erupting from his throat as he leapt after her. She gave a squeal and away she ran, quick and nimble and shrieking with laughter.
His predatory instincts kicked in, and between them and the pollen, every higher thought fell away. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so desirable, a girl made of gold under two fiery suns, and no one was around -- no one would know -- no one to be offended or to haul them off to a jail cell overnight for breaking local custom -- no Tardis to hum disapprovingly when he surreptitiously stared, no monsters, no villains to threaten or reason with. Just Rose, beautiful, laughing, sweet smelling Rose, always ready with a hand and a smile for the saddest, loneliest, most woebegone creature in the Universe.
He caught her around the waist. She laughed and laughed up at him, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
Those little yellow-flowered trees were merely shrubs on this windswept cliff, but the Doctor felt the effects of their pollen no less clearly.
Rose stared up into his eyes, her smile slowly changing -- becoming, if anything, sweeter as she stared at him.
Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Doctor -- look!"
He turned, and a gigantic manta had breached the surface of the water, soaring a hundred feet up into the air, its wings spread wide. It made one complete turn along its axis, shooting skyward, then bending like a diver to angle itself perfectly for a splashless reentry.
"Wow!" Rose said.
"Beautiful," he said, staring fixedly at her face.
"This planet, you mean," she said, blushing.
"No," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
Rose just looked up him, growing more and more serious.
"You've been acting -- a little different -- recently," she said, haltingly. She made as if to step back from him, but he just held on.
"Have I?" he said, staring. He had nothing left -- no more willpower, no more resistance. How he hungered for her. How he longed for her. He'd tried, he really had -- but there was only so much a man could take.
Rose blushed. "A girl -- might get -- ideas," she said, her brave gaze finally failing her.
"Ideas?" he prompted. He felt her body heat rise a notch as adrenaline coursed through her.
She glanced up at him, pupils blown wide. Desire too. Oh, yes, he could smell it. There was no holding back this time.
"Ideas, like -- you want -- something more?" She was adorable -- blushing so hot -- was she really trying to protect him, his modesty, his archaic sensibilities?
"Rose," he rumbled, just to feel her shiver.
"Yes?" she answered. All traces of playfulness had fallen away from her. Lips parted, face flushed, she gazed up at him, pressed hot against him, awaiting his desire.
He leaned slowly in, mouth near the delicate shell of her ear. "Don't run, just listen. I want you," he breathed. "I want you -- all of you. So much," he said, and he felt her melt in his arms. He pulled her even closer.
"But why would I run?" she gasped.
"Pollen -- this pollen, it's like a drug to me," he whispered, holding her close.
"A drug?" she asked, shocked -- but she didn't pull away.
"Making me want you," he said.
"What?" Shock gave way to anger in her voice.
"Don't be angry," he said. "Please. Just -- let me hold you, just for a bit. Till we can get back to the Tardis. This isn't the first time, you know…"
"I know, but …" Now shock and anger had faded, and the Doctor heard sadness. "I didn't think it was -- some kind of drug… I thought it was us."
"I can't take that chance," he said, but he couldn't let her go. The lightest hint of saffron mingled with the fragrance of her hair, driving him wild. But was it her, or the pollen?
"It wasn't us, that time on the lake," Rose whispered.
"No," he agreed with resignation.
"But I've seen you look at me -- like this -- so many times -- it couldn't have been the pollen."
"The time in the garden…" he whispered, not wanting to make her sad -- but needing her to understand.
"Oh, yeah," she said, sadly, remembering. "But… really? Every time?"
"The time on the lake, that time with the yellow flowers in the garden, the roses…."
"The roses? Really?" she said. "No-- they were just roses!"
"But they made me feel -- like this -- " he said, squeezing her for emphasis.
"Surely, some time in your life you've felt 'like this'," she retorted, squeezing back. "Don't tell me your friend Jabe was putting out pollen."
The Doctor frowned a little at the mention of Jabe. She'd been a good friend for a very short time. He squeezed Rose again for good measure, adding, "Not the same."
"Or that time on the motorcycle? Or that time on Nova Lupina?"
The Doctor remembered the motorcycle. It had been a bit flash of him really, but he couldn't resist the thought of driving Rose down the California highway on what may have been the Earth's most beautiful summer day ever -- or at least, it had certainly seemed like it at the time with Rose behind him, her warm arms wrapped tight around his body. Though there were plenty of other mind-altering substances to be had, there wasn't any such pollen extant in 1960s California.
Nor on Nova Lupina, and certainly not in the middle of winter, when they'd rescued a young Wolf who'd been kidnapped from his parents, and foiled a ring of slavers trying to export psychic wolves as mere guard animals. Rose had gotten on so well with the Wolves; he'd been very proud of her ability to understand the differences between them and their ancient Earth ancestors. He had to admit, he'd been awash in delight at the celebration, with happy Wolves howling their joy at being reunited, he and Rose joining in as well as they were able. There had certainly been no pollen, but he'd still been as proud as any Alpha to have Rose by his side.
Rose was still remembering -- "the time we caught that panicked alien squirrel on those fire escapes in Brooklyn?"
The Squirrellian had a high-pitched scream that it wielded to paralyze its victims. But Rose had earplugs in her pocket from the rock show they'd gone to the night before -- so she'd been able to corner the Squirellian long enough for the Doctor to calm it down.
"The stained glass walkways on New New New Chartres?" Rose sounded so sad. That had been an amazing day. A hundred-foot walkway built entirely of stained glass was a common place thing on New New New Chartres, where stained glass had been made the art form of every day life. Every surface on the planet sparkled like gemstones. Rose had been so happy there, and the Doctor had basked in her happiness.
"No pollen there either," he said. "None in Brooklyn, Nova Lupina, or California on the motorbike."
"So…" Rose said.
The Doctor felt his hearts beat faster. "You could be right, Rose," he allowed.
Rose tightened her grip around the Doctor. "In case I'm not," she said, "kiss me just once."
Whatever was making the Doctor crazy for Rose, the longing in her voice was real, and he couldn't refuse.
"If I kiss you, I might not ever let you go," he said.
"I'm okay with that," Rose whispered.
He loosened his grip on her just enough to bring his mouth away from her ear, her tempting neck, her fragrant hair. He grazed her jaw with his lips and felt the shiver, the silent moan she fought to repress, until his mouth found hers. And then, he feasted.
Just the tiniest hint of saffron tainted her taste. The rest was all Rose. He wanted her so much. She kissed him like her life depended on it.
"Rose -- let me go," he said.
"No!" she cried.
"But what if -- " he murmured through the kiss.
She pulled back long enough to say, "You're supposed to be psychic, you tell me!"
Oh! Why hadn't he thought of that? He'd tamped down his telepathy so viciously after the incident in the garden, that he'd automatically dismissed the possibility.
Tentatively, he began to relax, letting his natural telepathy reach out for Rose.
The moment he let go, his emotions went wild. His senses nearly overloaded, glutting themselves on Rose. His whole mentality ached for a chance to reach out to her -- right there, so close!
It could never have been the pollen. It certainly hadn't been the roses -- and even the aphrodisiac bouquet had had only a 2% effect on his overall attraction to the woman in his arms.
He loved her. That was all.
"Rose?" he whispered through her kisses.
"Yeah?" she said, hopefully, still kissing him intently.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too," she answered.
They kissed again with no more thought of stopping. At some point, they sank to the ground. The Doctor's leather jacket was flung aside. They managed to pull out the picnic blanket from the pack where they'd had it stowed.
Then neither of them worried about pollen anymore, caught up in loving, pure and simple -- purely the Doctor and his Rose.