And So Things Go, Chapter 32
Title- And So Things Go (32/34)
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 - Rose and Peter continue to work out how to move on after their row.
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, on an artistic front-thank you to angelfireeast for the lovely banner at the top of the chapter.
A small side note: I’m still on vacation, so apologies for not replying to comments as quickly as usual; most of my internet time right now is dedicated to updating my personal LJ so my parents know I'm alive! Scotland, in case you were wondering, is a truly beautiful and amazing place.
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
It had started to rain as they’d dined, and they opted to skip dessert in the interest of returning to the house before the roads became impassable even by Rose’s standards. Rose snatched the bill from the waiter’s hands when he appeared, hastily fumbling for her wallet and the money to cover the bill. He let her, bemused by her need to pay.
“I don’t think I thanked you properly, yesterday. For paying for lunch. I’d always intended to, and then I got carried away…”
She smiled at him, folding the receipt for the meal into her wallet. “’s ok. Was happy to do it.”
He smiled. “Generous to a fault, even when you’re miserable. You really are the most extraordinary woman.”
She blushed a deep red, and he reached for her hand. “Shall we?”
The roads were worse for the drive back to the house, with more slick spots on the pavement. He sat still and quiet, not wanting to distract Rose from getting them back safely.
She finally pulled in front of the house, releasing a heavy sigh as she engaged the parking brake. “Perhaps we oughtn’t have gone out tonight.”
“I’m glad we did. Thank you.”
She smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”
They slipped and staggered up the walk, hands clasped firmly; when Peter pushed open the front door, guiding Rose through with his hand at the small of her back, he was greeted with darkness.
“Power’s out, then,” he observed, turning to lock the door behind him.
“But the streetlamps are on,” Rose protested.
“Different circuit.” He tossed his keys onto the table by the door, removing his coat before opening the drawer and rooting around for the small torch he kept in there. Rose took his coat from him, using the ambient light from the streetlamps to find the coathook on the wall behind him .
He found the torch, flipping it in his hand before flicking it on. It had been ages since he’d used it, and he hoped the batteries still worked.
It did, offering a small beam of light down the hallway. He used it to guide his steps into the parlour, ensuring that he didn’t trip over the pillows in front of the fireplace, or the coffee table which had moved from its usual position.
“I think we’ll just get a fire going.” He handed the torch to Rose, who had followed him. “The heat runs off the electricity, and we’ll be bloody cold upstairs.”
“You mean I’ll be cold, as you’ll have the duvet.” Rose’s teeth glinted in the light as she grinned.
“Just so.” He grinned in response, then turned his attention to building a fire. He was lucky-he’d had to go buy firewood after Christmas morning, and they’d not burned too much of it in the days since.
Rose vanished briefly once he got the fire going; she returned downstairs a few minutes later, carrying the duvet, a blanket, and two proper pillows. “May as well snuggle down here,” she said, setting the pile next to the sofa. She’d changed into her pyjamas, as well.
“So long as we don’t catch the duvet on fire, I think that’s a good idea.”
“You’re on your own for jim-jams, though-I wasn’t sure where you put them last night.” He’d changed into loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt once he’d realized he would be up for the long haul; instead of his pyjamas ending up on the bed, as they usually did in the morning, he’d tucked them on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe.
He took the torch from her, hurrying upstairs to change. Rose had left the robe hanging on the corner of the wardrobe door and he reached for it, loving the scent of Rose that washed over him as he pulled it on.
She was curled on the sofa when he returned downstairs, simply gazing into the fire.
“Fancy dessert?”
“Are you speaking metaphorically or literally?” she quipped, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards.
“Both. But most immediately, I’m referring to the foodstuff. Care to join me for a perusal of the cupboards?”
He had some ginger biscuits hidden away in a cabinet-purchased months before, but unopened, they were still good. The stove was gas and he was able to light a burner to heat milk for cocoa using a match and good reflexes.
He took the plate of biscuits, carrying it in his left hand while holding the torch in his right, leading the way into the now-warm parlour. Rose followed, a mug of steaming cocoa in each hand. They settled onto the sofa, each claiming a corner of the furniture so they could face the other.
Peter watched Rose as she took a cautious sip of the cocoa, testing its temperature. She wrapped her hands her mug, finding it wasn’t too hot, and gazed at him over its top.
He took a bite of his biscuit, chewing it thoughtfully, washing it down with a sip of cocoa. “Are you happy?” he finally asked, his voice soft.
“Of course I am. Are you?”
“More than I’d thought possible.”
“I’m glad.”
They continued to stare at each other, nursing their cocoa, slowly making their way through the biscuits. The fire offered flickering golden light, casting the room into stark shadow, making Rose’s eyes dance as she gazed at him.
He wondered again, briefly, what she saw as she looked at him. Pale skin, freckles, brown hair and brown eyes; his features invariably struck him as mundane, no better than average. Rose, though, had told him more than a few times that she thought him beautiful, or handsome; she loved to gaze at him, trace her fingers over his cheeks or his lips. She saw something he didn’t, without question-and he was grateful for it.
The fire died down after a bit; he had finished his cocoa, and moved to the fireplace, adding some wood and watching it flare back into life. Peter sensed as much as heard Rose move to the blanket; he turned to find her sitting with her back against the arm of the sofa, and he moved to join her.
She wrapped her arms around him as he leaned against her, his hips between her legs, his torso resting against her front. “Could get used to this,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
“I hope we have the chance to do just that,” he answered, closing his eyes, his head tilting back against her shoulder.
She brushed several light kisses across his ear, his neck, his shoulder; her hands remained tangled with his, resting on his stomach. His pulse accelerated as she went, teasing him gently, the kisses growing longer as she retraced her path to his ear.
“I want to make love to you, Peter,” she whispered. Her lips worked at his earlobe, sucking gently on it, rolling it; he sighed, feeling his groin begin to stir.
“Yes,” he answered, softly, reluctant to move, to interrupt what she was doing.
Rose freed a hand, her fingers now sliding down his skin, across the fabric of his pyjamas, seeking his penis. He gasped as her hand found its mark, as she began to stroke him through the cotton. “My Peter,” she whispered, brushing a kiss across his temple. “My beautiful, beloved Peter.”
He turned, seeking her lips; she shifted, her mouth meeting his for a languorous kiss. Her hand continued to stroke him, encouraging him to harden further, matching the rhythm of her tongue against his.
Rose freed her other hand from his, sliding it under the waistband of his pyjamas; he gasped against her as her hand wrapped around his erection, stroking ever so gently upwards.
“Rose,” he groaned, her thumb now dancing around the head of his penis.
“Peter,” she replied, her words swallowed by his kiss.
“Make love to me,” he almost whimpered, the motion of her hand affecting him far more quickly than he was used to.
She released him, her hand sliding out from under his pyjamas; she broke the kiss, leaning back. He opened his eyes, turning, meeting her gaze.
“I want you out of those, Peter.” She stroked his pyjamas.
He scooted away, standing briefly to shed the offending garment. Rose had stood as well, languidly undressing next to him-teasing him, still.
Peter reached for her, pulling her to him the instant she kicked her knickers away. He was so tempted to crush his mouth against hers, to make this fast and hard and needy; instead he lowered his mouth to hers ever so slowly, sensing the tension and need radiating from Rose as he took his time.
“Bastard,” she whispered against his lips when he finally did kiss her.
“Yes,” he replied before silencing her by deepening the kiss.
At some point they returned to sitting on the blanket, Rose straddling him. She’d brought a condom downstairs with her, and insisted on teasing him as she opened it, tearing the packet as slowly as possible, holding his gaze as she did it.
“Rose,” he growled, his hands reaching for her-to take the packet from her, to pull the condom on so he could bury himself in her sooner rather than later.
“You started this, Peter,” she replied, a sultry grin on her lips.
“I want it to end.”
She finished opening the packet and pulled the condom out. “Why is that, Peter?” She reached down, taking his erection in her hand, rolling the latex onto him. She returned her gaze to his as she worked, her eyes dark.
“I want to be in you. Want to feel you around me,” he gasped; she had encircled his erection with her hand when she finished, and was slowly stroking him.
He propped himself up, his weight braced on his hands; she leaned forward, kissing him, her fist tight around him as she continued to stroke.
“Please, Rose…stop…torture…” He gasped the words against her lips, in time to each upstroke.
She released him, her mouth crushing against his. He arched, sliding his hands closer to his hips so he could sit straighter, could kiss her without having to contort his body quite so much.
He felt her fingers around him, could feel her shifting closer. So close….
Rose broke the kiss, leaning back ever so slightly.
“Peter.” Her voice was soft, breathless. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze as she hitched her hips, sliding onto him. “My Peter,” she said as she buried him in her.
“My Rose,” he replied, rocking his hips slightly.
Rose wrapped her arms around him, supporting him; he brought his arms around her back, holding her to him. She began to rock against him, raising her hips to slide him out of her before slowly lowering them.
“My love,” she whispered, her tongue flicking out to dance along the shell of his ear. “My happiness,” she brushed a kiss over his eyelids. “My Peter.” She slammed her hips downwards, driving him into her as far as she could.
She increased her rhythm, the fingers of one hand now buried in his hair; he brushed kisses across the skin he could reach, nipping lightly at her shoulders, dancing his tongue along her neck.
“Peter…my Peter….”
“My Rose, my only Rose,” he whispered, looking up to her. She tilted her chin, meeting him for a kiss, rocking against him as she worked towards an orgasm.
He was lost in their kiss, in the rhythm and feel of Rose above and around him, when she ran the tip of her tongue along the roof of his mouth. She’d learned quickly that he liked it; he felt a frisson of electricity run down his spine to his penis, his entire body tingling in the aftermath.
“I want you, Rose,” he growled against her lips, holding her tightly to him.
“I’m yours,” she panted, so close now to orgasm.
“Mine.” His voice was gravely, and he punctuated the statement with a plundering kiss, holding her head so that she couldn’t move away.
He could feel her movements grow less controlled, knew she was so very close. He broke the kiss, making room between them to slide a hand down, to dance a finger over her clit. Her eyes were locked on his as he pushed her over the edge, into her orgasm. He felt her clench around him, saw her eyes water as she held them open, watching him as she rode out the sensation.
“My Rose. My love. I only live for thee,” he whispered, leaning up to kiss her. He was close to his own orgasm, only needed to close his eyes, to lose himself in the sensations he was experiencing…
“I want this, Peter. Want to feel you come…” She whispered the words around the kiss, rocking against him in a steady rhythm. He focused, the feel of her sliding against him, of her warmth surrounding him; of her breasts brushing against his chest, of the hair at the join of her thighs rubbing against the base of his erection…
“God…Rose….” He came, groaning the words as his world contracted then exploded. She buried him fully in her, clenching her muscles around him, prolonging the sensation.
Time stopped for him, his world narrowed to the point where he and Rose were joined.
He finally regained an awareness of his surroundings some time later. His skin was clammy from sweat, now cooling; Rose’s arms were still wrapped around him, and her cheek was resting on his shoulder.
He rubbed her back. “Y’alright?”
“Right as rain. Or sleet,” she murmured.
He smiled, kissing her hair. “I need to add a log to the fire, Rose. Then we can sleep.”
“You must be exhausted,” she observed, slowly shifting off of him, wincing as she straightened her legs.
“I’ve had things to keep me awake.” He kissed her again, briefly, then moved feed the flickering fire.
He padded into the kitchen to dispose of the condom, pouring two glasses of water after he’d cleaned up. Rose had put her pyjamas on by the time he returned, and was stretched out on the blanket.
“Water for milady,” he said, handing her a glass.
She took it, then gazed openly at him.
“Like what you see, then?” he asked wryly.
“Most definitely. Especially when there’s no clothing in the way.” She gave him a lascivious glance, reaching to run a hand up the back of his leg.
“Randy tonight, Miss Tyler?” He bent his knees, sitting next to Rose.
“Always, when you’re about.” She took a sip of water, holding his gaze.
He smiled. “No wonder I’m always exhausted.”
“Old man,” she leaned into him, bumping her shoulder into his.
“I’ll need a walker in a year or so. It’ll be terrible for sex.”
“We’ll just have to get more proficient at using walls.”
He choked on his sip of water, and she laughed.
“You’re beautiful, Peter, no matter what.” Her voice had softened, and she reached forward to drift her fingers down his cheek.
“Thank you.” He caught her hand, kissing the pads of her first two fingers. “I hope it’s not the hair you love, though-I’ll be grey in a few years.”
“I love all of you,” she whispered, her gaze solemn.
“As I love you, Rose. All of you.”
They fell asleep together in front of the fireplace, far enough back to keep from setting the duvet on fire, but close enough for Rose to stay warm-even when he stole the duvet.
~ - ~
Chapter 33