An Alternate Thing, Story Four
Title: The Canonization
Rating: M (now with bondage!)
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: Let’s not mince words-this is pr0n, building off the drabble found here (and which, incidentally, applies to both iterations of Peter and Rose). Officially, though, this is the fourth tale of Professor Peter Carlisle, and Vitex Heiress (and former Torchwood Field Agent) Rose Tyler.
I was going to post this tomorrow (Friday)--but the Olympics are boring me, and my hand is cramped from knitting...so here you go. Sweet dreams to those of you about to go to bed, and good morning to those of you just starting your days.
Thank you to chicklet73 for her beta of this before going on vacation (EGT has been off, playing at being a grown-up. Blast her). This hasn’t been Brit-picked, so any failings 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
For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
-John Donne, The Canonization
Peter tugged tentatively at the fabric binding his left wrist to the headboard. It had been Rose’s idea; she’d suggested it over dinner, after he’d had a few glasses of wine, and he’d agreed-certain that he’d be able to distract her before they ever got this far.
He shouldn’t have underestimated his Rose. He’d thought he was seducing her, distracting her; instead she’d got him out of his shirt and vest and onto the bed, and had tied his wrist to the headboard with an alacrity that bordered on alarming. He’d fought down the worry that flooded through him, his fear of not being in control in bed asserting itself briefly before he forced himself to relax. This was Rose; he loved her, and she him. She’d not hurt him; he could trust her.
He would trust her.
She’d paused after making sure his left wrist was secure, watching him, making sure he was alright with what she was doing. She stroked her hand across his cheek, her eyes holding his, as she whispered, “This alright?”
“Yes,” he whispered, willing himself to relax.
She gazed at him for a moment longer, then moved to tie his right wrist to the headboard. Her touch was gentle, but confident, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster.
He’d never been tied up before-Catie had never seemed interested in it, had always been content to let him be in charge of their lovemaking. Rose, too, had seemed content to let him take control...until now.
She kissed his knuckles as she brushed her fingers across the inside of his wrist. Reflexively, he moved to reach for her, to cup her face, and had his movement arrested by the tie.
Rose sat back, not straddling him but sitting next to him on the mattress; she held his gaze once more, saying softly, “It’s a slipknot. If...if you really want, you can undo it by pulling on the bit that hangs loose.”
He stretched the fingers of each hand, finding the tail of each tie binding him; he pulled them gently into his palms-just in case. “I won’t Rose. But just in case.”
She gave him a small smile. “Just in case, then.”
He watched her, expectantly, waiting for her to make the next move. She turned, her gaze running across his body-down his torso, across his hips, along his legs...back up to his groin. She shook her head, briefly, and reached forward.
“Can’t have you in these,” she whispered, her fingers deftly working the closure of his trousers. He closed his eyes, focusing on the varying pressure against his skin as she undid his trousers, as she unzipped his fly. He opened his eyes, gazing down to where she worked, when she slipped her fingers under his pants, working to wiggle the fabric across his hips and down his legs. He couldn’t help but groan as she reached in to cup his hardening erection, protecting it from the pull of the fabric.
Her eyes flicked to his, right before she leaned down and slowly drifted her tongue along his penis.
He arched off the bed, his arms tugging at the fabric of the ties as he tried to reach for her. She glanced up, a wolfish grin on her lips, and finished removing his trousers and pants.
“This hardly seems fair, Rose,” he gasped as her hands slowly slid up his legs, drifting almost to his balls, before sliding back down the inside of his thigh.
“Why’s that, Peter?” Her voice was low, her eyes dark; she was a woman suddenly very aware of-and in control-of her power over him, and he felt a flash of want pass through him. He wanted to make love to her, now. Wanted to have her straddle him, ride him until he couldn’t stop shouting her name as he exploded inside of her. His erection twitched at the image his imagination supplied, and Rose’s grin deepened.
“What do you want me to do, Peter?” she whispered, standing, slowly removing her blouse. She held his gaze as she gently tossed it aside, as she moved her hands to her waist and began to undo the buttons holding the fly of her jeans together.
“I want you to make love to me. Now,” he gasped, his erection beginning to ache.
Rose stepped out of her trousers and paused, standing in front of him clad only in her bra and knickers. “I will, Peter,” she whispered, her hands slowly reaching behind her, unhooking her bra. He licked his lips, his eyes riveted to her breasts as she slid the straps down, over her shoulders; as she pulled the garment away to reveal her skin.
“When?” he asked, notes of desperation and want in his voice.
“Soon,” she replied. There was no ceremony to her removing her knickers, and no conversation. Rose simply reached down, shoving the lace across her hips, down her legs, finally kicking it away so she stood naked before him.
His fingers were twitching, desperate to touch her. It would take nothing at all to tug on the fabric in the palms of his hands, to free himself so he could pull her to him, roll her under him and drive into her; he could make her orgasm in moments, he was sure of it; he could hear her whispering his name as she came around him, her hands pulling him to her, her back arching so he could drive deep into her. He could see it all in his mind’s eye, and felt himself harden further, his body remembering every other time they’d made love, him following her into orgasm.
His eyes flew open as he felt Rose’s fingers on his skin again. He was pulled back into reality, into the present where he was completely unable to do anything other than watch the woman he loved.
She kneeled on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, jiggling as she shifted to kneel in between his legs, slowly sliding down so she lay across him. He turned, wanting to kiss her; she dodged, avoiding his lips easily, a smirk on her lips. “Not yet, Professor.” She softened the cut with a kiss, a soft press of her lips against the curve of his neck.
He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut; she brushed a kiss across his nose, taking him by surprise, before moving to drift kisses across his shoulders.
Ithers seek they ken na what,
She whispered the words against his skin, and his eyes flew open. He tilted his head down, watching; she glanced up, her eyes knowing, and continued.
Features, carriage, and a' that;
She smiled softly, her fingers drifting up to drift across his jaw, before she resumed kissing him and reciting Burns.
Gie me love in him I court,
Love to love makes a' the sport.
He froze, only momentarily, as he noticed she had amended the poem to suit her purposes; the moment passed, and he once again lost himself in sensation as Rose paused, slowly circling her tongue around his belly button. Her breasts were pressing into his erection, the taut nipples rubbing erotically against his sensitive skin, and he fought to not release, to keep himself under control until he could bury himself in her warmth.
She dragged her tongue down, along the dark trail of hair leading to his groin, and began to whisper the words again as she brushed kisses against the soft hollow of his hips.
Let love sparkle in his e'e;
Let him lo'e nae one but me;
She slowly dragged her tongue up his erection, and whispered the final words.
That's the tocher-gude I prize,
There the luver's treasure lies.
He couldn’t help himself: the feel of her pressed against him; the hot puffs of her breath against his erection; the sound of her reciting one of his favourite poems, by a favourite poet. He felt the orgasm crash through him, and he arched his hips off the bed, groaning her name as he came. Rose ducked down, taking him in her mouth, gently sucking on him in time to the pulse of his release, her tongue pressing against his hard flesh. He finally slumped back into the bed, his hands still tied to the headboard, and let out a ragged sigh.
Rose gave one last, gentle pull on his erection, before releasing him and slowly raising herself on her elbows. He gazed down at her, at the erotic vision she presented as she gazed back up at him.
She licked her lips, a sultry grin curving her mouth. “You liked that, then?” Her voice was playful, taunting-full of love, and power. He wanted her to do it again.
“Oh yes, Rose. I liked it.” He continued to watch her, knowing his gaze was as dark as hers. He wanted her to kiss him, wanted to taste himself on her lips, and he fervently hoped she’d crawl up his body to do just that.
Disappointingly, she didn’t. Rose instead brushed a soft kiss into the hollow of his right hip, smiling as she glanced up his body. “I’m very, very glad.”
He brushed his thumb across the fabric in his palm; he could untie himself now, could flip them over so Rose was below him, could move so he rested between her legs, his tongue and lips and teeth gently pulling against her, dipping into her, bringing her to orgasm as she arched into him, her hands pressing against his hair and holding him in place as he lapped against her.
He was so close to freeing himself-but froze as Rose watched him. Her gaze was seductive still, and dark-but it also was so very young, and hopeful, and full of trust and love for him. She trusted him not to untie himself; trusted that he’d not do anything until she released him. He couldn’t betray that trust, as much as he might want to be the dominant partner in bed at that moment.
He relaxed his fingers, holding her gaze; her eyes had drifted to where he was bound, and her shoulders relaxed just a touch as she saw that he wasn’t going to free himself. She brushed another kiss against his hip, and began to work her way down along his legs.
She flicked her eyes to him as her tongue lightly danced across his thigh; he smiled softly at her, encouraging her. “I’ll not be going anywhere, Rose,” he replied in good humour.
“I should hope not,” she answered, nipping gently at his skin before pressing her tongue against it. She paused, raising herself to rest on her elbow, and slowly began to drift her fingers along his leg. “Thank you,” she finally whispered, looking up to him. The vulnerability was back.
“For what?”
“For...this. For letting me. I know you don’t like it-not being in charge.”
Her eyes had dropped to watch her fingers as they played with the hair on his leg.
“Rose.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “I...wasn’t certain, you’re right. But at the moment, there’s only one complaint I can honestly think of.”
Her face paled, her fingers stilled.
“I just want you to kiss me.”
She blinked, surprised, before a smile began to curve her lips. “Is that so?”
Her voice was low again; sultry, seductive, promising all manner of delicious torments. The effect on him was immediate, and he briefly acknowledged that he might not need quite so long to recover from his first orgasm, at this rate.
“That’s so.”
She leaned down, brushing a kiss across his knee, then glanced back up to him. “There you are,” she teased, her voice still low.
“No, Rose. Not like that.”
She slid upwards, then brushed a kiss over his still-soft penis. “Like that, then?” She once again looked up at him, her fingers lightly brushing across him; it tickled, but he thought that given enough time it might be far more than that.
“No.” He caught his breath as she drifted her tongue across him, her fingers sliding down to brush against his scrotum, to tease him.
He wouldn’t need much longer at all, before he was ready to make love to her again. Or to have her make love to him.
“How, Peter?” She whispered against him, her fingers still brushing against his balls.
“On the lips, Rose. I want to taste you. Want to taste me on your lips.” He gasped as her finger brushed briefly across his perineum; his hips arched upwards, and she smiled.
“That’s all, Peter?”
He was distracted briefly as she moved, as her breasts brushed against his groin as she moved to drift her tongue lazily across his stomach. She placed a soft kiss just below his belly button, and raised herself up to look at him. “Is that all, Peter?” There was amusement in her tone, now; her fingers slipped between them to slowly drift against his penis as she watched him, waiting for his answer.
“No,” he whispered, her touch now far more erotic than ticklish.
“Then what else?” She leaned back down, placing tiny kisses deliberately along his hip, following the crease between his thigh and his torso, stopping just short of his groin.
“I want to be in you, Rose.”
She gently licked upwards, following the route of the kisses she’d just placed against his skin.
He continued. “I want you on top of me, burying me in you. I want to see you above me. And I want to kiss you as you come.”
She didn’t say anything, only continued to alternately kiss him, or slowly drag her tongue across his skin, but he didn’t miss the flush that spread across her shoulders and neck. She was definitely turned on, and he pressed his advantage. “I love the feel of you around me, Rose, warm and tight. Love watching you as your orgasm, feeling it around me. Love how that makes me feel, love watching how it makes you feel.”
Rose hadn’t missed the hardening of his erection as he talked; she shifted her attentions, beginning to slide her tongue over the hardness, teasing him, her hands shifting to rest on his thighs.
Silence briefly filled the room as he rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of Rose’s mouth around him, slowly encouraging him. She eventually moved, brushing kisses down his left leg, slowly dancing her tongue up his right.
“Rose, please.” Peter tugged at the tie binding his wrists to the headboard.
Rose dragged her tongue up the inside of his thigh. He arched, desperate to have her tongue move, to have her mouth a few inches further up his body. “Please what?”
He could feel her breath ghost across his penis, and it twitched in response.
“Make love to me. My Rose,” he whispered.
She shifted, her breasts brushing against his erection as she moved. She held his gaze as she straddled his hips, as she slid onto him. “My Peter,” she whispered.
And then she kissed him.
He groaned, raising his head to return the kiss. She rocked against him, warm wetness surrounding him; he braced his feet on the mattress, arching his hips up and into her as she drove herself towards orgasm. It didn’t take long, Rose absolutely desperate for release, keening his name as her orgasm washed through her. He freed himself at that point, bringing his arms around her, rolling them even as she still pulsed around him.
He slammed into her, breaking their kiss to whisper to her as he drove towards a second orgasm. “Rose...my Rose...my love...I love you, I love you...”
He repeated the phrase as his orgasm crashed into him, through him and into her. As he slumped against her, utterly spent, it occurred to him that they’d not used any protection.
His heart clenched briefly, terror washing through him. “Rose...we....I didn’t...” He pressed himself upwards from where he rested, frantically meeting her gaze.
Rose’s hands, resting on his back, began to gently drift along his spine. She blinked sleepily, her eyes confused. “’s wrong?”
“I didn’t use a condom,” he whispered, his heart hammering.
She smiled at him-a soft quirk of one corner of her lips-and brought a hand around to gently brush his hair back from his face. “’s okay, Peter.”
“But...”
“’s okay. If anything happens, ‘s okay.”
It was his turn to be confused.
Rose turned her hand, gently cupping his jaw. “I love you, Peter. I...I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere. And if somethin’ happens, well...I--” She paused, seeming to correct herself mid-thought. “We’ll worry about it then.” She raised her head, brushing a kiss across the scar on his chin.
He placed a gentle kiss on her nose, and rested his head on her shoulder. “Alright.”
She brushed kisses across his hair as he relaxed. “I love you, Peter Carlisle,” he heard her whisper, several minutes later.
“’love you, Rose,” he mumbled against her skin, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
~ fin ~