Smut fic: No More Waiting (1/1)
Title: No More Waiting
Author: aibhinn
Word Count: ~ 5400
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Spoilers: S1 up to and including World War III.
Summary: "Anything you want, Rose Tyler," he said softly. "Just say it, and it's yours."
Author's Note: Ok, this one got a little away from me. I didn't intend to make this quite so long! But the characters had minds of their own. (Don't they always?) Written for challenge #2 on hearts_in_time, "Seduction," and double-dipping for my shared 50_smutlets table, prompt #13, "Kitchen." Much love to rabid1st, sc_angel72, and gem_stew for betaing and Brit-picking. Additional love to wendymr, for picking up on one of my boo-boos and very kindly pointing it out to me. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Rose had never been seduced before. Not in the proper meaning of the term. She'd been propositioned, fondled, groped, and cajoled. She'd been drunk and fallen into bed with someone mostly of her own volition. She and Mickey had actually discussed sex before they'd had it. They'd even waited until she'd been able to get on the Pill, which had felt very responsible and grown-up, if not particularly romantic. But then, Rose had always thought that 'romantic' was a word blokes used when they meant 'pressuring' or 'persuading' or even 'quid pro quo'.
It wasn't until she'd met the Doctor that she'd realised how much she really wanted to be seduced-and how frustrating it could be for the object of her ardour to be utterly oblivious.
Or, well, she admitted as his lips found an unexpectedly sensitive spot, apparently oblivious.
It had started less than a week ago with, of all things, a lesson in TARDIS piloting.
"Why do you have a bicycle pump attached to the console?" she asked, leaning one hand on the railing and touching the pump handle with an inquisitive finger.
"'S not a bicycle pump," he said shortly from where he lay on his back beneath the console. He was fiddling again, installing a part he'd picked up on fortieth-century Mars that morning.
"It is," she insisted. "I had one just like it." She leaned sideways, trying to catch his eye, but all she could see of him were his legs, bent at the knee with his feet flat against the grating.
"It started out as a bicycle pump, but now it's a means of regulating the pressure in the time rotor. I couldn't exactly run home for spare parts, now could I? I had to make do with what I could find." He scooted out from under the console and turned, replacing the panel before levering himself to his feet. "Took me the better part of two days to jury-rig that in. Think I did rather a brilliant job, myself."
"Well, you did come first in jiggery-pokery," she reminded him, tongue between her teeth as she grinned.
"So I did." He grinned back as he stowed the sonic screwdriver in the inner pocket of his jacket and moved toward her. "I know you failed hullaballoo, but think you might be interested in a bit of a lesson?"
"In what? Gotta tell ya, I'm not exactly mechanically inclined. More mechanically declined."
He chuckled. "Nah, nothin' like that. Thought you might like to learn a little about flying the TARDIS."
Her eyes flew open and she felt a strange swooping sensation just above her diaphragm. "Really?"
"Well, she's your home now," the Doctor said practically. "Might as well know a little bit about her. Besides, she likes you." He stepped around her until he was standing almost directly behind her, his left hand resting just above her waist as his right pointed out controls. She could feel his cool body pressing against her back, his muscles shifting beneath his jumper and jacket as he moved, the warmth of his breath against her cheek as he explained what the controls did. It was all she could do to listen to what he was actually saying, and then attempt to do it.
She felt absurdly pleased when she managed to take them to the star that was being born in the midst of the Horsehead Nebula, though she couldn't help being a little dismayed when the Doctor moved away from her and over towards the monitor. Even if he did call up one of the most beautiful scenes she'd ever witnessed, from right outside the TARDIS. She said nothing, of course, though she thought she caught the Doctor looking at her sidelong, one eyebrow raised. It hadn't meant anything, the nearness or the eyebrow, she told herself. The Doctor didn't think of her that way.
Except that three days later, it happened again.
It was Rose's night to cook, which meant there would be actual cooking going on-on the Doctor's nights, they invariably ate out on some alien world or on some version of Earth in a time not her own. This time, she intended a proper sit-down. Roast chicken with potatoes and carrots, broccoli, and fresh-baked bread. She persuaded the Doctor to set the TARDIS down near a Tesco's and popped out for the supplies. When she returned, he was under the console again, this time on his hands and knees peering into the innards of the console's base. His jacket was off, tossed carelessly aside, and his jumper had ridden up slightly, baring a strip of skin just above the waistband of his jeans. It was a lovely view of his bum, and the bare skin made her wonder just what else might be hidden under the jumper. She bit her lip and cocked her head, letting her mind try to create a picture for herself.
He sat up abruptly and turned, looking straight at her. She blushed and nearly dropped the groceries. "D'you need me for something?" he asked, and she could swear he was holding back a grin.
"I-erm-no, I just-was wondering what you were doing," she managed, as her face heated up painfully. She really hoped he couldn't read what had been in her thoughts, or she thought she might never get over the embarrassment.
"Checking some of the connections down lower in the TARDIS. She's been a little slow in her response to the controls, and I wanted to be sure nothing was loose." He took in the shopping bags. "Planning to feed an army, are you?"
"Most of this is for the rub that's going on the chicken," she said, looking away. Now that she'd given her imagination free rein, it was having entirely too much fun presenting her with images of what the Doctor might look like sans jumper. Sans trousers, come to that. Her blush increased. "I'll just, er, get this started," she said, and hurried straight for the kitchen.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. She fumed at herself as she unpacked the bags and set the ingredients out. She'd always rather fancied the Doctor, at least after that first couple of adventures, and nothing he'd done had lessened that. Increased it, more like. She didn't really know why she fancied him so much. He wasn't a particularly good-looking bloke; he was a hell of a lot older than she was; he was sarcastic and biting and had called her a stupid ape more than once. He wasn't even human, for God's sake.
And yet. And yet. He'd saved her life. The two of them had saved the Earth more times than she could count. And… there were times when he looked at her that she could believe he felt more than he was letting on.
I could save the world, but lose you.
"Stupid," she growled at herself. The Doctor was an alien; he couldn't possibly be interested in her that way. Ok, so he cared about her. Maybe even loved her-but he loved the whole universe. That was just who he was. It meant nothing.
Forcing the thought of him out of her mind, she concentrated on her cooking, combining lemon juice and a little oil and some herbs to create a mixture which she rubbed on the chicken, inside and out, then drizzled over the potatoes and carrots in the roasting pan before placing the chicken on top and putting the cover on. Sighing, she brushed her hair absently away from her face before sliding the whole roaster into the oven and pushing the door closed with her foot.
"Bit o' something on your cheek," the Doctor said unexpectedly from behind her, causing her to jump and squeak in surprise. She turned to find him right behind her. He'd apparently finished his work and showered, for his short hair was still a little damp and he smelled of peppermint soap. "Some of that rub you made." He stepped even closer, looking straight down into her eyes. The intensity of his blue gaze froze her in place, and all she could do was stare up at him as he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. He brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking it clean, and she swallowed a moan. "Delicious," he said softly, never looking away from her. "I can't wait until it's ready." His tone added layers of meaning to the simple phrase.
She drew in a shaky breath, aware that it was only his proximity and the solidity of the counter behind her that was keeping her upright. Her knees felt like jelly. "Doctor-" she began, not entirely sure what she was going to say. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. They were so close now, the two of them. Nothing between them except a few centimetres of air and a few layers of clothing.
He smiled-not grinned, smiled, and it took her breath away. "Got a new planet to show you tomorrow," he said.
"Oh?" she asked-croaked, rather; her throat was dry.
"Yeah." He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then stepped deliberately away. "You'll definitely like it." With another smouldering glance, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. She stared after him, wondering what the hell that had been about… and knowing that no matter how she asked, he'd not tell her anything until he was ready.
Bloody man.
When Rose opened her wardrobe after showering the next day, she was met with a surprise: a lovely, strapless black dress with the type of sleeves she'd only ever seen on telly: they were long and tight-fitting, and sewn to the dress only on the under side, so that her shoulders were left bare. No bra, I guess, she thought, pulling the gown off its hanger and slipping it on. She wondered where on earth they were going that required a gown like this. This was something that an actress might wear to a posh awards show, not the kind of thing a shop girl would usually find herself in.
It was beautiful, though. She ran her hands down her front, turning sideways to look at herself in the mirror, then frowned. The skirt clung to her all the way down to its hem just above her knees, and the lines of her knickers were clearly visible. Frowning, she turned the other way. No matter how she moved, the material persisted in showing every line.
Well. She wasn't about to go out looking like that. With a sigh for the knowledge that her mother would have said "Everyone knows you wear knickers; it doesn't matter if they can see!" Rose reached under the dress and peeled them off. She needed to buy some of those lace-type knickers, the ones that didn't show under dresses like these, if the Doctor was going to want her to wear this sort of thing often. Going without once probably wouldn't hurt her, but more than once and she'd be really uncomfortable.
Come to think of it, she'd be pretty damn uncomfortable this time. But there was no way round it, really. Sighing, she finished getting ready-pulled her hair up into a French roll, did her makeup a little lighter than usual, since the dress implied they were going somewhere posh, and slipped her feet into the delicate black pumps that were also waiting. Picking up the thin silk scarf that was clearly intended as a wrap, she draped it over her upper arms and shoulders and made her way to the console room.
Unsurprisingly, the Doctor was waiting. More surprisingly, he'd actually changed clothes, and more than just his jumper; he wore lightweight black trousers, a dark-blue Oxford shirt, a casual black suit jacket, and black dress shoes. Dress shoes? she thought, staring down at them. They were actually shiny. He'd had his shoes shined. Holding in a laugh, she made her way over to him, teetering a little on the unfamiliar heels. They weren't ridiculously high, but it had been so long since she'd worn anything other than trainers that she was a little precarious, especially on the grated floor of the console room.
He turned to look at her, and the same smile she'd seen yesterday in the kitchen lit up his face. "You look beautiful," he said. It was definitely different from the way he'd first said that to her, in 1869 Cardiff, when she'd come in dressed in a Victorian outfit. Then he'd sounded surprised, and after a moment, had added, 'Considering.' No qualifications now, no surprise. Just a heartfelt compliment, accompanied by a glow of pleasure in his eyes. "The TARDIS did well, choosing that dress. It suits you."
She blushed, but smiled back. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself, all toffed up. Think that's the first time I've ever seen you in anything other than a jumper."
"Yeah, well, look your fill," he said dryly. "I'm not much for this sort of outfit, but my usual clothing wouldn't do here. They'd never let us in."
"Why? Where's here?"
A corner of his mouth quirked up smugly. "It's a surprise," he said. "Told you I'd take you someplace new. Just follow my lead. They're gonna treat you like a real lady here, by the way. You know, pullin' out your chair for you and such. Let 'em."
"Okay," Rose said, raising her eyebrows. She'd never been treated like a 'real lady' before, but she reckoned she could work out how she was supposed to behave. And besides, she'd been all over time, all over the universe, with the Doctor; nothing much could surprise her any more.
Until she walked out of the TARDIS with him and stopped dead, staring. It was like walking into a giant-sized version of the movie Titanic with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio: they were in what seemed to be an enormous ballroom, dozens of stories high and curving up so that it looked like they were inside the interior of an enormous golden-lit egg, with a huge crystal chandelier right at the very top. The floor was crowded with aliens; nobody else even looked human, the way the Doctor did. For a moment she was uncomfortably reminded of Platform One, when she'd been the only human there, surrounded by some of the strangest-looking creatures she'd ever seen, and the Doctor had swanned off with Jabe. She glanced up at him, and discovered his eyes on her, watching her closely with a soft half-smile. She smiled back, suddenly feeling immensely better. Okay, so he wouldn't be swanning off this time. That was something.
A squat, blue creature with four legs and tall eye-stalks like a crab scuttled up to them. "Good evening, sir and madam," it said politely. "How may we be of service?"
"We have a reservation," the Doctor said, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit coat. Rose expected him to pull out the psychic paper, but to her surprise, he brought out a short, thin strip of metal and held it horizontally at the creature's eye-level. It peered carefully at the metal strip, then said, "Of course. Right this way, please, sir, madam."
It started off, and the Doctor motioned that she should precede him. More of that 'treated like a lady' stuff, she thought. The crab-like creature, which had moved so quickly coming up to them, was now moving at just the right walking speed for Rose in her heels and dress. She didn't know how it could have judged so finely, but expected it was probably a necessary skill for his job.
They were taken to an enormous booth; the table wasn't huge, only big enough for two, but the bench was three-sided, and each side was long enough for Rose to lie down and stretch out to her full length. A tall, thin, creature that looked vaguely humanoid-at least, he had two arms, two legs, and a single head, though his skin was a dull orange and his hands had only two stubby fingers and an opposable thumb each-bowed deeply to Rose and held out his hand to help her up the three steps into the booth. Mindful of the Doctor's earlier words, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to hand her up. It wasn't so bad, really; his hand didn't feel much different from a human's, and honestly, in these heels she might have stumbled on her way up. In fact, she almost did stumble when she reached the top: the floor wasn't solid, the way she'd expected; it was soft and had some give to it, as though it were padded beneath the carpet that looked like fine, soft suede.
The Doctor followed her up the steps and caught her arm, gently turning her back round to stand beside him, facing the creature who had brought them here. "We thank you for your hospitality," he said, and bowed. Cottoning on, Rose dropped a small curtsey.
"We thank you for honouring us with your presence," the crab-like creature replied, bowing his head in reply, and then he and the orange bloke moved off.
The Doctor turned to Rose and grinned. "Well-done," he said approvingly. "Knew you'd catch on." He waved a hand toward the benches. "We'll want to sit behind the table to begin with, though we'll move later."
Rose nodded and slipped behind the table, which was situated a comfortable distance from the center of the bench. "Why such a big booth?" she asked. "Especially if they're only going to give us a table sized for two."
"You'll see." The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and took hold of the table with his other hand. "Hold on; they'll be moving us in a moment."
She opened her mouth to ask what 'moving us' meant, but before she could, there was a sudden jolt, and then their whole booth was being lifted into the air. She managed to hold back the startled shriek that threatened to come out of her mouth only because the Doctor's hold on her shoulders was firm and comforting, and she knew he'd never let her fall. That didn't stop her from grabbing hold of the edges of the table herself, but it was more out of reflex than fear. She watched, amazed, as they were lifted up over the heads of the people-aliens-on the floor and toward the curving wall of the egg-shaped dome. Rose looked over her shoulder to see that what she'd thought was a solid wall was actually a series of niches, each covered in a golden-coloured panel. One of the panels slid back and their booth was inserted carefully inside, pushed up against what Rose supposed was the real wall, and settled into place. A long arm like a crane retracted back into the main part of the room, and the panel closed again, cutting them off from the noise below.
"Much better," the Doctor said, and without releasing her shoulders, touched a spot in the middle of the table. The surface shimmered, and what had looked like wood was now clearly a control panel.
Rose stared. "What does that do?" she asked, fascinated.
"We're on Palmyra, one of the premier pleasure planets in the quadrant. This is a holo-suite; the walls and benches and even the floor can be programmed to create any surroundings you want. Anything from a rock waterfall in the South Pacific to a supernova, and everything in-between." He shifted, turning toward her, and the arm that had been around her slid away so he could brush a stray wisp of hair from her face. "Anything you want, Rose Tyler," he said softly. "Just say it, and it's yours."
In that moment, she knew exactly what he'd meant the past few days; knew he'd been planning this for some time. A shiver went up her spine. She'd always known what she wanted; now she was being given permission to ask for it. "You," she said quietly, looking into his intense blue eyes and feeling slightly dizzy, as though they were still moving though she knew they weren't. "'S all I've ever wanted. Jus' you."
He held her gaze for a long, long moment, as though trying to see into her soul, then he slid his hand around to the back of her neck and dipped his head, touching his lips to hers. She leaned forward, and felt a surge of pleasure when he deepened the kiss. A small whimper escaped her throat, and she raised her hand to cup his cheek, feeling the coolness of his skin and the rough prickle of stubble against her hand.
He broke the kiss just long enough to punch a few controls on the table, then he was pulling her to him as the bench began to shift, opening out into a larger, flat surface. She saw the table slide down and disappear into the floor just before his lips met hers again, and then suddenly she was on her back and he was leaning over her, nibbling on a sensitive spot just below her ear. His suit coat had been discarded and the cuffs of his shirt were open. She arched her back, tilting her head to give him easier access, and realised that their surroundings had changed: what had been a largish square room was now a mountain meadow, filled with wildflowers and surrounded by snowy peaks. She could feel the warmth of the sunlight on her, feel the cool grass beneath her; it was as though they'd been transported back to Earth and were somewhere in the Highlands or the Rockies. She gasped.
The Doctor raised his head to look at her, then grinned when he took in her expression. "Seemed a shame to waste such a wonderful resource at our fingertips," he said cheekily, as his own fingertips ran down her leg to the hem of her dress, then slowly up underneath, pulling the fabric with him as he traced along the inside of her thigh. Rose raised a knee, opening herself to him, knowing what he'd find when he reached his destination.
His jaw dropped open, and she saw the flare of pure desire in his eyes. "Rose Marion Tyler," he said in a voice that was a good half-octave lower than usual, "you're not wearing any knickers." His finger traced delicately across her secret parts, then slid inside, causing her to suck in a sudden breath of pure pleasure. "And you seem to be a little damp here as well." She could hear his grin. "Someone's been naughty."
"Someone's been teasing me for days," she said huskily.
"Who, me?" He propped himself on his free hand as he continued to torment her. "Well, maybe a little." His eyes glittered with desire as his fingers slid deeper into her, and she slammed her eyes shut and gasped with the pleasure of it. "Oh, yes," he murmured. "Just like that. Let go for me, Rose. Let me watch you."
The world faded around her; she couldn't have said whether she was in the mountain meadow or the original square room or in a bed on the TARDIS. All she knew was the Doctor's deep, rich voice and the touch of his hand as he stroked her higher, hotter. She kicked off her heels, placed her feet flat on the ground, and lifted her hips against him, struggling to take him deeper yet. "Please," she mewled, as the spring inside her coiled tighter and tighter. "Oh, God-Doctor-please-"
"Yes," he repeated in a deep growl, and she felt his other hand tug her dress down to expose her breast. Something cool and wet enveloped her nipple, and she half-whimpered, half-groaned in pleasure as his tongue scraped over the tip-and again-and again-
The coiled tension burst free and flooded her body, ripping a cry of pleasure and release from her throat. Her hands clenched into fists, her hips jerked upward as he stroked her through her orgasm, prolonging it, intensifying it. Shudders began to ripple through her as the pleasure grew again, faster this time, climbing higher, growing to another explosion that drew a long high-pitched keen from her.
His mouth was at her ear now, his body pressed along her side, and she could feel his desire against her hip. He was murmuring into her ear, words she couldn't begin to understand, unfamiliar rhythms and accents that she felt she should know. It was his language, she realised. Gallifreyan, untranslated. But he spoke English with her; he'd said so. So why was he speaking Gallifreyan now?
Because she wasn't the only one being seduced. He was as swept away by the moment as she was.
Rose reached down and took hold of his wrist, pulling his hand away from her. He raised his head in surprise, looking at her with furrowed brow, and she leant forward and kissed him hard, deeply, as though staking a claim. He froze for a moment, startled, then groaned deep in his throat and freed his wrist from her grasp, twining his hands in her hair. She pushed forward, rolling them over until he was on his back, and tried to kneel over him so she had some leverage, but he dragged his hands down her spine, pulling her down onto him so her whole weight was resting atop his body. She smiled inwardly; the position made it clear that he was definitely male in all ways that counted.
The Doctor broke the kiss and looked up at her. His eyes had darkened to the deepest blue she'd ever seen. "Rose," he said softly, "are you very sure? 'Cos once this line is crossed, we can't ever go back."
One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Not tryin' to get out of this now, are you, Doctor?" she teased. "'S not goin' to work. I told you, you're stuck with me."
"I mean it," he insisted. His hands came up to frame her face. "I-I could stop now. I could. But if we take this any farther-"
Rose slid her own hand between them, cupping his hardness through the lightweight linen of his trousers. He stopped mid-sentence, eyes shut, teeth gritted, head tilted back in an effort to hold back. "I'm not stopping unless you are," she said, stroking lightly. "And based on this, I'm guessing you won't be." She kissed him, then said, "If you wanted to stop this, you shouldn't have brought me here."
"Who said I wanted to?" Lightning-fast, their positions were reversed again. He lay between her thighs, his hardness pressing almost where she wanted it to, albeit through their clothing. "Said I would. Never said that was what I wanted."
He pulled the other side of her dress down, baring her other breast, and bent to run his tongue over her nipple as he'd done before. She whimpered, but held stubbornly to her senses as she began working the buttons on his shirt. "You're wearing too many clothes," she said. Gasped, really; where had he learned to use his tongue like that?
"So're you." He raised his head and grinned at her. "Race you."
Rose got out of her clothing first only because she was just wearing the single garment; she'd never seen anyone disrobe as quickly as he did. He tossed his clothes aside onto the grass and climbed back over her, settling in the cradle of her thighs once again. She sighed at the feel of his cool flesh against her, and ran her hands down his sides to the small of his back. He looked down at her, at all of her, at her flushed skin and shallow breathing, and said quietly, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." And before she could respond, he slid inside her.
She arched, gasping, at the sensation of him filling her. It was almost too much, almost more pleasure than she could bear. He held still, waiting, letting her adjust to him, but she could tell it wasn't easy for him; she could feel his whole body quivering with the need to move. She opened her eyes, looked up at him, ran her hands up and down his arms gently… and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter into her.
She could see his restraint fall into shards as he withdrew and thrust deep into her-and again-and again. Her eyes slammed shut one more time and she found herself caught up in his rhythm, her hips moving in counterpoint with his. She felt his lips on her shoulder, heard the alien rhythms and phonemes of his language being dragged from his throat, but this time she made no effort to understand; just moved with him and let him draw her toward the edge again, even as she pulled him along as well.
"Rose," he begged, and his voice cracked on the single syllable. "Rose, please."
"Yes, Doctor," she sighed, not knowing what she was agreeing to. "God, yes, please, anything-"
He shifted, changed the friction, and hit a spot deep inside her that she hadn't known existed. She keened again as the pleasure knifed through her, every muscle tensing as he pounded into her body, pulling her farther and farther toward the precipice. There was no pretence of logical thought now, no attempt at making sense; it was just Rose and her Doctor and the deep, thrumming joy that shimmered beneath her skin and coiled deep inside her and ached, oh, ached for release as it built and built and built….
"Come for me," the Doctor whispered.
The dam burst, and Rose threw back her head and screamed as sensation poured into her, through her, washing over her in rhythmic waves. She heard the Doctor's low moan turn into a strangled cry as his thrusts became erratic, then he pressed hard into her and groaned low in his chest as he emptied himself into her. His body arched, muscles tense as he shuddered.
At last he slumped, clearly exhausted and just as clearly unwilling to rest his whole weight on Rose. She urged him wordlessly down, pulling gently until he gave in and laid his head on her shoulder. His hearts pounded a double rhythm against her own; she could feel them through his chest as she panted for air. His arms came around her, and hers around him, and they were silent for a long, comfortable moment while their pulses slowed back to normal. She stroked her fingers lightly over his shoulders, and revelled in the cool solidity of him against her, and thought of nothing-just let herself enjoy the moment.
Too soon, he withdrew from her and rolled them both over so she lay draped over him, and kissed her forehead. "You all right?" he murmured.
"Never better." She stretched languorously against him, like a cat. "Have to admit, I never expected to make love to you in a mountain meadow."
He chuckled. "I never expected to make love to you, full stop," he said. His voice rumbled in his chest, beneath her ear, and she could hear the delight in it. "Never thought you'd feel that way about me."
She raised her head to look down on him, shocked. "You didn't know?" she asked. "I've fancied you for ages."
A corner of his mouth quirked. "Well, I'd wondered," he said. "But I didn't know how much of that was what I was really seeing, and how much was what I wanted to see. Not 'til I was teaching you to fly the TARDIS, and you kept catching your breath every time I touched you." He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "After that, I had to know-and I finally realised what I'd been missing all these months."
"Me too." She grinned, tongue between her teeth. "No more missing now, though, right?"
He grinned back, and the joy and tenderness in his expression took her breath away. "Never."
Author: aibhinn
Word Count: ~ 5400
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Spoilers: S1 up to and including World War III.
Summary: "Anything you want, Rose Tyler," he said softly. "Just say it, and it's yours."
Author's Note: Ok, this one got a little away from me. I didn't intend to make this quite so long! But the characters had minds of their own. (Don't they always?) Written for challenge #2 on hearts_in_time, "Seduction," and double-dipping for my shared 50_smutlets table, prompt #13, "Kitchen." Much love to rabid1st, sc_angel72, and gem_stew for betaing and Brit-picking. Additional love to wendymr, for picking up on one of my boo-boos and very kindly pointing it out to me. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Rose had never been seduced before. Not in the proper meaning of the term. She'd been propositioned, fondled, groped, and cajoled. She'd been drunk and fallen into bed with someone mostly of her own volition. She and Mickey had actually discussed sex before they'd had it. They'd even waited until she'd been able to get on the Pill, which had felt very responsible and grown-up, if not particularly romantic. But then, Rose had always thought that 'romantic' was a word blokes used when they meant 'pressuring' or 'persuading' or even 'quid pro quo'.
It wasn't until she'd met the Doctor that she'd realised how much she really wanted to be seduced-and how frustrating it could be for the object of her ardour to be utterly oblivious.
Or, well, she admitted as his lips found an unexpectedly sensitive spot, apparently oblivious.
It had started less than a week ago with, of all things, a lesson in TARDIS piloting.
"Why do you have a bicycle pump attached to the console?" she asked, leaning one hand on the railing and touching the pump handle with an inquisitive finger.
"'S not a bicycle pump," he said shortly from where he lay on his back beneath the console. He was fiddling again, installing a part he'd picked up on fortieth-century Mars that morning.
"It is," she insisted. "I had one just like it." She leaned sideways, trying to catch his eye, but all she could see of him were his legs, bent at the knee with his feet flat against the grating.
"It started out as a bicycle pump, but now it's a means of regulating the pressure in the time rotor. I couldn't exactly run home for spare parts, now could I? I had to make do with what I could find." He scooted out from under the console and turned, replacing the panel before levering himself to his feet. "Took me the better part of two days to jury-rig that in. Think I did rather a brilliant job, myself."
"Well, you did come first in jiggery-pokery," she reminded him, tongue between her teeth as she grinned.
"So I did." He grinned back as he stowed the sonic screwdriver in the inner pocket of his jacket and moved toward her. "I know you failed hullaballoo, but think you might be interested in a bit of a lesson?"
"In what? Gotta tell ya, I'm not exactly mechanically inclined. More mechanically declined."
He chuckled. "Nah, nothin' like that. Thought you might like to learn a little about flying the TARDIS."
Her eyes flew open and she felt a strange swooping sensation just above her diaphragm. "Really?"
"Well, she's your home now," the Doctor said practically. "Might as well know a little bit about her. Besides, she likes you." He stepped around her until he was standing almost directly behind her, his left hand resting just above her waist as his right pointed out controls. She could feel his cool body pressing against her back, his muscles shifting beneath his jumper and jacket as he moved, the warmth of his breath against her cheek as he explained what the controls did. It was all she could do to listen to what he was actually saying, and then attempt to do it.
She felt absurdly pleased when she managed to take them to the star that was being born in the midst of the Horsehead Nebula, though she couldn't help being a little dismayed when the Doctor moved away from her and over towards the monitor. Even if he did call up one of the most beautiful scenes she'd ever witnessed, from right outside the TARDIS. She said nothing, of course, though she thought she caught the Doctor looking at her sidelong, one eyebrow raised. It hadn't meant anything, the nearness or the eyebrow, she told herself. The Doctor didn't think of her that way.
Except that three days later, it happened again.
It was Rose's night to cook, which meant there would be actual cooking going on-on the Doctor's nights, they invariably ate out on some alien world or on some version of Earth in a time not her own. This time, she intended a proper sit-down. Roast chicken with potatoes and carrots, broccoli, and fresh-baked bread. She persuaded the Doctor to set the TARDIS down near a Tesco's and popped out for the supplies. When she returned, he was under the console again, this time on his hands and knees peering into the innards of the console's base. His jacket was off, tossed carelessly aside, and his jumper had ridden up slightly, baring a strip of skin just above the waistband of his jeans. It was a lovely view of his bum, and the bare skin made her wonder just what else might be hidden under the jumper. She bit her lip and cocked her head, letting her mind try to create a picture for herself.
He sat up abruptly and turned, looking straight at her. She blushed and nearly dropped the groceries. "D'you need me for something?" he asked, and she could swear he was holding back a grin.
"I-erm-no, I just-was wondering what you were doing," she managed, as her face heated up painfully. She really hoped he couldn't read what had been in her thoughts, or she thought she might never get over the embarrassment.
"Checking some of the connections down lower in the TARDIS. She's been a little slow in her response to the controls, and I wanted to be sure nothing was loose." He took in the shopping bags. "Planning to feed an army, are you?"
"Most of this is for the rub that's going on the chicken," she said, looking away. Now that she'd given her imagination free rein, it was having entirely too much fun presenting her with images of what the Doctor might look like sans jumper. Sans trousers, come to that. Her blush increased. "I'll just, er, get this started," she said, and hurried straight for the kitchen.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. She fumed at herself as she unpacked the bags and set the ingredients out. She'd always rather fancied the Doctor, at least after that first couple of adventures, and nothing he'd done had lessened that. Increased it, more like. She didn't really know why she fancied him so much. He wasn't a particularly good-looking bloke; he was a hell of a lot older than she was; he was sarcastic and biting and had called her a stupid ape more than once. He wasn't even human, for God's sake.
And yet. And yet. He'd saved her life. The two of them had saved the Earth more times than she could count. And… there were times when he looked at her that she could believe he felt more than he was letting on.
I could save the world, but lose you.
"Stupid," she growled at herself. The Doctor was an alien; he couldn't possibly be interested in her that way. Ok, so he cared about her. Maybe even loved her-but he loved the whole universe. That was just who he was. It meant nothing.
Forcing the thought of him out of her mind, she concentrated on her cooking, combining lemon juice and a little oil and some herbs to create a mixture which she rubbed on the chicken, inside and out, then drizzled over the potatoes and carrots in the roasting pan before placing the chicken on top and putting the cover on. Sighing, she brushed her hair absently away from her face before sliding the whole roaster into the oven and pushing the door closed with her foot.
"Bit o' something on your cheek," the Doctor said unexpectedly from behind her, causing her to jump and squeak in surprise. She turned to find him right behind her. He'd apparently finished his work and showered, for his short hair was still a little damp and he smelled of peppermint soap. "Some of that rub you made." He stepped even closer, looking straight down into her eyes. The intensity of his blue gaze froze her in place, and all she could do was stare up at him as he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. He brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking it clean, and she swallowed a moan. "Delicious," he said softly, never looking away from her. "I can't wait until it's ready." His tone added layers of meaning to the simple phrase.
She drew in a shaky breath, aware that it was only his proximity and the solidity of the counter behind her that was keeping her upright. Her knees felt like jelly. "Doctor-" she began, not entirely sure what she was going to say. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. They were so close now, the two of them. Nothing between them except a few centimetres of air and a few layers of clothing.
He smiled-not grinned, smiled, and it took her breath away. "Got a new planet to show you tomorrow," he said.
"Oh?" she asked-croaked, rather; her throat was dry.
"Yeah." He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then stepped deliberately away. "You'll definitely like it." With another smouldering glance, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. She stared after him, wondering what the hell that had been about… and knowing that no matter how she asked, he'd not tell her anything until he was ready.
Bloody man.
When Rose opened her wardrobe after showering the next day, she was met with a surprise: a lovely, strapless black dress with the type of sleeves she'd only ever seen on telly: they were long and tight-fitting, and sewn to the dress only on the under side, so that her shoulders were left bare. No bra, I guess, she thought, pulling the gown off its hanger and slipping it on. She wondered where on earth they were going that required a gown like this. This was something that an actress might wear to a posh awards show, not the kind of thing a shop girl would usually find herself in.
It was beautiful, though. She ran her hands down her front, turning sideways to look at herself in the mirror, then frowned. The skirt clung to her all the way down to its hem just above her knees, and the lines of her knickers were clearly visible. Frowning, she turned the other way. No matter how she moved, the material persisted in showing every line.
Well. She wasn't about to go out looking like that. With a sigh for the knowledge that her mother would have said "Everyone knows you wear knickers; it doesn't matter if they can see!" Rose reached under the dress and peeled them off. She needed to buy some of those lace-type knickers, the ones that didn't show under dresses like these, if the Doctor was going to want her to wear this sort of thing often. Going without once probably wouldn't hurt her, but more than once and she'd be really uncomfortable.
Come to think of it, she'd be pretty damn uncomfortable this time. But there was no way round it, really. Sighing, she finished getting ready-pulled her hair up into a French roll, did her makeup a little lighter than usual, since the dress implied they were going somewhere posh, and slipped her feet into the delicate black pumps that were also waiting. Picking up the thin silk scarf that was clearly intended as a wrap, she draped it over her upper arms and shoulders and made her way to the console room.
Unsurprisingly, the Doctor was waiting. More surprisingly, he'd actually changed clothes, and more than just his jumper; he wore lightweight black trousers, a dark-blue Oxford shirt, a casual black suit jacket, and black dress shoes. Dress shoes? she thought, staring down at them. They were actually shiny. He'd had his shoes shined. Holding in a laugh, she made her way over to him, teetering a little on the unfamiliar heels. They weren't ridiculously high, but it had been so long since she'd worn anything other than trainers that she was a little precarious, especially on the grated floor of the console room.
He turned to look at her, and the same smile she'd seen yesterday in the kitchen lit up his face. "You look beautiful," he said. It was definitely different from the way he'd first said that to her, in 1869 Cardiff, when she'd come in dressed in a Victorian outfit. Then he'd sounded surprised, and after a moment, had added, 'Considering.' No qualifications now, no surprise. Just a heartfelt compliment, accompanied by a glow of pleasure in his eyes. "The TARDIS did well, choosing that dress. It suits you."
She blushed, but smiled back. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself, all toffed up. Think that's the first time I've ever seen you in anything other than a jumper."
"Yeah, well, look your fill," he said dryly. "I'm not much for this sort of outfit, but my usual clothing wouldn't do here. They'd never let us in."
"Why? Where's here?"
A corner of his mouth quirked up smugly. "It's a surprise," he said. "Told you I'd take you someplace new. Just follow my lead. They're gonna treat you like a real lady here, by the way. You know, pullin' out your chair for you and such. Let 'em."
"Okay," Rose said, raising her eyebrows. She'd never been treated like a 'real lady' before, but she reckoned she could work out how she was supposed to behave. And besides, she'd been all over time, all over the universe, with the Doctor; nothing much could surprise her any more.
Until she walked out of the TARDIS with him and stopped dead, staring. It was like walking into a giant-sized version of the movie Titanic with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio: they were in what seemed to be an enormous ballroom, dozens of stories high and curving up so that it looked like they were inside the interior of an enormous golden-lit egg, with a huge crystal chandelier right at the very top. The floor was crowded with aliens; nobody else even looked human, the way the Doctor did. For a moment she was uncomfortably reminded of Platform One, when she'd been the only human there, surrounded by some of the strangest-looking creatures she'd ever seen, and the Doctor had swanned off with Jabe. She glanced up at him, and discovered his eyes on her, watching her closely with a soft half-smile. She smiled back, suddenly feeling immensely better. Okay, so he wouldn't be swanning off this time. That was something.
A squat, blue creature with four legs and tall eye-stalks like a crab scuttled up to them. "Good evening, sir and madam," it said politely. "How may we be of service?"
"We have a reservation," the Doctor said, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit coat. Rose expected him to pull out the psychic paper, but to her surprise, he brought out a short, thin strip of metal and held it horizontally at the creature's eye-level. It peered carefully at the metal strip, then said, "Of course. Right this way, please, sir, madam."
It started off, and the Doctor motioned that she should precede him. More of that 'treated like a lady' stuff, she thought. The crab-like creature, which had moved so quickly coming up to them, was now moving at just the right walking speed for Rose in her heels and dress. She didn't know how it could have judged so finely, but expected it was probably a necessary skill for his job.
They were taken to an enormous booth; the table wasn't huge, only big enough for two, but the bench was three-sided, and each side was long enough for Rose to lie down and stretch out to her full length. A tall, thin, creature that looked vaguely humanoid-at least, he had two arms, two legs, and a single head, though his skin was a dull orange and his hands had only two stubby fingers and an opposable thumb each-bowed deeply to Rose and held out his hand to help her up the three steps into the booth. Mindful of the Doctor's earlier words, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to hand her up. It wasn't so bad, really; his hand didn't feel much different from a human's, and honestly, in these heels she might have stumbled on her way up. In fact, she almost did stumble when she reached the top: the floor wasn't solid, the way she'd expected; it was soft and had some give to it, as though it were padded beneath the carpet that looked like fine, soft suede.
The Doctor followed her up the steps and caught her arm, gently turning her back round to stand beside him, facing the creature who had brought them here. "We thank you for your hospitality," he said, and bowed. Cottoning on, Rose dropped a small curtsey.
"We thank you for honouring us with your presence," the crab-like creature replied, bowing his head in reply, and then he and the orange bloke moved off.
The Doctor turned to Rose and grinned. "Well-done," he said approvingly. "Knew you'd catch on." He waved a hand toward the benches. "We'll want to sit behind the table to begin with, though we'll move later."
Rose nodded and slipped behind the table, which was situated a comfortable distance from the center of the bench. "Why such a big booth?" she asked. "Especially if they're only going to give us a table sized for two."
"You'll see." The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and took hold of the table with his other hand. "Hold on; they'll be moving us in a moment."
She opened her mouth to ask what 'moving us' meant, but before she could, there was a sudden jolt, and then their whole booth was being lifted into the air. She managed to hold back the startled shriek that threatened to come out of her mouth only because the Doctor's hold on her shoulders was firm and comforting, and she knew he'd never let her fall. That didn't stop her from grabbing hold of the edges of the table herself, but it was more out of reflex than fear. She watched, amazed, as they were lifted up over the heads of the people-aliens-on the floor and toward the curving wall of the egg-shaped dome. Rose looked over her shoulder to see that what she'd thought was a solid wall was actually a series of niches, each covered in a golden-coloured panel. One of the panels slid back and their booth was inserted carefully inside, pushed up against what Rose supposed was the real wall, and settled into place. A long arm like a crane retracted back into the main part of the room, and the panel closed again, cutting them off from the noise below.
"Much better," the Doctor said, and without releasing her shoulders, touched a spot in the middle of the table. The surface shimmered, and what had looked like wood was now clearly a control panel.
Rose stared. "What does that do?" she asked, fascinated.
"We're on Palmyra, one of the premier pleasure planets in the quadrant. This is a holo-suite; the walls and benches and even the floor can be programmed to create any surroundings you want. Anything from a rock waterfall in the South Pacific to a supernova, and everything in-between." He shifted, turning toward her, and the arm that had been around her slid away so he could brush a stray wisp of hair from her face. "Anything you want, Rose Tyler," he said softly. "Just say it, and it's yours."
In that moment, she knew exactly what he'd meant the past few days; knew he'd been planning this for some time. A shiver went up her spine. She'd always known what she wanted; now she was being given permission to ask for it. "You," she said quietly, looking into his intense blue eyes and feeling slightly dizzy, as though they were still moving though she knew they weren't. "'S all I've ever wanted. Jus' you."
He held her gaze for a long, long moment, as though trying to see into her soul, then he slid his hand around to the back of her neck and dipped his head, touching his lips to hers. She leaned forward, and felt a surge of pleasure when he deepened the kiss. A small whimper escaped her throat, and she raised her hand to cup his cheek, feeling the coolness of his skin and the rough prickle of stubble against her hand.
He broke the kiss just long enough to punch a few controls on the table, then he was pulling her to him as the bench began to shift, opening out into a larger, flat surface. She saw the table slide down and disappear into the floor just before his lips met hers again, and then suddenly she was on her back and he was leaning over her, nibbling on a sensitive spot just below her ear. His suit coat had been discarded and the cuffs of his shirt were open. She arched her back, tilting her head to give him easier access, and realised that their surroundings had changed: what had been a largish square room was now a mountain meadow, filled with wildflowers and surrounded by snowy peaks. She could feel the warmth of the sunlight on her, feel the cool grass beneath her; it was as though they'd been transported back to Earth and were somewhere in the Highlands or the Rockies. She gasped.
The Doctor raised his head to look at her, then grinned when he took in her expression. "Seemed a shame to waste such a wonderful resource at our fingertips," he said cheekily, as his own fingertips ran down her leg to the hem of her dress, then slowly up underneath, pulling the fabric with him as he traced along the inside of her thigh. Rose raised a knee, opening herself to him, knowing what he'd find when he reached his destination.
His jaw dropped open, and she saw the flare of pure desire in his eyes. "Rose Marion Tyler," he said in a voice that was a good half-octave lower than usual, "you're not wearing any knickers." His finger traced delicately across her secret parts, then slid inside, causing her to suck in a sudden breath of pure pleasure. "And you seem to be a little damp here as well." She could hear his grin. "Someone's been naughty."
"Someone's been teasing me for days," she said huskily.
"Who, me?" He propped himself on his free hand as he continued to torment her. "Well, maybe a little." His eyes glittered with desire as his fingers slid deeper into her, and she slammed her eyes shut and gasped with the pleasure of it. "Oh, yes," he murmured. "Just like that. Let go for me, Rose. Let me watch you."
The world faded around her; she couldn't have said whether she was in the mountain meadow or the original square room or in a bed on the TARDIS. All she knew was the Doctor's deep, rich voice and the touch of his hand as he stroked her higher, hotter. She kicked off her heels, placed her feet flat on the ground, and lifted her hips against him, struggling to take him deeper yet. "Please," she mewled, as the spring inside her coiled tighter and tighter. "Oh, God-Doctor-please-"
"Yes," he repeated in a deep growl, and she felt his other hand tug her dress down to expose her breast. Something cool and wet enveloped her nipple, and she half-whimpered, half-groaned in pleasure as his tongue scraped over the tip-and again-and again-
The coiled tension burst free and flooded her body, ripping a cry of pleasure and release from her throat. Her hands clenched into fists, her hips jerked upward as he stroked her through her orgasm, prolonging it, intensifying it. Shudders began to ripple through her as the pleasure grew again, faster this time, climbing higher, growing to another explosion that drew a long high-pitched keen from her.
His mouth was at her ear now, his body pressed along her side, and she could feel his desire against her hip. He was murmuring into her ear, words she couldn't begin to understand, unfamiliar rhythms and accents that she felt she should know. It was his language, she realised. Gallifreyan, untranslated. But he spoke English with her; he'd said so. So why was he speaking Gallifreyan now?
Because she wasn't the only one being seduced. He was as swept away by the moment as she was.
Rose reached down and took hold of his wrist, pulling his hand away from her. He raised his head in surprise, looking at her with furrowed brow, and she leant forward and kissed him hard, deeply, as though staking a claim. He froze for a moment, startled, then groaned deep in his throat and freed his wrist from her grasp, twining his hands in her hair. She pushed forward, rolling them over until he was on his back, and tried to kneel over him so she had some leverage, but he dragged his hands down her spine, pulling her down onto him so her whole weight was resting atop his body. She smiled inwardly; the position made it clear that he was definitely male in all ways that counted.
The Doctor broke the kiss and looked up at her. His eyes had darkened to the deepest blue she'd ever seen. "Rose," he said softly, "are you very sure? 'Cos once this line is crossed, we can't ever go back."
One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Not tryin' to get out of this now, are you, Doctor?" she teased. "'S not goin' to work. I told you, you're stuck with me."
"I mean it," he insisted. His hands came up to frame her face. "I-I could stop now. I could. But if we take this any farther-"
Rose slid her own hand between them, cupping his hardness through the lightweight linen of his trousers. He stopped mid-sentence, eyes shut, teeth gritted, head tilted back in an effort to hold back. "I'm not stopping unless you are," she said, stroking lightly. "And based on this, I'm guessing you won't be." She kissed him, then said, "If you wanted to stop this, you shouldn't have brought me here."
"Who said I wanted to?" Lightning-fast, their positions were reversed again. He lay between her thighs, his hardness pressing almost where she wanted it to, albeit through their clothing. "Said I would. Never said that was what I wanted."
He pulled the other side of her dress down, baring her other breast, and bent to run his tongue over her nipple as he'd done before. She whimpered, but held stubbornly to her senses as she began working the buttons on his shirt. "You're wearing too many clothes," she said. Gasped, really; where had he learned to use his tongue like that?
"So're you." He raised his head and grinned at her. "Race you."
Rose got out of her clothing first only because she was just wearing the single garment; she'd never seen anyone disrobe as quickly as he did. He tossed his clothes aside onto the grass and climbed back over her, settling in the cradle of her thighs once again. She sighed at the feel of his cool flesh against her, and ran her hands down his sides to the small of his back. He looked down at her, at all of her, at her flushed skin and shallow breathing, and said quietly, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." And before she could respond, he slid inside her.
She arched, gasping, at the sensation of him filling her. It was almost too much, almost more pleasure than she could bear. He held still, waiting, letting her adjust to him, but she could tell it wasn't easy for him; she could feel his whole body quivering with the need to move. She opened her eyes, looked up at him, ran her hands up and down his arms gently… and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter into her.
She could see his restraint fall into shards as he withdrew and thrust deep into her-and again-and again. Her eyes slammed shut one more time and she found herself caught up in his rhythm, her hips moving in counterpoint with his. She felt his lips on her shoulder, heard the alien rhythms and phonemes of his language being dragged from his throat, but this time she made no effort to understand; just moved with him and let him draw her toward the edge again, even as she pulled him along as well.
"Rose," he begged, and his voice cracked on the single syllable. "Rose, please."
"Yes, Doctor," she sighed, not knowing what she was agreeing to. "God, yes, please, anything-"
He shifted, changed the friction, and hit a spot deep inside her that she hadn't known existed. She keened again as the pleasure knifed through her, every muscle tensing as he pounded into her body, pulling her farther and farther toward the precipice. There was no pretence of logical thought now, no attempt at making sense; it was just Rose and her Doctor and the deep, thrumming joy that shimmered beneath her skin and coiled deep inside her and ached, oh, ached for release as it built and built and built….
"Come for me," the Doctor whispered.
The dam burst, and Rose threw back her head and screamed as sensation poured into her, through her, washing over her in rhythmic waves. She heard the Doctor's low moan turn into a strangled cry as his thrusts became erratic, then he pressed hard into her and groaned low in his chest as he emptied himself into her. His body arched, muscles tense as he shuddered.
At last he slumped, clearly exhausted and just as clearly unwilling to rest his whole weight on Rose. She urged him wordlessly down, pulling gently until he gave in and laid his head on her shoulder. His hearts pounded a double rhythm against her own; she could feel them through his chest as she panted for air. His arms came around her, and hers around him, and they were silent for a long, comfortable moment while their pulses slowed back to normal. She stroked her fingers lightly over his shoulders, and revelled in the cool solidity of him against her, and thought of nothing-just let herself enjoy the moment.
Too soon, he withdrew from her and rolled them both over so she lay draped over him, and kissed her forehead. "You all right?" he murmured.
"Never better." She stretched languorously against him, like a cat. "Have to admit, I never expected to make love to you in a mountain meadow."
He chuckled. "I never expected to make love to you, full stop," he said. His voice rumbled in his chest, beneath her ear, and she could hear the delight in it. "Never thought you'd feel that way about me."
She raised her head to look down on him, shocked. "You didn't know?" she asked. "I've fancied you for ages."
A corner of his mouth quirked. "Well, I'd wondered," he said. "But I didn't know how much of that was what I was really seeing, and how much was what I wanted to see. Not 'til I was teaching you to fly the TARDIS, and you kept catching your breath every time I touched you." He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "After that, I had to know-and I finally realised what I'd been missing all these months."
"Me too." She grinned, tongue between her teeth. "No more missing now, though, right?"
He grinned back, and the joy and tenderness in his expression took her breath away. "Never."