The Way of Things, Chapter 37
She’d just shagged the DI. Not once-twice.
Rose couldn’t help but grin as she pulled on her knickers. The robe Peter had lent her smelled of him, and she buried her nose in the collar before taking a good look around the room.
The bed was a dark wood, beautifully carved and set off by the deep red duvet; she had to admit, he had excellent taste, and wondered how he’d come to own the bed. An old family heirloom, perhaps? It looked like the sort of thing a family would cherish, would hand down from generation to generation.
The wardrobe, as well, was old-also carved, it was made of a different wood from the bed. She stroked her hand over the wardrobe lightly, her fingers tracing the detail, as she marvelled at how much the furniture suited him. She would never have guessed Peter Carlisle’s bedroom would be populated with mismatched, gorgeous antiques. And yet somehow the room was perfectly him, as him as the rumpled wardrobe and the constant snacking. Both the bed and the wardrobe were beautiful, no matter how he’d come to have them, and she wondered which piece of furniture he’d had first.
She heard Peter coming up the stairs, and moved to stand near the foot of the bed. She felt quite nervous, and blushed when he appeared in the door clad only in his pyjama bottoms. She’d just had sex with him, for heaven’s sake-she shouldn’t be embarrassed by the sight of him in sleepwear.
He was watching her quietly, and she smiled tentatively. His lips curved in response and he offered, “I’ve got dinner downstairs if you’d like. It’s still raining, else we could picnic in the back garden...”
She pointedly looked at what she was wearing before answering, “I think dining in is a fine idea.” She grinned, the tip of her tongue resting against her teeth.
Peter’s eyes flashed before he responded, “You’ve got an excellent point. Did you, ah...want to get dressed?”
“No, I think I’ll be fine.” She walked over, tentatively placing a kiss on his lips. “The robe is perfect.”
He smiled at her before capturing her hand and leading her downstairs. He’d set the parlour up as an ersatz picnic, the blanket spread over the carpet in front of the hearth of the small fireplace. The food was set out on one side, and he had set glasses and drinks on the coffee table, which had been moved to the side. A small fire was flickering merrily in the hearth, adding a cosy warmth to the scene, and several small dry logs were stacked along the wall.
“Your picnic,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
It was the most charming thing she had ever seen. She could think of no words adequate to describe how wonderful it was, and settled for, “’S lovely.” She moved onto the blanket and sat, being careful to keep the robe tucked around her; Peter settled next to her, casually collapsing onto the blanket. She couldn’t help but stare as he reached forward and began preparing a plate of food, the muscles of his back working under the fair skin of his torso.
It should be a crime to keep that body under clothes, she thought, before realizing Peter had turned and was watching her.
“D’you like what you see, then?” he drawled.
“Very much so,” she whispered.
He set the plate down carefully, reached towards her and gently pulled her to him for a kiss. “Good,” he whispered back.
“Are you going to ask me that every time you catch me staring at you?” she asked, blushing as she asked it.
She meant it playfully but his eyes were serious as he replied. “Yes. Just to make sure you’ll still give me the right answer,” he said, before releasing her.
She ducked her head and set to preparing a plate of her own. Peter reached to the side and poured some water; handing her a glass, he winked. “Wouldn’t do to get dehydrated.”
She laughed, the tension lessening between them. He tucked into the food in front of him with gusto, and Rose was reminded of the many, many comments she’d heard about him not eating the past few days. “Bit of a long day since lunch,” she said, smiling as she began eating from her own plate. She was ravenous-she could only imagine how hungry Peter was.
“Aye-and I’d skipped a few meals before then.” It was said lightly, but Peter studiously avoided her gaze, the admission clearly a deeply personal one for him.
Rose decided to lighten the tone. He may have spent a few days not eating, but, if she could help it, he wouldn’t be doing that again. It was time to move him past that. She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m amazed you didn’t expire upstairs, then.” She fought back a grin as his eyes met hers, and he smiled slowly. She was relieved to see that smile again.
“I’d have found a way to do that, no matter what.” Peter’s voice was low, and Rose felt her shyness return as she blushed.
They ate in silence, the firelight flickering across them as the rain continued outside. Peter periodically added a log to keep the fire going, but seemed content enough to let the silence continue unabated. Rose wasn’t sure where to look; she wanted to stare at Peter as they ate together, to enjoy seeing him so relaxed, so himself. She’d never seen him so exposed, both physically and emotionally, and she suspected she could ask him anything and he’d answer it for her. She held back, reluctant to do anything to upset their newly rebuilt trust, and instead settled for sneaking glances of him as he turned to move a log, or to add things to his plate.
As they slowly finished eating, Peter broke the silence. “Rose-you’ve seen me naked. I think it’s quite alright to look at me clothed.” His eyes were full of laughter as she looked at him.
“I know. ‘s just...it’s a bit new. And surreal.”
“I’m betting it’s quite real. I’d awoken well before this point when I dreamt about you.”
“I’d imagine your dreams didn’t involve you getting soaked in the rain, either,” she replied, cheekily.
“No, that particular scenario never entered into them; still, I rather prefer the reality.” It was casually said, but she noted the vulnerability in his eyes.
She leaned forward, whispering, “So do I.”
A few more moments of silence passed, before Peter once again spoke. “You’re sure I’ve no worry about Mickey storming the door?”
“I should think not. He and I talked this afternoon.” She paused. “Peter, I’m so sorry about...well, all of it.”
He raised his gaze to hers, holding it as he leaned towards her. He paused, his lips centimetres away, as he whispered, “And I told you, all is forgiven.” He lightly brushed a kiss over her mouth before continuing, “We even kissed on it. Remember?” He placed a second, gentle kiss on her lips, holding it for several moments before leaning back.
“I remember,” Rose replied softly.
“Good,” he responded, his eyes dark. He glanced down briefly, before returning her gaze. “Would you...What was it like, travelling through space and time?”
There was a hesitancy in his voice, but she could see how curious he was. He really wanted to know, and for the first time in a long while, she found herself more than willing to tell someone about her former life. “It was an adventure.”
He scooted closer to her, before asking softly, “Would you tell me about it?”
“I’d love to.” She looked down at her hands, trying to work out what to tell him, what would appeal to him. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
She spent an enjoyable hour or so regaling him with stories of her travels with her first Doctor, telling him of being saved from Henriks, of travelling to Platform One, of being trapped ‘inside’ a video game which was really an alien world. She avoided telling him any of the truly terrifying tales-of Justicia, or Utah, or the Game Station; she’d tell him, one day, probably when she told him about the Doctor’s ability to regenerate. Sitting in Peter’s parlour, on the blanket in front of the fire, wasn’t the right time.
Peter listened raptly, plainly fascinated by all she told him. He watched her the entire time, taking brief breaks only to feed the slowly dying fire or top off her glass of water.
“I could spend months tellin’ stories about my travels-Mum used to hate hearin’ about them, about what we’d get into. But now she loves hearin’ them, especially since they keep John quiet.”
“Your brother.” It wasn’t a question; she wondered, without malice, if Peter knew about John from the tabloids, or from his research on her.
“My little brother, yeah. He’s a right terror, but is the absolute apple of Mum’s eye. Pete spoils him terribly.” She smiled fondly as she thought of her family.
“Just as all little boys should be.” There was a wistful note to Peter’s voice which surprised her. He saw her reaction and smiled. “Don’t mind me. How would you feel about some dessert?”
“I thought we had that before dinner?” She grinned, enjoying his reaction.
“Nothing against having seconds,” he replied leaning forward.
“Nor thirds,” she corrected, leaning in for a kiss.
He ducked back, grinning. “You’re insatiable. I’d imagine you’d drive a man to the brink of exhaustion, given the opportunity.” Rose sat back, enjoying watching Peter as he teased her. “I’ve a proper dessert in the kitchen, if you like. Then we can talk about your version of dessert.” He leaned in, placing a swift kiss on her lips before standing. “Stay there. No cleaning.” He was mock stern as he collected the plates and silverware, and she leaned back on her elbows, grinning as she watched him.
He grinned in return as he straightened, before walking to the kitchen. She closed her eyes in contentment as she heard him moving about the kitchen, the sounds of plates being placed in the sink, items being put away, things being shuffled around.
He returned after several minutes, bearing two small glass dishes containing what looked to be chocolate mousse. He set them down with a flourish before settling next to her once more.
“Chocolate. Always an excellent peace offering,” he said with a wink as he handed her one of the dishes and a spoon.
“I thought we’d agreed all was forgiven?” she replied, a smile on her lips.
“We had. But chocolate never hurts; I remember Jake was most emphatic on your appreciation for things chocolate.” He grinned, before bringing a spoonful of the dessert to her lips.
She blushed in surprise. No one had ever offered to feed her before-not when she was well, at any rate. She opened her mouth, and savoured the mousse Peter had provided her. She watched his eyes drift to her mouth as he pulled the spoon out, and she slowly licked her lips. “That was lovely,” she drawled, her voice low.
His eyes were dark as they met hers, and she smiled slowly.
“Is it now?” He leaned forward and captured her mouth, his tongue sliding in between her lips. She felt her entire body respond as he kissed her, languidly exploring her mouth, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to be near Peter and not kiss him, not want to shag him.
He pulled away, slowly opening his eyes; with a slow smile, he said, “Quite the best mousse I’ve ever had.”
“You’re biased,” she replied, dipping her spoon into her own dish before bringing it to his lips. He held her gaze, slowly opening his mouth and taking the spoon into it; his eyes fluttered shut as she pulled the spoon out. As he swallowed, she leaned forward and kissed him; he responded immediately, opening his mouth against hers, allowing her tongue to dance along his.
He was right. It tasted divine.
They fed each other spoonfuls of the dessert, each spoonful followed by a kiss. By the time the dishes were empty, Rose was more than ready to tear Peter’s pyjamas off of him and shag him on the floor.
His eyes were warm as he gazed at her, the light of the fire dying as the last logs burned themselves out. It was incredibly romantic, and she wondered if he’d make love to her on the blanket.
Instead, he stood silently, his hand reaching down to her. She took it, was pulled up and into another breath-stealing kiss. She could feel the evidence of his interest, and she felt her body respond.
“Peter,” she whispered against his lips, before moving to whisper against his ear. “Can I have thirds?”
He pulled back, gazing at her, his expression serious in the dim light. He turned, moved to the fireplace and banked the fire, before silently moving back to kiss her. “You can have as much as you want,” he whispered against her lips.
It would have been a cheesy line in any other situation, or with anyone else. With Peter, there was such sincerity behind it that it took her breath away.
He took her hand, slowly led her upstairs to his room once more. She paused at the foot of the bed, again taking in the lush furniture as he moved to the side of the bed and turned down the duvet. The footboard was as intricately carved as the headboard, she noticed, and she gently ran her fingers over the detail as she listened to him move around the room. The carving was rich and warm, and she thought it was incredibly representative of him; its sensuousness begged to be appreciated in a tactile way.
She heard him finish folding down the duvet and she sensed his attention turn to her. She met his eyes as she looked up, and watched his expression shift as he gazed at her, his eyes drifting to her hand on the footboard. She snatched her hand back guiltily, feeling as though she’d been caught doing something forbidden. Nervously, she offered, “’S lovely. The bed, that is. I mean, the carving on it, it’s beautiful. And the wardrobe. Very-“
Peter had moved, pulling her to him roughly for a bruising kiss. She’d no idea what she’d done, but Peter seemed suddenly like a starving man, devouring her with his kisses, his arms holding her to him. She couldn’t keep up, settled instead for simply enjoying the sensation of him kissing her senseless, her arms wrapped around him as tightly as she dared.
He eventually slowed the pace down, loosening his grip. Rose took advantage, sliding her hands under the waist of his pyjamas and bringing them forward around her body. Peter went still as her hands found their intended target, lightly stroking his erection. Rose felt a twinge between her legs, knew her knickers were once again soaked, and she wondered at Peter’s ability to make her absolutely insatiable in the bedroom. She’d not been this randy since she’d discovered that sex could actually be enjoyable. It had never occurred to her that she might drive a man to the brink of exhaustion, either, but with Peter it suddenly seemed like a definite possibility.
She began stroking him, enjoying the feeling of him sliding through her hands. He’d stopped kissing her, instead resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and his breath coming in shallow gasps as she ran her hands up and down his shaft. She watched him for a bit as she savoured the feeling of him in her hands; he eventually opened his eyes and met her gaze. She ran her thumb over the head of his penis, squeezing lightly on her next stroke, and Peter seemed to come alive. He’d untied the robe and pushed it off of her shoulders before she was able to react. She stood, trapped-unwilling to stop stroking him, and thus restrained by the fabric of the arms of her robe, gathered at her elbows. He leaned forward and captured her left breast with his mouth, and she gasped. He teased her, his teeth ghosting along the sensitive skin before pulling at her flesh with his mouth, sucking and licking. With his hand, he teased her right breast, pinching the nub of flesh at its peak before rolling it in between his fingers.
She conceded defeat, her body screaming for more contact with him. “Bed. Now,” she whispered as he ran his tongue over her nipple, causing her back to arch towards him. She removed her hands from his pyjamas, hastily shrugged off the robe as he straightened and took a step back. She moved to the bed, struggling to remove her knickers, before turning to face Peter; he’d already shed his pyjamas, had pulled a condom from somewhere and already put it on. Before she could sit on the bed, he pulled her to him, kissing her roughly; his erection was pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach, and she was wild to have it lower, pressing fully into her.
She rotated her hips against him, trying to convey her desire; Peter lowered her onto the bed, covering her with his body. She arched into him, wanting him to touch her, to be inside her; he shifted slightly, sliding a hand down along the side of her body, across her hip, to the wetness at the join of her thighs. He gently brushed a finger over her centre; she moaned in response, moving her hips; she wanted to scream when he withdrew his hand and broke the kiss.
Meeting her gaze, he directed, “Up the bed.” His voice was rough, brusque-and she found it to be an incredible turn-on. She did as he asked, shifting so her head lay on the pillows; he crawled up her body, placing kisses wherever he could as he moved. Her hands went to his hair, the luxuriant softness too tempting for her to resist, and she was rewarded with a soft growl.
Peter paused only briefly when he reached her lips, brushing them lightly before pulling back, shifting just a bit as she raised her hips. He slid into her, his eyes watching her face, and she felt another low moan escape her throat.
He felt heavenly, sheathed inside her; he wasn’t built like a sex god or a barn animal, but like a normal male, and in her rapidly increasing experience with him it was perfect. He felt different from anyone else she’d had sex with, but in a good, almost impossible-to-define way. Feeling him, joined to her so intimately, simply felt right.
They moved together, setting up a rhythm after a few minutes. Peter continued to gaze at her, moving from her eyes to her lips, watching her reaction when he shifted or tried something new to see if she liked it. She could see the corners of his lips quirk whenever he did something particularly brilliant, making her gasp or moan; she’d have hated him for it any other time, but in bed couldn’t get enough of it.
Her hands remained in his hair, her fingers lightly combing through the strands as she watched him silently in return. She noted when his eyes would shut of their own volition after she’d moved her hips a certain way, or shifted her legs; and their lovemaking progressed silently, calmly, as they began to focus on what the other enjoyed.
Her orgasm, when it hit, was almost blinding in its intensity, the result of a slow deliberate build by Peter. The thought briefly crossed her mind that if this was what he could accomplish on his third try, he was going to kill her once he really started to get to know her. She clenched her teeth, her hands fisting in Peter’s hair as she struggled to keep her eyes open, to hold his gaze. As the feeling ebbed, he finally leaned in and kissed her, his hips beginning to push against hers in an increasingly hard rhythm. She ran her hands down his back, splayed them across his arse as she pulled him into her, arching to meet his thrusts, to drive him deeper into her. He came a few minutes later, his body taut as he pressed into her, his neck muscles straining from the intensity.
She thought he’d never looked more beautiful.
His orgasm waned and he relaxed, his hair dishevelled and his body slick with sweat He slowly blinked his eyes open, and she smiled at him, her breath catching at the sight of him on top of her. He leaned down, brushing a light kiss over her lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze intense; she felt her heart clench at the passion in his gaze, and wondered what she’d done to deserve a second chance with him.
Three words rattled around in the back of her head, and she pushed them away; it was far too soon for such a thing, and she was convinced it only occurred to her because of the intensity of the evening. Instead, she brushed her hands lightly through the damp strands of hair at his temples, replying, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He smiled softly at her, leaning down to give her another tender kiss, before rolling off to the side. He moved to the edge of the bed, and she caught some motion out of the corner of her eye before he rolled back towards her. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and they stared at each other silently for a few minutes in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She was growing chilly, and scooted closer to him; he rolled onto his back and pulled her flush against his side, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder as her arm rested on his chest. She idly played with the hairs she found, her fingers absently tracing patterns across his chest.
He brushed a kiss over her hair. “No more dessert for you tonight-you’ll get spoiled.” His voice was soft; he was as reluctant to break the spell they’d woven as she was.
“Too much of a good thing, I suppose,” she whispered in return.
They lay contentedly in each other’s arms, the silence comfortable between them. She didn’t want to leave, wanted to spend the rest of the night exactly as she was; she’d have to get moving soon, before she dozed off, to get back to the hotel before she was missed.
She listened to the soft rhythm of Peter’s heart, the sound soothing in the extreme; her hand slowly stopped moving as her mind drifted, her body relaxing into the warmth her lover offered her. She felt Peter shift, and blinked her eyes open. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but knew she’d fallen asleep after all.
She sat up, noting Peter had at some point managed to pull the sheet up to cover them both. She was still a bit groggy, and was trying to clear the fuzziness from her mind as Peter sat up beside her.
“I need to get back to the hotel.” She glanced around for a clock, desperate to note the time.
“You...” Peter’s voice held a note of uncertainty, and she returned her eyes to his face. “You’re more than welcome to stay here,” he said softly.
The offer was very tempting, but the practicalities were intimidating. “But-I didn’t bring a change of clothes. And I’d need a shower. And-“
Peter leaned forward and gently kissed her. “I’ll take you back tonight, if you like. Or I can drop you at the hotel in the morning, early enough to get ready. I’ll just go to the station early.”
Rose chewed on her lip, mulling it over. She really did want to stay with him, to fall back asleep in his arms, cuddled against him.
“Please, Rose.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it; his plea caused her chest to constrict. She slowly nodded yes, feeling relief wash over her as she made her decision. The look of happiness that graced his features made her breath catch. How had she fallen so hard, so fast, for this man?
Peter climbed out of bed; he seemed to have no self-awareness and blithely walked over to the wardrobe completely naked. Rose couldn’t stop staring at him as he rummaged through the shelves to find her a soft cotton t-shirt in which to sleep. He pulled on his pyjama bottoms once she had pulled on his shirt; as he ran downstairs to lock up for the night, she hopped out of bed and pulled on her knickers.
She heard the sound of him climbing the stairs, and hastily crawled back under the covers, settling back against the pillows. He walked in, looking delicious in just his pyjamas, and Rose felt her nervousness return as Peter climbed under the sheet, setting the alarm before switching off the light. He reached down to pull the duvet up and over them before lying down next to her.
“Are you comfortable?” he whispered.
“I think so, yeah.” She could hear the quaver in her voice. Peter reached over and took her hand; he brought it to his lips for a soft kiss before returning it to the bed, still clasped in his.
“I’ll not bite; neither will I murder you as you lay sleeping.” His soft voice held a hint of wry amusement.
“I know. ‘s just been an odd twenty-four hours, hasn’t it? Didn’t think I’d be sleeping here tonight, sleeping with you-that’s for sure.”
“Neither did I. But I’m glad you are.”
His voice was warm, and Rose felt herself relax. “So am I,” she whispered in response. She shifted closer to Peter, to his warmth, and was rewarded with the feel of his lips brushing light kisses over her face. She reached up, her hand finding his cheek in the not-quite darkness, and she leaned up for a gentle kiss. “Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, Rose.”
She fell asleep a few minutes later, held in his embrace.
Rose couldn’t help but grin as she pulled on her knickers. The robe Peter had lent her smelled of him, and she buried her nose in the collar before taking a good look around the room.
The bed was a dark wood, beautifully carved and set off by the deep red duvet; she had to admit, he had excellent taste, and wondered how he’d come to own the bed. An old family heirloom, perhaps? It looked like the sort of thing a family would cherish, would hand down from generation to generation.
The wardrobe, as well, was old-also carved, it was made of a different wood from the bed. She stroked her hand over the wardrobe lightly, her fingers tracing the detail, as she marvelled at how much the furniture suited him. She would never have guessed Peter Carlisle’s bedroom would be populated with mismatched, gorgeous antiques. And yet somehow the room was perfectly him, as him as the rumpled wardrobe and the constant snacking. Both the bed and the wardrobe were beautiful, no matter how he’d come to have them, and she wondered which piece of furniture he’d had first.
She heard Peter coming up the stairs, and moved to stand near the foot of the bed. She felt quite nervous, and blushed when he appeared in the door clad only in his pyjama bottoms. She’d just had sex with him, for heaven’s sake-she shouldn’t be embarrassed by the sight of him in sleepwear.
He was watching her quietly, and she smiled tentatively. His lips curved in response and he offered, “I’ve got dinner downstairs if you’d like. It’s still raining, else we could picnic in the back garden...”
She pointedly looked at what she was wearing before answering, “I think dining in is a fine idea.” She grinned, the tip of her tongue resting against her teeth.
Peter’s eyes flashed before he responded, “You’ve got an excellent point. Did you, ah...want to get dressed?”
“No, I think I’ll be fine.” She walked over, tentatively placing a kiss on his lips. “The robe is perfect.”
He smiled at her before capturing her hand and leading her downstairs. He’d set the parlour up as an ersatz picnic, the blanket spread over the carpet in front of the hearth of the small fireplace. The food was set out on one side, and he had set glasses and drinks on the coffee table, which had been moved to the side. A small fire was flickering merrily in the hearth, adding a cosy warmth to the scene, and several small dry logs were stacked along the wall.
“Your picnic,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
It was the most charming thing she had ever seen. She could think of no words adequate to describe how wonderful it was, and settled for, “’S lovely.” She moved onto the blanket and sat, being careful to keep the robe tucked around her; Peter settled next to her, casually collapsing onto the blanket. She couldn’t help but stare as he reached forward and began preparing a plate of food, the muscles of his back working under the fair skin of his torso.
It should be a crime to keep that body under clothes, she thought, before realizing Peter had turned and was watching her.
“D’you like what you see, then?” he drawled.
“Very much so,” she whispered.
He set the plate down carefully, reached towards her and gently pulled her to him for a kiss. “Good,” he whispered back.
“Are you going to ask me that every time you catch me staring at you?” she asked, blushing as she asked it.
She meant it playfully but his eyes were serious as he replied. “Yes. Just to make sure you’ll still give me the right answer,” he said, before releasing her.
She ducked her head and set to preparing a plate of her own. Peter reached to the side and poured some water; handing her a glass, he winked. “Wouldn’t do to get dehydrated.”
She laughed, the tension lessening between them. He tucked into the food in front of him with gusto, and Rose was reminded of the many, many comments she’d heard about him not eating the past few days. “Bit of a long day since lunch,” she said, smiling as she began eating from her own plate. She was ravenous-she could only imagine how hungry Peter was.
“Aye-and I’d skipped a few meals before then.” It was said lightly, but Peter studiously avoided her gaze, the admission clearly a deeply personal one for him.
Rose decided to lighten the tone. He may have spent a few days not eating, but, if she could help it, he wouldn’t be doing that again. It was time to move him past that. She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m amazed you didn’t expire upstairs, then.” She fought back a grin as his eyes met hers, and he smiled slowly. She was relieved to see that smile again.
“I’d have found a way to do that, no matter what.” Peter’s voice was low, and Rose felt her shyness return as she blushed.
They ate in silence, the firelight flickering across them as the rain continued outside. Peter periodically added a log to keep the fire going, but seemed content enough to let the silence continue unabated. Rose wasn’t sure where to look; she wanted to stare at Peter as they ate together, to enjoy seeing him so relaxed, so himself. She’d never seen him so exposed, both physically and emotionally, and she suspected she could ask him anything and he’d answer it for her. She held back, reluctant to do anything to upset their newly rebuilt trust, and instead settled for sneaking glances of him as he turned to move a log, or to add things to his plate.
As they slowly finished eating, Peter broke the silence. “Rose-you’ve seen me naked. I think it’s quite alright to look at me clothed.” His eyes were full of laughter as she looked at him.
“I know. ‘s just...it’s a bit new. And surreal.”
“I’m betting it’s quite real. I’d awoken well before this point when I dreamt about you.”
“I’d imagine your dreams didn’t involve you getting soaked in the rain, either,” she replied, cheekily.
“No, that particular scenario never entered into them; still, I rather prefer the reality.” It was casually said, but she noted the vulnerability in his eyes.
She leaned forward, whispering, “So do I.”
A few more moments of silence passed, before Peter once again spoke. “You’re sure I’ve no worry about Mickey storming the door?”
“I should think not. He and I talked this afternoon.” She paused. “Peter, I’m so sorry about...well, all of it.”
He raised his gaze to hers, holding it as he leaned towards her. He paused, his lips centimetres away, as he whispered, “And I told you, all is forgiven.” He lightly brushed a kiss over her mouth before continuing, “We even kissed on it. Remember?” He placed a second, gentle kiss on her lips, holding it for several moments before leaning back.
“I remember,” Rose replied softly.
“Good,” he responded, his eyes dark. He glanced down briefly, before returning her gaze. “Would you...What was it like, travelling through space and time?”
There was a hesitancy in his voice, but she could see how curious he was. He really wanted to know, and for the first time in a long while, she found herself more than willing to tell someone about her former life. “It was an adventure.”
He scooted closer to her, before asking softly, “Would you tell me about it?”
“I’d love to.” She looked down at her hands, trying to work out what to tell him, what would appeal to him. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
She spent an enjoyable hour or so regaling him with stories of her travels with her first Doctor, telling him of being saved from Henriks, of travelling to Platform One, of being trapped ‘inside’ a video game which was really an alien world. She avoided telling him any of the truly terrifying tales-of Justicia, or Utah, or the Game Station; she’d tell him, one day, probably when she told him about the Doctor’s ability to regenerate. Sitting in Peter’s parlour, on the blanket in front of the fire, wasn’t the right time.
Peter listened raptly, plainly fascinated by all she told him. He watched her the entire time, taking brief breaks only to feed the slowly dying fire or top off her glass of water.
“I could spend months tellin’ stories about my travels-Mum used to hate hearin’ about them, about what we’d get into. But now she loves hearin’ them, especially since they keep John quiet.”
“Your brother.” It wasn’t a question; she wondered, without malice, if Peter knew about John from the tabloids, or from his research on her.
“My little brother, yeah. He’s a right terror, but is the absolute apple of Mum’s eye. Pete spoils him terribly.” She smiled fondly as she thought of her family.
“Just as all little boys should be.” There was a wistful note to Peter’s voice which surprised her. He saw her reaction and smiled. “Don’t mind me. How would you feel about some dessert?”
“I thought we had that before dinner?” She grinned, enjoying his reaction.
“Nothing against having seconds,” he replied leaning forward.
“Nor thirds,” she corrected, leaning in for a kiss.
He ducked back, grinning. “You’re insatiable. I’d imagine you’d drive a man to the brink of exhaustion, given the opportunity.” Rose sat back, enjoying watching Peter as he teased her. “I’ve a proper dessert in the kitchen, if you like. Then we can talk about your version of dessert.” He leaned in, placing a swift kiss on her lips before standing. “Stay there. No cleaning.” He was mock stern as he collected the plates and silverware, and she leaned back on her elbows, grinning as she watched him.
He grinned in return as he straightened, before walking to the kitchen. She closed her eyes in contentment as she heard him moving about the kitchen, the sounds of plates being placed in the sink, items being put away, things being shuffled around.
He returned after several minutes, bearing two small glass dishes containing what looked to be chocolate mousse. He set them down with a flourish before settling next to her once more.
“Chocolate. Always an excellent peace offering,” he said with a wink as he handed her one of the dishes and a spoon.
“I thought we’d agreed all was forgiven?” she replied, a smile on her lips.
“We had. But chocolate never hurts; I remember Jake was most emphatic on your appreciation for things chocolate.” He grinned, before bringing a spoonful of the dessert to her lips.
She blushed in surprise. No one had ever offered to feed her before-not when she was well, at any rate. She opened her mouth, and savoured the mousse Peter had provided her. She watched his eyes drift to her mouth as he pulled the spoon out, and she slowly licked her lips. “That was lovely,” she drawled, her voice low.
His eyes were dark as they met hers, and she smiled slowly.
“Is it now?” He leaned forward and captured her mouth, his tongue sliding in between her lips. She felt her entire body respond as he kissed her, languidly exploring her mouth, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to be near Peter and not kiss him, not want to shag him.
He pulled away, slowly opening his eyes; with a slow smile, he said, “Quite the best mousse I’ve ever had.”
“You’re biased,” she replied, dipping her spoon into her own dish before bringing it to his lips. He held her gaze, slowly opening his mouth and taking the spoon into it; his eyes fluttered shut as she pulled the spoon out. As he swallowed, she leaned forward and kissed him; he responded immediately, opening his mouth against hers, allowing her tongue to dance along his.
He was right. It tasted divine.
They fed each other spoonfuls of the dessert, each spoonful followed by a kiss. By the time the dishes were empty, Rose was more than ready to tear Peter’s pyjamas off of him and shag him on the floor.
His eyes were warm as he gazed at her, the light of the fire dying as the last logs burned themselves out. It was incredibly romantic, and she wondered if he’d make love to her on the blanket.
Instead, he stood silently, his hand reaching down to her. She took it, was pulled up and into another breath-stealing kiss. She could feel the evidence of his interest, and she felt her body respond.
“Peter,” she whispered against his lips, before moving to whisper against his ear. “Can I have thirds?”
He pulled back, gazing at her, his expression serious in the dim light. He turned, moved to the fireplace and banked the fire, before silently moving back to kiss her. “You can have as much as you want,” he whispered against her lips.
It would have been a cheesy line in any other situation, or with anyone else. With Peter, there was such sincerity behind it that it took her breath away.
He took her hand, slowly led her upstairs to his room once more. She paused at the foot of the bed, again taking in the lush furniture as he moved to the side of the bed and turned down the duvet. The footboard was as intricately carved as the headboard, she noticed, and she gently ran her fingers over the detail as she listened to him move around the room. The carving was rich and warm, and she thought it was incredibly representative of him; its sensuousness begged to be appreciated in a tactile way.
She heard him finish folding down the duvet and she sensed his attention turn to her. She met his eyes as she looked up, and watched his expression shift as he gazed at her, his eyes drifting to her hand on the footboard. She snatched her hand back guiltily, feeling as though she’d been caught doing something forbidden. Nervously, she offered, “’S lovely. The bed, that is. I mean, the carving on it, it’s beautiful. And the wardrobe. Very-“
Peter had moved, pulling her to him roughly for a bruising kiss. She’d no idea what she’d done, but Peter seemed suddenly like a starving man, devouring her with his kisses, his arms holding her to him. She couldn’t keep up, settled instead for simply enjoying the sensation of him kissing her senseless, her arms wrapped around him as tightly as she dared.
He eventually slowed the pace down, loosening his grip. Rose took advantage, sliding her hands under the waist of his pyjamas and bringing them forward around her body. Peter went still as her hands found their intended target, lightly stroking his erection. Rose felt a twinge between her legs, knew her knickers were once again soaked, and she wondered at Peter’s ability to make her absolutely insatiable in the bedroom. She’d not been this randy since she’d discovered that sex could actually be enjoyable. It had never occurred to her that she might drive a man to the brink of exhaustion, either, but with Peter it suddenly seemed like a definite possibility.
She began stroking him, enjoying the feeling of him sliding through her hands. He’d stopped kissing her, instead resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and his breath coming in shallow gasps as she ran her hands up and down his shaft. She watched him for a bit as she savoured the feeling of him in her hands; he eventually opened his eyes and met her gaze. She ran her thumb over the head of his penis, squeezing lightly on her next stroke, and Peter seemed to come alive. He’d untied the robe and pushed it off of her shoulders before she was able to react. She stood, trapped-unwilling to stop stroking him, and thus restrained by the fabric of the arms of her robe, gathered at her elbows. He leaned forward and captured her left breast with his mouth, and she gasped. He teased her, his teeth ghosting along the sensitive skin before pulling at her flesh with his mouth, sucking and licking. With his hand, he teased her right breast, pinching the nub of flesh at its peak before rolling it in between his fingers.
She conceded defeat, her body screaming for more contact with him. “Bed. Now,” she whispered as he ran his tongue over her nipple, causing her back to arch towards him. She removed her hands from his pyjamas, hastily shrugged off the robe as he straightened and took a step back. She moved to the bed, struggling to remove her knickers, before turning to face Peter; he’d already shed his pyjamas, had pulled a condom from somewhere and already put it on. Before she could sit on the bed, he pulled her to him, kissing her roughly; his erection was pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach, and she was wild to have it lower, pressing fully into her.
She rotated her hips against him, trying to convey her desire; Peter lowered her onto the bed, covering her with his body. She arched into him, wanting him to touch her, to be inside her; he shifted slightly, sliding a hand down along the side of her body, across her hip, to the wetness at the join of her thighs. He gently brushed a finger over her centre; she moaned in response, moving her hips; she wanted to scream when he withdrew his hand and broke the kiss.
Meeting her gaze, he directed, “Up the bed.” His voice was rough, brusque-and she found it to be an incredible turn-on. She did as he asked, shifting so her head lay on the pillows; he crawled up her body, placing kisses wherever he could as he moved. Her hands went to his hair, the luxuriant softness too tempting for her to resist, and she was rewarded with a soft growl.
Peter paused only briefly when he reached her lips, brushing them lightly before pulling back, shifting just a bit as she raised her hips. He slid into her, his eyes watching her face, and she felt another low moan escape her throat.
He felt heavenly, sheathed inside her; he wasn’t built like a sex god or a barn animal, but like a normal male, and in her rapidly increasing experience with him it was perfect. He felt different from anyone else she’d had sex with, but in a good, almost impossible-to-define way. Feeling him, joined to her so intimately, simply felt right.
They moved together, setting up a rhythm after a few minutes. Peter continued to gaze at her, moving from her eyes to her lips, watching her reaction when he shifted or tried something new to see if she liked it. She could see the corners of his lips quirk whenever he did something particularly brilliant, making her gasp or moan; she’d have hated him for it any other time, but in bed couldn’t get enough of it.
Her hands remained in his hair, her fingers lightly combing through the strands as she watched him silently in return. She noted when his eyes would shut of their own volition after she’d moved her hips a certain way, or shifted her legs; and their lovemaking progressed silently, calmly, as they began to focus on what the other enjoyed.
Her orgasm, when it hit, was almost blinding in its intensity, the result of a slow deliberate build by Peter. The thought briefly crossed her mind that if this was what he could accomplish on his third try, he was going to kill her once he really started to get to know her. She clenched her teeth, her hands fisting in Peter’s hair as she struggled to keep her eyes open, to hold his gaze. As the feeling ebbed, he finally leaned in and kissed her, his hips beginning to push against hers in an increasingly hard rhythm. She ran her hands down his back, splayed them across his arse as she pulled him into her, arching to meet his thrusts, to drive him deeper into her. He came a few minutes later, his body taut as he pressed into her, his neck muscles straining from the intensity.
She thought he’d never looked more beautiful.
His orgasm waned and he relaxed, his hair dishevelled and his body slick with sweat He slowly blinked his eyes open, and she smiled at him, her breath catching at the sight of him on top of her. He leaned down, brushing a light kiss over her lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze intense; she felt her heart clench at the passion in his gaze, and wondered what she’d done to deserve a second chance with him.
Three words rattled around in the back of her head, and she pushed them away; it was far too soon for such a thing, and she was convinced it only occurred to her because of the intensity of the evening. Instead, she brushed her hands lightly through the damp strands of hair at his temples, replying, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He smiled softly at her, leaning down to give her another tender kiss, before rolling off to the side. He moved to the edge of the bed, and she caught some motion out of the corner of her eye before he rolled back towards her. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and they stared at each other silently for a few minutes in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She was growing chilly, and scooted closer to him; he rolled onto his back and pulled her flush against his side, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder as her arm rested on his chest. She idly played with the hairs she found, her fingers absently tracing patterns across his chest.
He brushed a kiss over her hair. “No more dessert for you tonight-you’ll get spoiled.” His voice was soft; he was as reluctant to break the spell they’d woven as she was.
“Too much of a good thing, I suppose,” she whispered in return.
They lay contentedly in each other’s arms, the silence comfortable between them. She didn’t want to leave, wanted to spend the rest of the night exactly as she was; she’d have to get moving soon, before she dozed off, to get back to the hotel before she was missed.
She listened to the soft rhythm of Peter’s heart, the sound soothing in the extreme; her hand slowly stopped moving as her mind drifted, her body relaxing into the warmth her lover offered her. She felt Peter shift, and blinked her eyes open. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but knew she’d fallen asleep after all.
She sat up, noting Peter had at some point managed to pull the sheet up to cover them both. She was still a bit groggy, and was trying to clear the fuzziness from her mind as Peter sat up beside her.
“I need to get back to the hotel.” She glanced around for a clock, desperate to note the time.
“You...” Peter’s voice held a note of uncertainty, and she returned her eyes to his face. “You’re more than welcome to stay here,” he said softly.
The offer was very tempting, but the practicalities were intimidating. “But-I didn’t bring a change of clothes. And I’d need a shower. And-“
Peter leaned forward and gently kissed her. “I’ll take you back tonight, if you like. Or I can drop you at the hotel in the morning, early enough to get ready. I’ll just go to the station early.”
Rose chewed on her lip, mulling it over. She really did want to stay with him, to fall back asleep in his arms, cuddled against him.
“Please, Rose.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it; his plea caused her chest to constrict. She slowly nodded yes, feeling relief wash over her as she made her decision. The look of happiness that graced his features made her breath catch. How had she fallen so hard, so fast, for this man?
Peter climbed out of bed; he seemed to have no self-awareness and blithely walked over to the wardrobe completely naked. Rose couldn’t stop staring at him as he rummaged through the shelves to find her a soft cotton t-shirt in which to sleep. He pulled on his pyjama bottoms once she had pulled on his shirt; as he ran downstairs to lock up for the night, she hopped out of bed and pulled on her knickers.
She heard the sound of him climbing the stairs, and hastily crawled back under the covers, settling back against the pillows. He walked in, looking delicious in just his pyjamas, and Rose felt her nervousness return as Peter climbed under the sheet, setting the alarm before switching off the light. He reached down to pull the duvet up and over them before lying down next to her.
“Are you comfortable?” he whispered.
“I think so, yeah.” She could hear the quaver in her voice. Peter reached over and took her hand; he brought it to his lips for a soft kiss before returning it to the bed, still clasped in his.
“I’ll not bite; neither will I murder you as you lay sleeping.” His soft voice held a hint of wry amusement.
“I know. ‘s just been an odd twenty-four hours, hasn’t it? Didn’t think I’d be sleeping here tonight, sleeping with you-that’s for sure.”
“Neither did I. But I’m glad you are.”
His voice was warm, and Rose felt herself relax. “So am I,” she whispered in response. She shifted closer to Peter, to his warmth, and was rewarded with the feel of his lips brushing light kisses over her face. She reached up, her hand finding his cheek in the not-quite darkness, and she leaned up for a gentle kiss. “Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, Rose.”
She fell asleep a few minutes later, held in his embrace.