An Alternate Thing - Story Two
Title: The Good Morrow
Rating: M
Author: jlrpuck
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose?
Authors Notes: I’d written “An Alternate Thing” as a one-off - a desperate attempt to chase those particularly voracious plot bunnies away, so I could go back to writing ficlets about DI Carlisle and Field Agent Tyler. It, er, might have backfired. By the time I finished the story, I found I had about a million more ideas related to Professor Peter and Vitex Rose. Here’s one of them.
Thank you to chicklet73 for her beta of this. This hasn't been Brit-picked, so any errors on that front--and, indeed in general--are absolutely my own.
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking - The Primrose - The Bard’s Epitaph - The Bait - On His Mistress - The Canonization - Valediction - Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I
Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
-John Donne, The Good Morrow
“It’s alright, Rose.” He took a step forward, once more closing the distance between them. “It is.”
She was still staring at him, wide-eyed, shock on her features; he leaned in, closer… closer…
Her eyes fluttered shut once more, and this time she didn’t pull back.
He felt a rush of adrenaline as his lips brushed against hers, every nerve ending lighting up and tingling from the sensation. She returned the kiss, tentatively at first, then pressing forward into him as her fists balled the fabric of his shirt.
He pulled back, looking for a place to set his coffee; she blinked her eyes open, watching him warily, worried he might run off. He set the coffee down in the grass - if it spilled, he’d go buy a new cup - and then leaned forward to pull her to him for another kiss.
~ - ~
They made love for the first time that morning.
“Would...would you like to come home with me?” Peter asked, pulling back from their kiss. He looked as though he’d just awoken, his eyes clouded, his hair tousled; Rose realized with a start that she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.
“I’d like that,” she replied softly, taking his hand.
‘Home’ for Peter was a small stone cottage near the University. A narrow path led visitors through the low stone fence, past some rose bushes; the front door was a lovely dark wood which looked positively ancient. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he turned the key in the lock, as he pushed the door open; he turned to her, a soft smile on his lips, and led her into the house.
It smelled of wood fire and old books, and she almost laughed. She knew next to nothing about Peter, other than what she’d been able to find online, but she couldn’t think of a better scent to represent the man in front of her. He led her into the sitting room, the walls a deep cream above the wood panelling, and turned to her as he came to a halt in front of the (dark, cold) fireplace. He didn’t say anything, but instead gave her a gentle smile as he brought his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin.
She felt her breath catch, and closed her eyes as he leaned in for another kiss.
He brought his other hand up, cradling her jaw as his mouth worked against hers, his tongue gently brushing against hers as he deepened the kiss. Her hands drifted to his chest, resting there, feeling the warmth through his shirt, and the steady beat of his heart.
The kiss was languid, both of them content simply to enjoy the experience, until Rose stroked her tongue across the roof of his mouth. He groaned, his hands shifting to rest at her hips and pull her towards him. He broke the kiss, his lips brushing across her cheek, and he whispered, “I would very much like to make love to you, Rose Tyler.”
He pulled back, ducking his head just slightly so he could meet her gaze levelly. His eyes were warm, full of hope; she gave him a tentative smile, and nodded.
He leaned in for a quick kiss before stepping back, his hand sliding to capture hers. He gave her a small smile, and led her unhurriedly to the stairs, up the narrow staircase, down the short hall to the bedroom.
Her heart fluttered as he paused just inside the space, his eyes scanning the room to make sure he’d not left anything embarrassing out. The bed was a four-poster, the wood darkened with age; the duvet was a deep red, and was bundled at the foot of the bed.
Peter blushed, hurrying across the room, tugging the duvet up over the bed, and gave her a grin when he turned back to face her. “I’d, ah, not expected to see you today. Or ever, actually.” The statement was matter-of-fact, a look of wonder briefly crossing his face, and he continued. “Life always has a surprise in store, I suppose.”
“So I’ve heard.” It had been years since she’d had sex with someone, and she felt a knot of nervousness pool in the bottom of her stomach. What should she do? Should she stay where she was, and wait for Peter to come over to her? Should she walk over to him, and move things along? Would he want to undress her? Was he expecting her to undress him?
She shifted nervously, and Peter slowly walked back over to her. “You’re sure about this, Rose?”
"Yes, aren’t you?” The question was rushed, her voice high.
“Absolutely.” He leaned down, kissing her again; the questions which had been filling her mind vanished as the sheer pleasure of kissing Peter, and being kissed by him, flooded through her.
Rose relaxed, allowing Peter to dictate the pace of things, mirroring his actions as things progressed. Her shirt and jeans were gone-as were his-when they hit their first hiccough.
“It’s...it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he whispered in her ear as his hands fumbled with the catch of her bra.
She leaned up, brushing a kiss against his lips, before stepping back and out of his embrace. “Then let me,” she murmured, her voice containing a boldness she didn’t feel. Peter watched, his eyes riveted to hers as she reached behind her, unhooking the bra; his gaze dropped as her bra fell away, revealing her breasts.
He licked his lips, and Rose ducked her head in embarrassment. She was grateful for the half-light of the room - hopefully he wouldn’t be able to see the scars that ran down the left side of her body - but she still felt terribly exposed.
“Rose.” Peter stepped towards her, his hands reaching out, pulling her to him, wrapping her in an embrace. Her breath hitched at the sensation of Peter’s bare chest against hers.
“Yes, Peter.” She reached up, her fingers threading through his hair, and guided his lips to hers for another kiss.
She could feel his erection pressing into her, the hard line promising all sorts of delicious sensations. She felt a twinge low in her belly, her body preparing for what was to come.
Peter slowly guided her towards the bed, his lips never losing contact with hers; she couldn’t help the smile which curved her lips as she felt her knees bump against the edge of the bed.
“Yes, Miss Tyler?” Peter pulled back from their kiss, his dark eyes meeting hers in bemusement.
“Nothing, Professor Carlisle,” she rejoined, leaning forward into him, trying to capture his lips for another kiss.
He raised a finger, pressing it against his lips, and his eyes grew serious. “Are you on contraceptives, Rose?”
Her cheeks flamed at the casual directness of the question, and she stammered, “N-no.” She hadn’t needed to be, although Torchwood would have provided them to her as part of her medical care. Only active field agents were required to use birth control.
“Ah. Just a mo’.” He turned, reaching down to the drawer in the bedside table, and pulled out a small string of condom packets. He ripped one of the foil packets off, and returned his attention to Rose.
“Always prepared?” She asked, a teasing note to her voice.
“My brother insists on leaving them here for me - just in case. This is the first time I’ve had to use them.” He watched her carefully, making sure she understood.
He didn’t make a habit of sleeping around. She wondered if he’d had sex with anyone at all since his wife’s death.
Peter was still watching her, was hesitating now, and she recollected herself. “I’ll have to thank your brother, then, someday.” She moved her hands to the waist of his pants, her fingers sliding under the elastic. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut even as he held his breath, his entire attention focused on her touch.
She watched him as her hands moved under the cotton, finding the soft skin in the hollow of his hips. She bit her lip, holding her breath as her right hand slowly moved until it found his erection.
Peter gasped at the touch, his entire body tensing; Rose slowly moved her hand away, intent on removing his pants.
His eyes opened, focusing on her; she paused, unsure of whether to continue.
“Take them off, Rose,” he whispered softly.
She swallowed, nodding, and slowly slid his pants over his hips and down his thighs. His erection bobbed lightly once free from the clothing, and she couldn’t resist reaching for it, encircling it with her hand, and gently stroking upwards.
Peter arched into her, his jaw clenching and his eyes briefly shutting. Emboldened by his reaction, she repeated the motion, tightening her hand this time. Peter’s hands rested at her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles over the skin above her knickers, and she began to set a slow, steady rhythm. Peter’s head tilted back as she continued, and she leaned forward, running her tongue up his neck, over his Adam’s apple.
Peter raised his head as she pulled away, his eyes re-opening; they were almost black now, full of heat, and she felt her womb twinge again.
He was going to make love to her.
Peter leaned forward, his mouth crashing against hers; he was reasserting control, and pressed his hips into hers, forcing her to stop stroking him. She rotated her hips against his, desperate for friction now, and was rewarded by Peter’s hands helping to remove her knickers. She stepped out of them, and was gently guided onto the bed behind her, Peter leaning forward into her as his hand splayed across her back, supporting her as she slowly lay down.
He continued to kiss her for several moments, and Rose relaxed into the feel of his body above hers, of the warmth of his skin against hers. Her hands had moved to his back, and she slowly drifted them down to his bum, pulling him against her, wanting to feel his length against her, in her.
Peter pulled back with a gasp, shifting so he could lay on the bed; Rose moved so she was lying parallel to him, her head now on the pillow, watching as he opened the condom wrapper, as he glanced down to roll it onto his penis. She was startled when he raised his eyes, catching her watching, and she saw a flash in the dark gaze before he moved to once again cover her.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a year,” he whispered, his hips resting in the cradle of hers, his nose drifting across her cheek. “Since you sat across from me at the pub. I’ve dreamt of it, Rose.” His breath ghosted across her ear, and her hands drifted to his hair.
She guided his lips to hers, kissing him gently, her hands slowly sliding down his back, along his spine. She didn’t know what to say-didn’t want to mention the spectre of his wife, didn’t want to say that she didn’t think he’d be interested in someone like her.
Her kiss was enough of an answer for him, and they spent several more moments savouring the calm before the storm. Peter finally broke the kiss, pulling back; when she opened her eyes, he was watching her. His hand drifted to her cheek, brushing her hair out of the way; he returned his eyes to hers, and then shifted, guiding the tip of his erection to her opening.
She swallowed, nervous and terrified and elated and excited. She watched him, saw him take a deep breath, and felt him slowly slide into her.
She groaned, years of being celibate having almost led her to forget the sensation; her own hands, the vibrator she kept in her bedside table, hadn’t come close to replicating what she was now experiencing. Peter was achingly slow in pressing into her, making sure she was ready for him; she fought the urge to press up into him, driving him fully into her in one swift stroke. There would be time for that later, the next time they made love.
He finally stopped, his hips pressing against hers. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and reached up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over his lips.
“Please,” she whispered, unsure of what she was asking for, but knowing she had to say it.
Peter watched her as he pulled out, as he slid back into her-faster and harder this time. She arched, pulling him further into her, her hands resting now on either side of her head.
It felt fantastic.
Peter pulled out again, pushed forward even harder and faster. Rose bent her knees, her heels digging into the mattress, desperate for more. “Please,” she repeated, wanting more, now, desperately.
He pulled out anew, slammed into her this time; she hissed, pleasure rushing through her. Peter leaned forward for a brief kiss, then looped his arm under her knee and hiked her leg up.
“Like this?” he whispered, pulling out and driving into her again.
It hurt this time; she winced, and he released her leg. He paused, worried, and she reached up to stroke his cheek. “What you were doing before. ‘s nice,” she whispered.
He pulled out of her, drove into her hard, over and over again, setting a steady rhythm. Rose moved her hands to his back, her fingernails scraping across the sweat-soaked skin; it seemed to drive him on, and he increased his pace.
She could feel the orgasm slowly begin to coil in her, the sensation of Peter moving into and out of her tightening it with every stroke. She watched Peter move above her, thought he was beautiful; he glanced down, found her watching him, and leaned down to kiss her.
After several more minutes she began to grow desperate for release, digging her heels into the mattress, pushing her hips up to meet Peter’s punishing thrusts. She nipped at his lip, growing frustrated; he slipped a hand in between them, his fingers sliding down to find her clit.
Her hips jerked against his as he began to tease her, his fingers brushing against the sensitive flesh in time to his thrusts. It was only short time before she felt the coil release, her orgasm washing through her. She broke their kiss, arching, her head tilted back as she rode the wave out. “Please don’t stop, please...Peter...” She groaned the words, her body clenching around Peter as he increased his pace.
She heard him give a wordless shout just as her orgasm waned, tilted her head forward to see that his entire body was taut even as he continued to spasmodically slam into her, She pulled him down for a kiss, her tongue plunging into his mouth, stroking against his in time to his thrusts. She continued to kiss him even as he slumped against her, and she brushed her fingers through his hair again.
He kissed her lazily, his hand stroking across her cheek as he shifted his hips and slid out of her.
He finally pulled back, his eyes searching hers; his thumb stroked her cheek as he gazed at her, and she felt herself blush.
“Hello,” he whispered. There was a smile in his eyes, his laugh lines crinkling as he gazed at her.
“Hi,” she replied softly, shyly meeting his eye.
“’s everything alright?”
“Oh yeah.”
His lips curved into a soft smile at her response, and he brushed a kiss over the corner of her mouth.
“Have you really been wanting to do that for a year?” she asked after several minutes of silence. He’d pillowed his head on her shoulder, and she was stroking her fingers through his soft hair.
“Yes,” he mumbled against her skin.
“I...wanted to, too. At dinner. But...well...your ring.” She fought to keep any hint of accusation from her tone.
“I forgot about it. I don’t even notice it, normally. It’s just a part of me.” He rolled off of her, resting on his side so he could watch her.
Rose rolled onto her left side, facing him. “I know. Just...we wasted a whole year.” He looked hurt, and she let a smile curve her lips. “A year of this. I think you owe me.”
He gave her a tentative smile in return. “Do I?”
“Absolutely. Since ‘s your fault and all.”
He grinned. “Give me a little time, and I’ll be more than happy to start paying my debt.” He leaned into her, his hand cupping her jaw, holding her still as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “More than happy,” he whispered, before deepening the kiss.
~ - ~
Fin