An Epilogue Thing
Title: An Epilogue Thing
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: aibhinn
Prompt: Three to four days after the epilogue to TWoT. :D
Notes: Written in response to the timestamp meme over at my LJ.
Thank you, as always, to my trusty--and quite invaluable--betas, chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 :)
An Epilogue Thing
Peter slowly awoke, disorientation washing through him briefly as he processed that he wasn’t alone in bed.
Had he gone out? He hadn’t brought a woman home in years...and he didn’t remember having gone out drinking with Penny the night before...
He opened his eyes, blinking in the pale blue light of early dawn, taking in the way the light was just starting to make shapes discernible in the room. And then it hit him.
Rose. Rose was in bed with him, had slept with him every night of the week, since she’d arrived from London, surprising him.
He rolled over, eager to see her, to watch her as she slept peacefully next to him. She was on her side-almost on her stomach, but not quite-and her lips were slightly parted; a few locks of hair lay across her cheek. One hand was tucked against her chest, while her other hand lay on the bed between them, the fingers curling as her hand relaxed. She’d wrapped a corner of the duvet around her at some point, and he guiltily shifted some of it over to give her more warmth; he’d spent too long sleeping alone, was far too used to having the entirety of the warm blanket to himself.
She sighed softly as he tucked her in, and he ghosted his fingers across her cheek.
Rose Tyler was in his bed, with him; had come to Kendal, specifically to see him, to stay with him.
He felt a sense of unreality wash briefly through him; he’d never been this lucky in life, and a small part of him wondered when his luck would run out.
He shoved the thoughts aside, bringing his fingers to rest in the palm of her hand. He was already in love with the woman sleeping peacefully next to him-that, too, was still a bit of a shock, although he was as sure of the emotion as he’d ever been-and he found he couldn’t get enough of simply watching her sleep.
She looked so young, so unguarded; it was a complete change from the woman he’d first come to know, and he felt a flash of pride that he had the opportunity to see her like this, that she trusted him enough to let him see it. He hoped, desperately, that he’d be able to see her like this for every morning of years to come-or at least every morning they spent together. Peter stifled a sigh as he remembered that in just over a week’s time, Rose would be gone-back to London, back to the two of them making time to see each other on the odd day or weekend.
He’d grown spoiled, having her with him every day, waking up with her, going to sleep with her, making love to her whenever he-or she-liked, practically wherever struck their fancy.
The room was growing brighter as the sun rose, illuminating more of the features of the woman in bed with him. Shadows deepened and shifted over her skin, highlighting interesting hollows, areas begging for exploration with his lips or his hands. Rose rolled onto her back after the room was in full light, the duvet cover only barely covering her curves; Peter felt a flash of want as he gazed at her now, at the pale swell of her breasts hiding tantalizingly under the deep red duvet.
He’d awoken hard, as he usually did; and, as it usually did, the erection had faded away as he’d fully woken up. But as he continued to watch Rose--remembering what it had been like to make love to her the night before, her soft sighs filling the room--he felt himself grow hard again, felt the complete need to make love to her once more. He couldn’t remember ever being quite so randy-not with Loreen, certainly; not with Natalie; and not even with Annie.
He felt a quick smile pass across his lips at the thought. Rose was turning him into a living cliché, making him feel years younger than his true age.
Peter quickly rolled over, sliding the drawer of the bedside table open and removing a condom packet; he opened the packet, rolling the latex over his erection, before returning his attention to Rose. He shifted, closing the distance between them; Rose continued to sleep as he slid a hand across her stomach, as he pressed his body against hers.
He stroked his hand across her stomach, revelling briefly in the soft warmth under his fingertips; she let out a soft sigh of contentment, not flinching or moving away from him. He pressed his lips against her collarbone, then slid his hand down, across her lower abdomen, finding the coarse hair at the join of her thighs. Her legs were slightly parted, and he was able to dip his fingers further, to slide them into her folds and down to her entrance.
She let out another soft sigh, and she bent her right leg; so far as he could tell, she was still asleep, but some part of her was clearly aware of what was going on.
He gently stroked her, gently rubbing her clit before dipping his fingers back to her entrance, slowly increasing her wetness. He kept pressing kisses against her skin, and watched as her nipples, now exposed, hardened into nubs. He moved slightly, flicking his tongue against the breast closest to him as he dipped a finger into her; he was rewarded with a softly murmured, “Peter,” as Rose began to come awake.
He paused, glancing to her face, looking to see if she was making an objection of any sort. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips still parted; she didn’t look to be in distress, or upset.
He raised the duvet, and moved to rest between her legs. Rose moved her left leg, giving him more room; another quick glance showed that her eyes were still closed, and her face was still slack. He leaned forward, allowing himself the brief pleasure of pressing against her as he laved first one breast, then the other; he then pushed himself away, drifting kisses down her stomach, ending with a gentle kiss to the crease of her thigh.
The smell of her-of sex, and of Rose, the slightly salty tang that he was forever going to associate with making love to her, and only her-made his erection twitch; he wanted her, badly, but wanted her to be awake before he slid into her. He shifted slightly, his fingers parting her folds, and began to dance his tongue along the warm, damp flesh he found there.
He loved teasing her, loved using the tip of his tongue to play with her clit before sliding down, dipping into her and coating his tongue with her wetness; he felt himself grow harder as he tasted her, as he slowly worked to bring her awake before making her come.
He felt her shift; felt a hand come to his head, her fingers clumsily threading through his hair in a motion of encouragement. He began to lap at her, setting a proper rhythm until he felt her begin to rock up to meet him.
As quickly as he could he moved, pulling away, pushing up; he silenced her mewl of protest by kissing her, hard; and then he reached down, guiding himself to her, arching so he slid into her.
She bucked up and into him, bracing her feet on the mattress; he had to pause as he was fully sheathed in her, the sudden warmth almost too much for him to bear. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, trying to calm his roiling emotions.
“Don’ stop,” she whispered sleepily, jerkily rocking up and into him. “Wanna come.”
He felt a flash, an early warning that his orgasm was near; he jerked his hips, pushing further into Rose, eliciting a groan and a hissed “Yes” from the woman underneath him.
“Like that, then?” he whispered.
Rose’s response was to rock against him again.
He pulled out slowly-it was almost an agony, forcing himself to go so slow, but he was desperate to ensure that this lasted as long as possible-pausing briefly before rocking forward, sheathing himself once more in Rose. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck, and as he set a slow, if steady rhythm-pull out, pause, drive forward, pause-he began to dance his tongue along the column of her neck.
She whimpered softly after a minute or so of the steady pace, met his thrusts more eagerly, trying to pull him further into her, faster, harder; he kept the rhythm, and leaned forward to slowly suck at her earlobe before whispering, “What do you want, Rose?”
She turned her head, her lips finding his, one hand holding his head while her other slid to his bum, pulling him towards her. Her tongue pressed forward, finding his, teasing him mercilessly.
He increased his pace, pausing not at all now as he stroked in and out of her, focusing instead on intensifying the feeling coiling in his stomach, on making the woman underneath him cry out his name as she orgasmed around him.
She slid her hand away from the back of his head, across his shoulders; he felt it come around his ribcage, then slip between their bodies, down to where they were joined. As she wiggled her fingers, finding her clit to begin teasing herself, she stroked her tongue across the roof of his mouth, sending fiery waves of pleasure washing through him.
He bucked into her, hard, and he felt her lips curve in a smile.
He could feel his orgasm growing ever closer, knew that if Rose kept doing what she was doing-both to him and to herself-he’d be shouting her name in no time; he broke the kiss, faltering only slightly in his rhythm as he arched, bending so he could lave at her breast.
He pulled the taut nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue; Rose was rocking against him erratically now, her hips bucking into him as her fingers frantically played at her clit. He pulled back, watching her as she worried her lip-and then he leaned forward, whispering, “I want you to come around me, Rose. Make me come.”
Her eyes flew open, the amber of her irises almost completely eaten by the black of her pupils; he held her gaze as he drove into her in long, deep strokes, and watched as her orgasm tore through her, her eyes clenching shut as her body went taut.
The feeling of her clenching around him, of her clever fingers now sliding down to where they were joined and providing a new sensation; he slammed into her now, his strokes erratic as he felt the delicious tension within him give way and unspool. He buried himself in her, his hips pushing against the cradle of hers, as he released into the condom, the clenching of her body around his prolonging his orgasm.
The wave passed; he suddenly felt boneless, and had to fight the urge to collapse completely on top of her. The small part of his brain which was still functioning reminded him that he needed to slide out of her now, while he was still hard; had to dispose of the latex before he could allow himself to snuggle against his Rose ; he forced himself to listen, and hastily disposed of the rubbish before rolling back to face Rose.
She was on her side, watching him; he blushed, embarrassed at her having watched him dispose of the used condom.
“’mornin’, stranger” she whispered, her hand reaching forward to brush across his jaw. She gave him a gentle smile, one filled with a bit of shyness; he settled onto his side, facing her, mirroring her actions.
He watched her eyes flutter as his fingers ghosted across her jaw, and he felt another wave of love for her pass through him.
“Good morning.” He leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Rose smiled and he pulled her to him, snuggling against the warmth of her body.
~ fin ~
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: aibhinn
Prompt: Three to four days after the epilogue to TWoT. :D
Notes: Written in response to the timestamp meme over at my LJ.
Thank you, as always, to my trusty--and quite invaluable--betas, chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 :)
An Epilogue Thing
Peter slowly awoke, disorientation washing through him briefly as he processed that he wasn’t alone in bed.
Had he gone out? He hadn’t brought a woman home in years...and he didn’t remember having gone out drinking with Penny the night before...
He opened his eyes, blinking in the pale blue light of early dawn, taking in the way the light was just starting to make shapes discernible in the room. And then it hit him.
Rose. Rose was in bed with him, had slept with him every night of the week, since she’d arrived from London, surprising him.
He rolled over, eager to see her, to watch her as she slept peacefully next to him. She was on her side-almost on her stomach, but not quite-and her lips were slightly parted; a few locks of hair lay across her cheek. One hand was tucked against her chest, while her other hand lay on the bed between them, the fingers curling as her hand relaxed. She’d wrapped a corner of the duvet around her at some point, and he guiltily shifted some of it over to give her more warmth; he’d spent too long sleeping alone, was far too used to having the entirety of the warm blanket to himself.
She sighed softly as he tucked her in, and he ghosted his fingers across her cheek.
Rose Tyler was in his bed, with him; had come to Kendal, specifically to see him, to stay with him.
He felt a sense of unreality wash briefly through him; he’d never been this lucky in life, and a small part of him wondered when his luck would run out.
He shoved the thoughts aside, bringing his fingers to rest in the palm of her hand. He was already in love with the woman sleeping peacefully next to him-that, too, was still a bit of a shock, although he was as sure of the emotion as he’d ever been-and he found he couldn’t get enough of simply watching her sleep.
She looked so young, so unguarded; it was a complete change from the woman he’d first come to know, and he felt a flash of pride that he had the opportunity to see her like this, that she trusted him enough to let him see it. He hoped, desperately, that he’d be able to see her like this for every morning of years to come-or at least every morning they spent together. Peter stifled a sigh as he remembered that in just over a week’s time, Rose would be gone-back to London, back to the two of them making time to see each other on the odd day or weekend.
He’d grown spoiled, having her with him every day, waking up with her, going to sleep with her, making love to her whenever he-or she-liked, practically wherever struck their fancy.
The room was growing brighter as the sun rose, illuminating more of the features of the woman in bed with him. Shadows deepened and shifted over her skin, highlighting interesting hollows, areas begging for exploration with his lips or his hands. Rose rolled onto her back after the room was in full light, the duvet cover only barely covering her curves; Peter felt a flash of want as he gazed at her now, at the pale swell of her breasts hiding tantalizingly under the deep red duvet.
He’d awoken hard, as he usually did; and, as it usually did, the erection had faded away as he’d fully woken up. But as he continued to watch Rose--remembering what it had been like to make love to her the night before, her soft sighs filling the room--he felt himself grow hard again, felt the complete need to make love to her once more. He couldn’t remember ever being quite so randy-not with Loreen, certainly; not with Natalie; and not even with Annie.
He felt a quick smile pass across his lips at the thought. Rose was turning him into a living cliché, making him feel years younger than his true age.
Peter quickly rolled over, sliding the drawer of the bedside table open and removing a condom packet; he opened the packet, rolling the latex over his erection, before returning his attention to Rose. He shifted, closing the distance between them; Rose continued to sleep as he slid a hand across her stomach, as he pressed his body against hers.
He stroked his hand across her stomach, revelling briefly in the soft warmth under his fingertips; she let out a soft sigh of contentment, not flinching or moving away from him. He pressed his lips against her collarbone, then slid his hand down, across her lower abdomen, finding the coarse hair at the join of her thighs. Her legs were slightly parted, and he was able to dip his fingers further, to slide them into her folds and down to her entrance.
She let out another soft sigh, and she bent her right leg; so far as he could tell, she was still asleep, but some part of her was clearly aware of what was going on.
He gently stroked her, gently rubbing her clit before dipping his fingers back to her entrance, slowly increasing her wetness. He kept pressing kisses against her skin, and watched as her nipples, now exposed, hardened into nubs. He moved slightly, flicking his tongue against the breast closest to him as he dipped a finger into her; he was rewarded with a softly murmured, “Peter,” as Rose began to come awake.
He paused, glancing to her face, looking to see if she was making an objection of any sort. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips still parted; she didn’t look to be in distress, or upset.
He raised the duvet, and moved to rest between her legs. Rose moved her left leg, giving him more room; another quick glance showed that her eyes were still closed, and her face was still slack. He leaned forward, allowing himself the brief pleasure of pressing against her as he laved first one breast, then the other; he then pushed himself away, drifting kisses down her stomach, ending with a gentle kiss to the crease of her thigh.
The smell of her-of sex, and of Rose, the slightly salty tang that he was forever going to associate with making love to her, and only her-made his erection twitch; he wanted her, badly, but wanted her to be awake before he slid into her. He shifted slightly, his fingers parting her folds, and began to dance his tongue along the warm, damp flesh he found there.
He loved teasing her, loved using the tip of his tongue to play with her clit before sliding down, dipping into her and coating his tongue with her wetness; he felt himself grow harder as he tasted her, as he slowly worked to bring her awake before making her come.
He felt her shift; felt a hand come to his head, her fingers clumsily threading through his hair in a motion of encouragement. He began to lap at her, setting a proper rhythm until he felt her begin to rock up to meet him.
As quickly as he could he moved, pulling away, pushing up; he silenced her mewl of protest by kissing her, hard; and then he reached down, guiding himself to her, arching so he slid into her.
She bucked up and into him, bracing her feet on the mattress; he had to pause as he was fully sheathed in her, the sudden warmth almost too much for him to bear. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, trying to calm his roiling emotions.
“Don’ stop,” she whispered sleepily, jerkily rocking up and into him. “Wanna come.”
He felt a flash, an early warning that his orgasm was near; he jerked his hips, pushing further into Rose, eliciting a groan and a hissed “Yes” from the woman underneath him.
“Like that, then?” he whispered.
Rose’s response was to rock against him again.
He pulled out slowly-it was almost an agony, forcing himself to go so slow, but he was desperate to ensure that this lasted as long as possible-pausing briefly before rocking forward, sheathing himself once more in Rose. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck, and as he set a slow, if steady rhythm-pull out, pause, drive forward, pause-he began to dance his tongue along the column of her neck.
She whimpered softly after a minute or so of the steady pace, met his thrusts more eagerly, trying to pull him further into her, faster, harder; he kept the rhythm, and leaned forward to slowly suck at her earlobe before whispering, “What do you want, Rose?”
She turned her head, her lips finding his, one hand holding his head while her other slid to his bum, pulling him towards her. Her tongue pressed forward, finding his, teasing him mercilessly.
He increased his pace, pausing not at all now as he stroked in and out of her, focusing instead on intensifying the feeling coiling in his stomach, on making the woman underneath him cry out his name as she orgasmed around him.
She slid her hand away from the back of his head, across his shoulders; he felt it come around his ribcage, then slip between their bodies, down to where they were joined. As she wiggled her fingers, finding her clit to begin teasing herself, she stroked her tongue across the roof of his mouth, sending fiery waves of pleasure washing through him.
He bucked into her, hard, and he felt her lips curve in a smile.
He could feel his orgasm growing ever closer, knew that if Rose kept doing what she was doing-both to him and to herself-he’d be shouting her name in no time; he broke the kiss, faltering only slightly in his rhythm as he arched, bending so he could lave at her breast.
He pulled the taut nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue; Rose was rocking against him erratically now, her hips bucking into him as her fingers frantically played at her clit. He pulled back, watching her as she worried her lip-and then he leaned forward, whispering, “I want you to come around me, Rose. Make me come.”
Her eyes flew open, the amber of her irises almost completely eaten by the black of her pupils; he held her gaze as he drove into her in long, deep strokes, and watched as her orgasm tore through her, her eyes clenching shut as her body went taut.
The feeling of her clenching around him, of her clever fingers now sliding down to where they were joined and providing a new sensation; he slammed into her now, his strokes erratic as he felt the delicious tension within him give way and unspool. He buried himself in her, his hips pushing against the cradle of hers, as he released into the condom, the clenching of her body around his prolonging his orgasm.
The wave passed; he suddenly felt boneless, and had to fight the urge to collapse completely on top of her. The small part of his brain which was still functioning reminded him that he needed to slide out of her now, while he was still hard; had to dispose of the latex before he could allow himself to snuggle against his Rose ; he forced himself to listen, and hastily disposed of the rubbish before rolling back to face Rose.
She was on her side, watching him; he blushed, embarrassed at her having watched him dispose of the used condom.
“’mornin’, stranger” she whispered, her hand reaching forward to brush across his jaw. She gave him a gentle smile, one filled with a bit of shyness; he settled onto his side, facing her, mirroring her actions.
He watched her eyes flutter as his fingers ghosted across her jaw, and he felt another wave of love for her pass through him.
“Good morning.” He leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Rose smiled and he pulled her to him, snuggling against the warmth of her body.
~ fin ~