And So Things Go, Chapter 21
Title- And So Things Go (21/34)
Author- jlrpuck
Rating - M
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
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 - The story of how Peter Carlisle moved to London to live with Rose Tyler.
Author’s Notes - The trial begins.
earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 have been ideal betas for this-supportive, diligent, and full of excellent ideas. lostwolfchats has been fabulous, as well, and equally as invaluable, ensuring that I didn’t ruin the Queen’s English…too badly. Any errors-grammatical, colloquial, or factual-are mine, and mine alone. And that lovely banner at the top of the chapter? It was created by angelfireeast.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Epilogue
Peter checked out of the hotel the next day, decreeing it to be a waste of money if he was going to spend every night with Rose at her flat. Elias had laughed, teasing him about how besotted he was; Peter had pointed out that Elias was no better when it came to Ruby, chuckling when an affronted Elias had no comeback.
It was strange, waking up with Rose on an ordinary workday two days running, getting a feel for what her morning routine was like and trying to work his into synchronisation with it. She was up before him, her alarm set for a ridiculous hour, and he’d doze until it was his turn in the shower. Rose, unfortunately, didn’t appear inclined to save time by having them shower together; he could appreciate the wisdom in her decision, but still held out hope that one morning she’d surprise him.
When Rose set off to Greenwich, he set off for Scotland Yard; he was officially on standby as the prosecution was presented, leaving him two days in which he did nothing more than sit in a room at the Old Bailey waiting to give his portion of testimony. It was mind-numbingly dull and yet still strangely tiring, and he was thankful that he was able to return to Rose’s at the end of the day, to sit down with her for a meal and simply talk with her. He loved being able to tell her of his day, of hearing Rose tell him about her day in return, of the things which had bothered her, or made her laugh.
On Wednesday, he was finally called to testify, and he spent the bulk of his day in the dock, walking through his part of the Glasgow investigation in painstaking detail. It was a relief when, shortly before five, the hearing was adjourned; he had very little left to do, and Elias had confided, as they’d left the building, that he didn’t think Peter would need to be in London much longer.
He was utterly exhausted by the time he sat down on the subte, to the point that he was able to doze for a bit during the journey to Rose’s. As his mind wandered, he found that he didn’t want to leave the life he’d been living for the previous three days. So lost was he in his thoughts that he almost missed his stop, and exited the train just as the door began to slide closed.
He arrived to find the flat empty; Rose was working late, it seemed. He loosened his tie, tossed his coat over the back of one of the chairs in the dining room, and immediately moved to the sofa. He lay down, dangling his legs over the arm of the short piece of furniture; he toed his shoes off, letting them drop to the floor as he closed his eyes and relaxed.
He awoke to the feel of Rose gently stroking his cheek; he slowly opened his eyes to find Rose gazing down at him, her brow furrowed in concern.
“Y’okay?” Her voice was soft.
“Yeah. Tired,” he replied, still groggy with his early-evening nap.
She brushed her fingers across the stubble lining his jaw. “I’ll do dinner tonight, then.”
He was too tired to argue, and nodded. “Thank you.”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “Don’t thank me yet.” She bent down, her lips ghosting across his. “I promise not to burn anything,” she added, smiling at him as she stood. “Go back to sleep-I’ll wake you when supper’s ready.”
“I’ll be awake all night if I do,” he complained.
“You’ll be asleep at the table if you don’t.” She smiled at him, adding, “Just a nap, Peter. I’ll not take long with supper.”
He sighed, watching as she walked towards the kitchen. She was still in her suit, although she’d removed her shoes, and it occurred to him that this was what a normal night could be like-well, a night when he was too tired to cook or to order in takeaway.
He hadn’t planned to fall back asleep, but he did, and he was pulled from sleep by Rose’s voice, gently whispering in his ear. He blinked awake, feeling a headache lurking behind his eyes-a reminder of how much he really hated napping after work. The light from above the dining table blinded him, and he winced.
Rose noticed and moved to stand between him and the light. “Dinner,” she whispered, extending her hand towards him. Peter sat up, blearily taking it, standing, and following her to the table. She’d made pasta and sauce, and had toasted some bread with butter and garlic. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he was ravenous, and he sat down and reached for the bowl of pasta.
“Feel better?” Rose’s voice held a note of amusement as she watched him pour sauce over the pile of pasta on his plate.
“Yes.” His voice was still rough, and he took a sip of water before adding, “Thank you again.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Rose waited until he’d eaten for a bit before asking after his day; he told her of being in the dock, of the excruciating thoroughness of the questions.
“Did Blackpool come up?” she asked, setting her fork down.
“No. My case history, yes. But nothing more.” He twirled his fork, wrapping linguine around the tines.
Rose reached for a piece of garlic toast. “Are you relieved?”
He chewed thoughtfully. He wasn’t, not really. “I’m surprised,” he finally said.
“I bet Warren was, as well.”
“He hid it well.”
“Are you done, then? Now you’ve testified?”
“We weren’t completely finished when they adjourned for the day, so I have a bit more to go. But...I should be completely finished tomorrow. At which point I’ll be dismissed back to the care of the NLC.”
“So soon?” Rose was gazing at him, the garlic toast dangling from her fingers.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’d have a day to get back to Kendal, after I was released.”
Rose sat back heavily. “You’d be gone by the weekend.”
“Only if everything happens without hitch. It’s hardly likely.”
“But you could be.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she blurted, her eyes meeting his. She looked shocked she’d said it.
“Neither do I,” he sighed. “I’d looked forward to the weekend.”
“No. I mean, yes, but…” Her gaze drifted down to her plate, the half-eaten piece of toast resting on the edge. She gnawed her lip as she absent-mindedly traced patterns on the placemat.
He held his breath, watching her.
“I…remember that day in Croy? In the glade?” She hesitantly raised her eyes to his. “When you talked about…about…”
“Living together.”
“Yes.” Rose blushed. “I…I’ve been thinking about that. About, maybe…it’d be nice.” She ducked her chin, focusing now on staring at her place setting.
He exhaled, his thoughts tumbling through his mind. She wanted to live with him? Where? When? How long had she been thinking about it? Why now?
“If you’d still like to.” Her voice was small; she’d taken his silence the wrong way.
He leaned across the table, his hand reaching forward to cover hers. “I’d still like, Rose.” He squeezed her hand.
She met his gaze, her eyes full of warmth. “I…started talking with James, yesterday. About maybe being able to move. If…I mean, I don’t want you to think you have to move here. To leave Kendal. I can move up there.”
“You’d do that?” He was dumbstruck; he’d always assumed, if they’d decided to live together, that he’d go to London.
Rose blinked in surprise. “Of course I would.”
“You don’t want to stay here?”
“I do. I just…I can move; maybe you can’t. You have a house up there; I can be rid of the flat easily enough. And, as you pointed out-Torchwood has a vacancy in Kendal.” She gave him a small grin.
“I…” He was at a loss for words. She’d give up her life in London to move to Kendal? For him?
Rose pushed away from the table, standing and collecting the plates. She brushed a kiss over his hair and bustled off to the kitchen. As he sat there, considering what it meant, he could hear her piling dishes in the sink.
He needed to get up, to do the dishes; he found, however, that he couldn’t quite move, still amazed by his good fortune.
Rose returned to the dining area, a small smile still on her lips. “This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you.”
“I…You’d move. For me.”
“Yes.” She stopped next to him, leaning against the table as she faced him. “I love you, Peter. I…I want to live with you. I don’t care where.”
“I’d move to London. In actuality, I’ve been mulling the idea over for quite some time.” He reached over, capturing her hand. “Couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.”
Rose glanced down. He’d moved back from the table when she’d taken his plate, and she casually moved to straddle him, sitting on his lap. “Why’s that, Peter?” she whispered, her face inches from his.
“Because I love you.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek “Because I hate not being with you.” He kissed her cheek. “Because I want to wake up next to you,” he drew his nose across her cheek as he whispered the words, “want to make love to you every night.” He kissed the corner of her jaw. “I crave being near you, Rose,” he said softly against her ear.
She brought a hand to run through his hair, and turned to whisper to him in return. “I don’t want you to leave, Peter.” She brushed her lips along his jaw, both of her hands now buried in his hair, cradling his head. He tried to turn, to capture her mouth; she held him still.
“I want to come home every night to find you waiting; want to watch you get dressed in the morning…want to just be with you,” she whispered against his mouth. He leaned forward, his hand cupping her jaw as he kissed her. She returned his kiss eagerly, her fingers dancing through his hair.
He finally leaned back, catching his breath. Rose blinked open her eyes, her lips red and glistening.
“Did we just agree to live together?” she asked, softly.
“Yes.” He stroked his knuckles across her cheek. “Somewhere, sometime.”
“Devil’s in the details.” She gave him a small smile.
“Details can wait.” He leaned forward once more, kissing her hungrily; his hands found their way under her blouse, while hers remained buried in his hair, holding him to her as they kissed.
He wanted to make love to Rose, immediately. Wanted to hear her cry his name as he showed her how much he loved her. His erection ached, trapped in the confines of his pants and trousers, Rose’s hips pressed solidly against his groin.
“Bedroom,” he gasped against Rose’s lips. She wasted no time in heeding his suggestion, standing in one fluid motion, capturing his hand and leading him to the bedroom.
It was not one of the gentler evenings with Rose. He was undressed before she was, had found and put on a condom by the time she finally unfastened her bra. He stood behind her, his hands at her hips; she leaned against him, her hips rocking backwards as she turned her head towards him.
He leaned forward, his mouth searching for hers; her lips met his as his hands slid down to tease her.
She was already wet, and she gasped as he ran a finger across her clit, sliding into her folds. He pressed his hips against her bum, the pressure against his penis making him groan. Rose reached down and grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand.
“I want to watch you, Peter,” she whispered. He waited for her to turn in his embrace, almost cried out when she immediately reached for his erection and encircled it with her hand.
He wanted to bury himself in her without delay.
He glanced at her dresser, the closest thing to them in the room; a quick swipe of his hand cleared a space for her on the surface. He helped her to sit on the dresser top, her legs parting so he could stand in between them, so he could slide into her. Her hand guided him to her, and she let out a gasp as he rocked his hips forward.
He immediately began driving into her, hard, over and over; her grunts as he sheathed himself in her only served to drive him on. He wanted to bury himself as deeply as possible, wanted to be as close to her as possible; Rose continued to look down, watching as he slammed into her.
She leaned back after a few moments, bracing her weight on her hands. He bent forward, seeking her breast; he sucked at her, pulling the nipple into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue, alternating attention between breasts, loving the taste of her.
“More, Peter,” she groaned, arching her back.
He straightened, pausing briefly in his rhythm to work out what he could do. Rose opened her eyes, her gaze hazy, and he leaned in for a quick kiss before coming to a decision.
“Bed,” he gasped. It almost hurt to pull out of her, to walk the few short steps to her bed. Rose pulled him down with her as she lay on the mattress, her hips arching to take him in once more. He reached under her left knee with his right arm, driving into her hard; she arched, her eyes meeting his.
“More…Peter…Please.” She braced her right foot on the bed, near his hip, her knee bent, trying to pull him in further. He reached in between them, his thumb finding her clit; he began to rub circles as he set a steady, bruising rhythm.
“Peter…yes. God, yes,” Rose gasped under him, her eyes clenching shut.
“What do you want me to do, Rose?” he ground out, continuing to drive into her.
“That…yes! Don’t stop…don’t…please…” She reached up, forcefully pulling him down for a kiss.
“Come, Rose. For me,” he whispered against her lips, rotating his hips.
She sobbed his name, her eyes screwing shut as she came, pulsing around him. He continued to pound into her, desperate now for his own release. He tilted his head back, focusing, concentrating on the in and out sensation, of Rose surrounding him.
He was so close…
He felt Rose’s hand drift down his chin, across his neck. He opened his eyes, tilting his head forward, his jaw tight as he gazed at her.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, holding his gaze.
“Yes.” He turned, kissing her hand.
“I love this, Peter. Love you. Love when you come.” She pulled him down for a kiss, her lips and teeth nipping and sucking, her tongue teasing him as it danced across the roof of his mouth.
He felt the orgasm crash through him, pulsing into Rose; he broke the kiss, his teeth clenching as he arched into her. She rocked her hips up and into him, prolonging his orgasm, pulling him back to her for another kiss.
He felt dizzy and worried he might actually faint. He released Rose’s leg, rolling off of her, collapsing as his orgasm finally waned.
He gasped for breath, feeling Rose doing the same next to him.
“Feeling a bit dominant?” Rose finally asked, humour in her voice.
“A bit. It’s a reaction to the powerlessness I feel at work,” he offered.
She rolled over, pillowing her head on her hands. “I like it.”
“I’ll remember that. Dominant, with kissing.”
“Lots of kissing.”
“Always.” He rolled onto his side, mirroring her. “I do love you, Rose Tyler.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.” Rose scooted closer. “But, love you or no, Peter-don’t you ever stop when I’m that close to orgasm again.” She grinned, leaning in to kiss him.
“Not even to move to a better position?”
“Not even then.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” he replied, rolling onto his back.
Rose curled against him, her body warm next to his. He briefly pulled away to dispose of the condom before rejoining her, and they fell asleep snuggled together.
~ - ~
Chapter 22