Fic: Up Against (1/1)
Title: Up Against
Author: karenor
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: Adult, quite.
Summary: Another alley. Another rough wall.
Disclaimer: Like we'd ever see this on telly.
Beta: The most splendiferous requialexa, who hates my comma splices, but still loves me.
Author's Notes: This is, without a doubt, the most clichéd thing I've ever written. I hope that's okay. ;) Possibly the smuttiest (not the most graphic, though). You be the judge. Written for the unfolded73-coined unofficial Tenth Doctor Cliché-a-thon '09 and inspired by a very... inspiring fic meme prompt from fid_gin. ;) PWP. Set wherever you like in S2.
She could see the TARDIS up ahead, still an impossible distance away, especially with the armed guards milling around it. They’d not been spotted yet, but with more of those large, fuzzy, purple beasts with guns somewhere behind them as well, it wasn't looking good-no matter how fast they could run. But they'd been through worse scrapes than this, and with the Doctor's hand in hers and his trainers pounding the pavement next to hers, she was sure they'd be fine. Eventually.
Without any warning, she found her arm yanked sharply, as the Doctor pulled her into a small gap between the ramshackle buildings lining the street. He pushed her back against a wall, pressed his body, full length, along hers, so that she was sandwiched between him and the rough stone wall. She gasped in surprise and he clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened.
Quiet, he mouthed. They'll hear you.
She swallowed beneath his hand and nodded as best she could. Her heart was racing from running, and his... proximity was doing nothing to slow it down. Nor was the fact that he hadn't removed his hand from against her lips. She drew in breaths through her nose as quietly as she was able and tried to focus on the danger they were in, on escape, on getting to the TARDIS. Not on the scent of his skin, or how well the Doctor fit against her, or how good it might feel, or if the hearts she could feel galloping against her chest through their layers of clothing were spurred by danger alone.
She searched his eyes, saw his concern for her there. That slight edge of rage that crept into him when someone directly threatened her. The guard’s guns were nearly as dangerous as a Dalek’s laser, he’d said earlier; one shot could spell the end. Oh but there was definitely something else there in his dark stare. A shifting warmth that her instincts told her had nothing to do with her welfare or deadly arms’ fire and everything to do with her.
She’d seen hints of this before, she wasn’t completely blind. And of course they’d been flirting shamelessly since... well, pretty much since they’d met. But he’d never looked at her quite like this, and certainly never when his whole body was pressed up against her. She instinctively shifted her hips against his and almost whimpered before she remembered the need for silence.
His tongue darted out to moisten his thin lips; she watched his eyes flick to where he still covered hers. It couldn’t mean that he… that they might…?
His hand loosed its clamp over her mouth, but didn’t leave it immediately; instead his fingers drew slowly over her lips and down her throat before sliding to the back of her neck. He angled his head and leaned towards her and she knew in the next second his lips would be on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and her arms went around him, clutching at his coat. But then he went rigid and tension radiated from him. She panicked, thinking she must have somehow completely misinterpreted the signals. He threw himself even more forcefully against her and buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, and angled her away from the wall, so that his back was facing the street. And then she heard it too-the pounding of pursuing boots. The guards had caught up and were fast approaching. In case they were spotted and fired upon, he was protecting her body with his own.
* * *
He sagged against the TARDIS doors when they finally made it back inside unscathed. It took some manoeuvring, slight of hand, and at least one instance of slightly exaggerating the effects of his trusty sonic (the classics never got old). And now they were safe. Well, safe from the Yerboosian Royal Guard, at least.
He looked at Rose leaning on the door next to him, her face flushed and her chest heaving for breath from their last mad dash to safety, adrenaline and the faint traces of desire pulsing beneath her skin. He swallowed deeply and clenched his fists with the almost uncontrollable compulsion to touch her. To finish what they’d almost started back in that alley. If those guards hadn’t caught up when they had… Well, it was a very good thing they had. Aside from the nearly shooting them to death thing...
He kicked off from the door and skipped up the ramp, tossed his coat onto a strut, and bounded to the console to send them into the vortex with as much flourish as he could muster. More slight of hand, there. Distraction was key.
“Off we go then. Goodbye Yerboo. Remind me not to stop off there again. Blimey, the locals are rude.”
“Yeah,” Rose said with a small smile, still leaning on the doors. The way she was looking at him though... it didn’t seem like she was being adequately distracted. She held his gaze as she started walking up the ramp and he felt he had to turn away, lest she see what he was thinking plainly on his face. And what he was thinking at that moment was well ruder than anything the Yerboosians had done. It involved bare flesh on the console, the jump seat, the floor grating, possibly against a strut...
He cleared his throat and fiddled with dials on the console.
“Tea?” he asked too loudly because she was suddenly standing right next to him.
She shook her head. “Not really in the mood.”
“Are you hungry? I could take you to Flosbitor. Best banoffee pie this side of the galaxy!”
“Don’t want pie,” she said, the full force of her considerable feminine wiles imbuing every word as she picked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and then slid herself between him and the console.
No harmless flirting, this. Not this time. This was flirting she intended to deliver on. And, much to his dismay, he couldn’t have that. He put a bit of space between them and tried to look anywhere but at her.
“Sandwich?” Why couldn’t he think of anything aside from food? Certainly not because of anything else he might want to do with his mouth…
She shook her head again and he made the mistake of catching her gaze. Oh yes, Rose definitely knew what he’d been thinking.
“Chips?” he nearly squeaked. “I could about murder some from…”
She sighed and he trailed off, and just like that, all the flirt was gone from her. “If you want,” she said, moving away from the console and heading for the interior of the ship, “but I think I’m just gonna have a shower and get some sleep.”
Well, handled that smashingly, he thought, mentally kicking himself.
“Rose!” he called as she was about to disappear from the room.
Something indefinable flashed across her face as she turned back. “Yeah?”
“About earlier…”
He could do this.
She took a step toward him and he found himself moving closer to her as well. “Yeah?” she prompted.
He could tell her that companion snogging was absolutely out of the question. Or he could do some very thorough companion snogging, which would inevitably lead to other very thorough activities. One or the other, but he wouldn’t let this hang in the air between them anymore. She took another step closer to him. She was within arm’s length now…
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Throwing you up against the wall?”
She flushed. “N-no…” she said a little unsteadily. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” he nodded, hearing a gravelly quality colour his voice. “Just checking.” Another step forward and he could reach up, slide his hands into her hair and pull her lips to his.
But as it happened, he was still a complete coward. He couldn’t do this.
“Goodnight, then,” he said.
She blinked as if waking from a daze.
“Right. Um, see you in the morning,” she said. With that, she practically sprinted down the hall and out of his view.
His kick to himself wasn’t mental this time.
* * *
Two weeks later she was at home on the Estate, visiting her mum, and planning an evening out with her mates. The Doctor was in the TARDIS fixing some bit of something she couldn’t remember that did some stuff she didn’t understand. She’d promised him Jackie’s tea and as many biscuits as he’d like, but he’d declined. In his relationship with her mum, he seemed to have gone a bit backward. In that a nudge and a smile from her couldn’t get him to come up to the flat anymore.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to find himself stuck with her in a place with four walls and without nearly infinite space. Might be a little too intimate. In two weeks he’d barely touched her at all. Three hugs only, and quick ones at that, never anything lingering. And not even once did he look at her like he wanted to snog her senseless.
And somehow, that made her want him even more. She was fixated on the thought of kissing him, of shagging him. Of coming and making him come. For each different suit/shirt/tie combination she’d seen him in over the past couple weeks, she’d imagine new and imaginative ways of getting him out of his clothes. And what she’d do then. And sometimes she imagined doing those things without getting him out of his clothes. On their last crash landing, when he’d fallen on his back onto the grate of the TARDIS, she was taken with the intense desire to crawl over him, undo his zip and take him into her mouth. If she hadn’t thought he’d boot her out of the TARDIS, or at the very least haul her into the med bay to assess her apparent brain damage, she might have done it.
It was all making her quite sullen.
When Shareen came by to get ready before heading out, her friend called her on it immediately.
“Problems with your bloke, then?”
“He’s not my bloke,” Rose balked, automatically. “We just travel together. Just mates.”
“And I’m just the Pope’s illegitimate daughter,” Shareen snorted. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. What’s the problem then?”
Rose rummaged through whatever clothes she’d not carted onto the TARDIS at some point, looking for something to wear. “It’s nothing...” Rose insisted, speaking into a silver sequined top.
“Shagging gone off? Is he bored? Are you? Where is himself anyway? He came out at New Years.”
Rose sighed and fell back on her bed dramatically, dragging the top with her. She might as well let it all out. As much as she could, anyway. It might help to tell someone.
“It’s not gone off. It’s not gone on. And I’m not bored, I’m bloody frustrated. And he’s... he didn’t want to come up. I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Seriously?” Shareen asked, hopping on the bed. “You’re seriously not shagging him?”
Rose didn’t answer.
“Well, you’re wearing something slutty tonight.”
* * *
It’d been two weeks. Two weeks of a self-imposed ban on Rose-touching. He tried not to be too obvious about it. And he’d forgotten at least a few times only to recall when he’d already grabbed her hand, or when they were mid-hug and he would practically jump away from her. The result was... unsatisfactory. It only served to make him want her more. In his bedroom, deliberately moved very far from Rose’s, he’d brought himself off to thoughts of her. Four times. More times than in this entire regeneration, until two weeks ago. He wasn’t human; he didn’t need sex the way they did. And yet... he couldn’t stop himself thinking of the way she’d looked at him on Yerboo, her face flushed, her breasts pushing up against him with every breath, her lips under his fingers.
And after, when she’d made it very clear she wanted what he did. He imagined that instead of inane chatter about tea and chips that he’d taken what she’d nearly been offering. That he’d claimed those tempting full lips, finally tasting her properly, that he’d shoved those painted-on jeans from her hips and slid inside her, right there on the console, fucking her until she cried out his name in ecstasy.
It was a good fantasy, but it was wearing thin. Even with his combined supreme powers of observation, memory, and imagination, he couldn’t conjure up the face Rose might make when she comes. He wasn’t sure if she’d be a moaner, a screamer, the silent type. Would she scratch her nails down his back or be docile?
He wanted to know.
And frankly, he was having trouble remembering why it was so important that he not find out. No, that wasn’t true. He remembered, he was just past caring. Almost. Which is why he sent her out alone today. A visit with her mum, her mates. A bit of distance between them, and he’d sort himself out. Refocus, find his centre, etc. TARDIS maintenance was the perfect vehicle for that, and he had been neglecting the old girl a bit of late.
A few hours after Rose had left to go up to her mum’s flat, the phone rang.
“Hi,” she said. “It’s me.”
“I did figure. How’s your mum?”
“Um... she’s great.” She covered the receiver and there were muffled noises, voices he couldn’t make out. “I’m going out with Shareen and the girls,” she said after a moment. She told him where.
He found himself quite suddenly jealous. Of Rose spending time with her girlfriends. It was irrational. But there it was.
“That’s nice,” he said. “Have a good time.”
They rang off and he sat there on the jump seat for several long minutes, just fiddling with his sonic screwdriver.
Could it hurt, really? If he happened to stop by the club? Not to check up on her or anything. Just to see that she was having a good time. He kept her away from her friends for long stretches after all. She might feel awkward around them, or bored. And if it seemed all was well, well... she didn’t have to know that he’d shown up. He was a master of blending into crowds, after all.
And even though a part of him realised this was probably a colossal mistake, his feet were carrying him to his wardrobe to pick a change of clothes, and he was already contemplating the exact placement and ratio of hair gel to hair to have the maximum effect on his ruggedly handsome appearance.
It was possible Rose made him a little bit of a nutter.
* * *
“I haven’t worn a skirt this short since I was 17!” Rose yelled into her mate’s ear as they danced to the driving beat.
“You’ve still got the legs for it, babe,” Shareen yelled back. “And half the blokes in this place are working out how to pull you, believe me.”
“I don’t give a toss about them,” she said, not caring if it was loud enough to be heard. Just dancing felt good. Moving her hips, legs, arms to a primal rhythm. It’d been ages.
When the song morphed into another, her friends dragged her to the bar and she went along with their flurry of movement. There, a blonde with a posh accent, a few years older than her, offered to buy her a drink. He was rather beefcake-y and not really her type. She glanced around like someone might chastise her if she accepted. But she was feeling a bit generous and he seemed nice enough, and when Shareen elbowed her in the ribs, she agreed.
A few sips into the drink, he asked her to dance. It was too loud for conversation, anyway, so she took his proffered hand and let him lead her back to the dance floor. Blonde bloke, whose name she hadn’t quite caught or had already forgotten a few steps into the song, was a little grabby. She didn’t mind terribly. She was wearing very little clothing, after all. That sequined halter that left her arms, shoulders and back bare, and a skirt that could barely be called one. So most places he put his hands, he was bound to find skin. She even offered him some encouragement, placing her hands over his on her hips as they moved together to the beat.
She didn’t mind, that is, until she saw the imposing figure of the Doctor far across the club. He was trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably as he always did. Or maybe she was just more attuned to him than she was to anyone else... ever. Also, he was wearing a floor length coat in a packed, hot, London club, in the summer.
She wanted beefcake’s hands off her, didn’t want the Doctor to see her with some random bloke, though that was almost certainly Shareen’s intention when she’d insisted Rose tell the Doctor where they’d be tonight. He hadn’t seen her yet, she didn’t think. And so what if he did? He didn’t have any claim on her. Just because he wanted her, and she wanted him more than she wanted things like air and water and chocolate biscuits, didn’t mean she couldn’t dance with a nice guy in a club. She turned her back to the Doctor and faced her new blond friend, throwing her arms around his neck.
She counted 48 thumps of the bass before she felt a cool hand on her upper arm.
* * *
“Rose,” he growled, like an ape possessed. He wouldn’t, couldn’t watch her with her hands all over some stranger, some idiot laying hands on his Rose.
Enough was enough.
“Doctor!” Rose yelled happily, though her eyes were piercing daggers at him. “Glad you could make it out. This is my friend...”
“Beau,” the man called over the music. “Nice to meet you, mate.”
He ignored the other man’s awkwardly outstretched hand.
“Thanks for taking care of my Rose mate,” he said through teeth he tried very hard not to clench, as he removed her arms from around him. “I’ll take her from here.”
“You’ll what?” Rose yelled, not even pretending to be pleased at his appearance anymore. And he decidedly didn’t care. He tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her away from Beau.
“I think the lady can de-” the idiot was saying, but he was already dragging Rose away from him.
She was fidgeting and possibly cursing him the whole time, but wasn’t resisting as he pulled her through the crowd, off the dance floor, out of the club through its back door, and into the night air. He let her go and the momentum shoved her roughly against the brick wall.
Another alley, he realised. Another rough wall.
No armed guards.
She just stared at him, breathing harsh breaths through her nose. She wanted to yell at him, he could see it in her eyes. But she did not. This was his game and she was waiting for his next move. Good.
He stepped into her personal space, only inches from her.
“He had his hands all over you,” he said carefully, quietly.
She met his gaze defiantly. “So?” she said, matching his tone.
“So?” he spit back at her. “So, no. I won’t have that.” He grabbed her hips, handfuls of flesh barely covered in synthetic fabric, and pulled her flush against him so that she could feel what she was doing to him. Rapidly.
She gasped, satisfyingly, at the contact, which made him groan.
“Wha-what will you have?” she asked shakily, her arousal pouring off her in waves.
He didn’t think he was capable of answering her in words, but his mouth could surely still be put to good use. He slammed his lips onto hers and pushed her back against the wall in the process. He kissed her roughly, teeth nipping at her lips, before sliding his tongue in between them, groaning as he sought her taste. She responded just as hungrily and for that he thanked multiple deities. If this was the biggest mistake he’d made in a while, well, at least she was happily making it right along with him.
Her hands tangled in his perfectly mussed hair and she moaned deep in her throat as her tongue stroked along his. His hands moved from her hips, where he’d been clutching her tight enough to bruise, down to her arse, pushing into her as if he could shag her through their clothes. Bricks scraped his knuckles as he rocked his hips into her, and he didn’t give a damn, but if they carried on like this, this would be over before it began.
Rose let out a growl of frustration, tore her mouth from his, and pushed him away with a mighty shove. He stumbled back, confused. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she didn’t want this at all.
But she was bending, teetering slightly on her ridiculously high heels, reaching under her skirt and whipping her knickers off. Oh.
“Now.” she demanded.
And it wasn’t his game anymore, but that was hardly worth a passing thought because he was fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers and returning to her and she was lifting a leg around his hip and he was driving his cock into her tight, wet, warmth and she was gasping hot breaths against his ear and it was absolutely amazing.
She hooked her other leg around him and with the wall’s help, he supported her as he pounded into her, loosing his pent up frustrations, hopefully assuaging hers, and setting a wild pace he had no hope of controlling. With her arms around his neck, she held on and moved against him as best she could. He had no idea if this was good for her, but she was giving him breathy sighs, then panting, and then soft cries, raising in pitch, in length, and if he just focussed on that he might be able to hang on long enough to-
“Coming...” she mumbled and he was too far gone to even try to look at her face because she was clenching around him, so incredibly tight, and his head was buried somewhere in her hair as he pumped into her a few final times before he shuddered through his own release, the pleasure surging through him so intense it hardly seemed possible, as he came inside her with a long, guttural groan.
“God,” Rose was saying. He thought. He heard it through the rushing of blood in his ears, as if from far away. “That was...”
As his senses slowly returned to him she breathed out, “Amazing.”
“Yes,” he agreed, when he was capable of speech again. Still rather use his mouth for snogging, so he did. No reason not to, now.
She turned her head away after a few seconds, though. “Let me down?”
“Oh, yes, sorry!” He did as she asked, pulling out of her gently, setting her down on shaky legs and smoothing down her skirt before refastening his trousers.
She grinned at him and he wanted to kiss her again. “How’s that jealous rage of yours working out, then?”
“I...” he spluttered “...You... Did you plan this?”
She chuckled. “How could I? You don’t do anything like a regular bloke. If you did, you’d have shagged me months ago. I just wanted to go dancing.”
“Worked, though,” he said as if she had admitted to having a plan. He ran a hand through his now quite imperfectly mussed hair. “Suppose in some ways I’m not so different to ‘regular blokes.’”
“Yeah, pawing at me like an ape the second someone else put his hands on me.”
“Oi! Pawing, yes. Maybe. Ape, never!”
She laughed again at his ‘I’m quite offended but really I’m the happiest alien on earth today’ face. Then she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, rising up to give him an almost chaste kiss on the lips.
“Doctor,” she said, “you’re like no one I’ve ever met.”
He beamed at her.
“Now, any idea where my knickers got to?”
FIN
Author: karenor
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: Adult, quite.
Summary: Another alley. Another rough wall.
Disclaimer: Like we'd ever see this on telly.
Beta: The most splendiferous requialexa, who hates my comma splices, but still loves me.
Author's Notes: This is, without a doubt, the most clichéd thing I've ever written. I hope that's okay. ;) Possibly the smuttiest (not the most graphic, though). You be the judge. Written for the unfolded73-coined unofficial Tenth Doctor Cliché-a-thon '09 and inspired by a very... inspiring fic meme prompt from fid_gin. ;) PWP. Set wherever you like in S2.
She could see the TARDIS up ahead, still an impossible distance away, especially with the armed guards milling around it. They’d not been spotted yet, but with more of those large, fuzzy, purple beasts with guns somewhere behind them as well, it wasn't looking good-no matter how fast they could run. But they'd been through worse scrapes than this, and with the Doctor's hand in hers and his trainers pounding the pavement next to hers, she was sure they'd be fine. Eventually.
Without any warning, she found her arm yanked sharply, as the Doctor pulled her into a small gap between the ramshackle buildings lining the street. He pushed her back against a wall, pressed his body, full length, along hers, so that she was sandwiched between him and the rough stone wall. She gasped in surprise and he clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened.
Quiet, he mouthed. They'll hear you.
She swallowed beneath his hand and nodded as best she could. Her heart was racing from running, and his... proximity was doing nothing to slow it down. Nor was the fact that he hadn't removed his hand from against her lips. She drew in breaths through her nose as quietly as she was able and tried to focus on the danger they were in, on escape, on getting to the TARDIS. Not on the scent of his skin, or how well the Doctor fit against her, or how good it might feel, or if the hearts she could feel galloping against her chest through their layers of clothing were spurred by danger alone.
She searched his eyes, saw his concern for her there. That slight edge of rage that crept into him when someone directly threatened her. The guard’s guns were nearly as dangerous as a Dalek’s laser, he’d said earlier; one shot could spell the end. Oh but there was definitely something else there in his dark stare. A shifting warmth that her instincts told her had nothing to do with her welfare or deadly arms’ fire and everything to do with her.
She’d seen hints of this before, she wasn’t completely blind. And of course they’d been flirting shamelessly since... well, pretty much since they’d met. But he’d never looked at her quite like this, and certainly never when his whole body was pressed up against her. She instinctively shifted her hips against his and almost whimpered before she remembered the need for silence.
His tongue darted out to moisten his thin lips; she watched his eyes flick to where he still covered hers. It couldn’t mean that he… that they might…?
His hand loosed its clamp over her mouth, but didn’t leave it immediately; instead his fingers drew slowly over her lips and down her throat before sliding to the back of her neck. He angled his head and leaned towards her and she knew in the next second his lips would be on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and her arms went around him, clutching at his coat. But then he went rigid and tension radiated from him. She panicked, thinking she must have somehow completely misinterpreted the signals. He threw himself even more forcefully against her and buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, and angled her away from the wall, so that his back was facing the street. And then she heard it too-the pounding of pursuing boots. The guards had caught up and were fast approaching. In case they were spotted and fired upon, he was protecting her body with his own.
* * *
He sagged against the TARDIS doors when they finally made it back inside unscathed. It took some manoeuvring, slight of hand, and at least one instance of slightly exaggerating the effects of his trusty sonic (the classics never got old). And now they were safe. Well, safe from the Yerboosian Royal Guard, at least.
He looked at Rose leaning on the door next to him, her face flushed and her chest heaving for breath from their last mad dash to safety, adrenaline and the faint traces of desire pulsing beneath her skin. He swallowed deeply and clenched his fists with the almost uncontrollable compulsion to touch her. To finish what they’d almost started back in that alley. If those guards hadn’t caught up when they had… Well, it was a very good thing they had. Aside from the nearly shooting them to death thing...
He kicked off from the door and skipped up the ramp, tossed his coat onto a strut, and bounded to the console to send them into the vortex with as much flourish as he could muster. More slight of hand, there. Distraction was key.
“Off we go then. Goodbye Yerboo. Remind me not to stop off there again. Blimey, the locals are rude.”
“Yeah,” Rose said with a small smile, still leaning on the doors. The way she was looking at him though... it didn’t seem like she was being adequately distracted. She held his gaze as she started walking up the ramp and he felt he had to turn away, lest she see what he was thinking plainly on his face. And what he was thinking at that moment was well ruder than anything the Yerboosians had done. It involved bare flesh on the console, the jump seat, the floor grating, possibly against a strut...
He cleared his throat and fiddled with dials on the console.
“Tea?” he asked too loudly because she was suddenly standing right next to him.
She shook her head. “Not really in the mood.”
“Are you hungry? I could take you to Flosbitor. Best banoffee pie this side of the galaxy!”
“Don’t want pie,” she said, the full force of her considerable feminine wiles imbuing every word as she picked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and then slid herself between him and the console.
No harmless flirting, this. Not this time. This was flirting she intended to deliver on. And, much to his dismay, he couldn’t have that. He put a bit of space between them and tried to look anywhere but at her.
“Sandwich?” Why couldn’t he think of anything aside from food? Certainly not because of anything else he might want to do with his mouth…
She shook her head again and he made the mistake of catching her gaze. Oh yes, Rose definitely knew what he’d been thinking.
“Chips?” he nearly squeaked. “I could about murder some from…”
She sighed and he trailed off, and just like that, all the flirt was gone from her. “If you want,” she said, moving away from the console and heading for the interior of the ship, “but I think I’m just gonna have a shower and get some sleep.”
Well, handled that smashingly, he thought, mentally kicking himself.
“Rose!” he called as she was about to disappear from the room.
Something indefinable flashed across her face as she turned back. “Yeah?”
“About earlier…”
He could do this.
She took a step toward him and he found himself moving closer to her as well. “Yeah?” she prompted.
He could tell her that companion snogging was absolutely out of the question. Or he could do some very thorough companion snogging, which would inevitably lead to other very thorough activities. One or the other, but he wouldn’t let this hang in the air between them anymore. She took another step closer to him. She was within arm’s length now…
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Throwing you up against the wall?”
She flushed. “N-no…” she said a little unsteadily. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” he nodded, hearing a gravelly quality colour his voice. “Just checking.” Another step forward and he could reach up, slide his hands into her hair and pull her lips to his.
But as it happened, he was still a complete coward. He couldn’t do this.
“Goodnight, then,” he said.
She blinked as if waking from a daze.
“Right. Um, see you in the morning,” she said. With that, she practically sprinted down the hall and out of his view.
His kick to himself wasn’t mental this time.
* * *
Two weeks later she was at home on the Estate, visiting her mum, and planning an evening out with her mates. The Doctor was in the TARDIS fixing some bit of something she couldn’t remember that did some stuff she didn’t understand. She’d promised him Jackie’s tea and as many biscuits as he’d like, but he’d declined. In his relationship with her mum, he seemed to have gone a bit backward. In that a nudge and a smile from her couldn’t get him to come up to the flat anymore.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to find himself stuck with her in a place with four walls and without nearly infinite space. Might be a little too intimate. In two weeks he’d barely touched her at all. Three hugs only, and quick ones at that, never anything lingering. And not even once did he look at her like he wanted to snog her senseless.
And somehow, that made her want him even more. She was fixated on the thought of kissing him, of shagging him. Of coming and making him come. For each different suit/shirt/tie combination she’d seen him in over the past couple weeks, she’d imagine new and imaginative ways of getting him out of his clothes. And what she’d do then. And sometimes she imagined doing those things without getting him out of his clothes. On their last crash landing, when he’d fallen on his back onto the grate of the TARDIS, she was taken with the intense desire to crawl over him, undo his zip and take him into her mouth. If she hadn’t thought he’d boot her out of the TARDIS, or at the very least haul her into the med bay to assess her apparent brain damage, she might have done it.
It was all making her quite sullen.
When Shareen came by to get ready before heading out, her friend called her on it immediately.
“Problems with your bloke, then?”
“He’s not my bloke,” Rose balked, automatically. “We just travel together. Just mates.”
“And I’m just the Pope’s illegitimate daughter,” Shareen snorted. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. What’s the problem then?”
Rose rummaged through whatever clothes she’d not carted onto the TARDIS at some point, looking for something to wear. “It’s nothing...” Rose insisted, speaking into a silver sequined top.
“Shagging gone off? Is he bored? Are you? Where is himself anyway? He came out at New Years.”
Rose sighed and fell back on her bed dramatically, dragging the top with her. She might as well let it all out. As much as she could, anyway. It might help to tell someone.
“It’s not gone off. It’s not gone on. And I’m not bored, I’m bloody frustrated. And he’s... he didn’t want to come up. I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Seriously?” Shareen asked, hopping on the bed. “You’re seriously not shagging him?”
Rose didn’t answer.
“Well, you’re wearing something slutty tonight.”
* * *
It’d been two weeks. Two weeks of a self-imposed ban on Rose-touching. He tried not to be too obvious about it. And he’d forgotten at least a few times only to recall when he’d already grabbed her hand, or when they were mid-hug and he would practically jump away from her. The result was... unsatisfactory. It only served to make him want her more. In his bedroom, deliberately moved very far from Rose’s, he’d brought himself off to thoughts of her. Four times. More times than in this entire regeneration, until two weeks ago. He wasn’t human; he didn’t need sex the way they did. And yet... he couldn’t stop himself thinking of the way she’d looked at him on Yerboo, her face flushed, her breasts pushing up against him with every breath, her lips under his fingers.
And after, when she’d made it very clear she wanted what he did. He imagined that instead of inane chatter about tea and chips that he’d taken what she’d nearly been offering. That he’d claimed those tempting full lips, finally tasting her properly, that he’d shoved those painted-on jeans from her hips and slid inside her, right there on the console, fucking her until she cried out his name in ecstasy.
It was a good fantasy, but it was wearing thin. Even with his combined supreme powers of observation, memory, and imagination, he couldn’t conjure up the face Rose might make when she comes. He wasn’t sure if she’d be a moaner, a screamer, the silent type. Would she scratch her nails down his back or be docile?
He wanted to know.
And frankly, he was having trouble remembering why it was so important that he not find out. No, that wasn’t true. He remembered, he was just past caring. Almost. Which is why he sent her out alone today. A visit with her mum, her mates. A bit of distance between them, and he’d sort himself out. Refocus, find his centre, etc. TARDIS maintenance was the perfect vehicle for that, and he had been neglecting the old girl a bit of late.
A few hours after Rose had left to go up to her mum’s flat, the phone rang.
“Hi,” she said. “It’s me.”
“I did figure. How’s your mum?”
“Um... she’s great.” She covered the receiver and there were muffled noises, voices he couldn’t make out. “I’m going out with Shareen and the girls,” she said after a moment. She told him where.
He found himself quite suddenly jealous. Of Rose spending time with her girlfriends. It was irrational. But there it was.
“That’s nice,” he said. “Have a good time.”
They rang off and he sat there on the jump seat for several long minutes, just fiddling with his sonic screwdriver.
Could it hurt, really? If he happened to stop by the club? Not to check up on her or anything. Just to see that she was having a good time. He kept her away from her friends for long stretches after all. She might feel awkward around them, or bored. And if it seemed all was well, well... she didn’t have to know that he’d shown up. He was a master of blending into crowds, after all.
And even though a part of him realised this was probably a colossal mistake, his feet were carrying him to his wardrobe to pick a change of clothes, and he was already contemplating the exact placement and ratio of hair gel to hair to have the maximum effect on his ruggedly handsome appearance.
It was possible Rose made him a little bit of a nutter.
* * *
“I haven’t worn a skirt this short since I was 17!” Rose yelled into her mate’s ear as they danced to the driving beat.
“You’ve still got the legs for it, babe,” Shareen yelled back. “And half the blokes in this place are working out how to pull you, believe me.”
“I don’t give a toss about them,” she said, not caring if it was loud enough to be heard. Just dancing felt good. Moving her hips, legs, arms to a primal rhythm. It’d been ages.
When the song morphed into another, her friends dragged her to the bar and she went along with their flurry of movement. There, a blonde with a posh accent, a few years older than her, offered to buy her a drink. He was rather beefcake-y and not really her type. She glanced around like someone might chastise her if she accepted. But she was feeling a bit generous and he seemed nice enough, and when Shareen elbowed her in the ribs, she agreed.
A few sips into the drink, he asked her to dance. It was too loud for conversation, anyway, so she took his proffered hand and let him lead her back to the dance floor. Blonde bloke, whose name she hadn’t quite caught or had already forgotten a few steps into the song, was a little grabby. She didn’t mind terribly. She was wearing very little clothing, after all. That sequined halter that left her arms, shoulders and back bare, and a skirt that could barely be called one. So most places he put his hands, he was bound to find skin. She even offered him some encouragement, placing her hands over his on her hips as they moved together to the beat.
She didn’t mind, that is, until she saw the imposing figure of the Doctor far across the club. He was trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably as he always did. Or maybe she was just more attuned to him than she was to anyone else... ever. Also, he was wearing a floor length coat in a packed, hot, London club, in the summer.
She wanted beefcake’s hands off her, didn’t want the Doctor to see her with some random bloke, though that was almost certainly Shareen’s intention when she’d insisted Rose tell the Doctor where they’d be tonight. He hadn’t seen her yet, she didn’t think. And so what if he did? He didn’t have any claim on her. Just because he wanted her, and she wanted him more than she wanted things like air and water and chocolate biscuits, didn’t mean she couldn’t dance with a nice guy in a club. She turned her back to the Doctor and faced her new blond friend, throwing her arms around his neck.
She counted 48 thumps of the bass before she felt a cool hand on her upper arm.
* * *
“Rose,” he growled, like an ape possessed. He wouldn’t, couldn’t watch her with her hands all over some stranger, some idiot laying hands on his Rose.
Enough was enough.
“Doctor!” Rose yelled happily, though her eyes were piercing daggers at him. “Glad you could make it out. This is my friend...”
“Beau,” the man called over the music. “Nice to meet you, mate.”
He ignored the other man’s awkwardly outstretched hand.
“Thanks for taking care of my Rose mate,” he said through teeth he tried very hard not to clench, as he removed her arms from around him. “I’ll take her from here.”
“You’ll what?” Rose yelled, not even pretending to be pleased at his appearance anymore. And he decidedly didn’t care. He tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her away from Beau.
“I think the lady can de-” the idiot was saying, but he was already dragging Rose away from him.
She was fidgeting and possibly cursing him the whole time, but wasn’t resisting as he pulled her through the crowd, off the dance floor, out of the club through its back door, and into the night air. He let her go and the momentum shoved her roughly against the brick wall.
Another alley, he realised. Another rough wall.
No armed guards.
She just stared at him, breathing harsh breaths through her nose. She wanted to yell at him, he could see it in her eyes. But she did not. This was his game and she was waiting for his next move. Good.
He stepped into her personal space, only inches from her.
“He had his hands all over you,” he said carefully, quietly.
She met his gaze defiantly. “So?” she said, matching his tone.
“So?” he spit back at her. “So, no. I won’t have that.” He grabbed her hips, handfuls of flesh barely covered in synthetic fabric, and pulled her flush against him so that she could feel what she was doing to him. Rapidly.
She gasped, satisfyingly, at the contact, which made him groan.
“Wha-what will you have?” she asked shakily, her arousal pouring off her in waves.
He didn’t think he was capable of answering her in words, but his mouth could surely still be put to good use. He slammed his lips onto hers and pushed her back against the wall in the process. He kissed her roughly, teeth nipping at her lips, before sliding his tongue in between them, groaning as he sought her taste. She responded just as hungrily and for that he thanked multiple deities. If this was the biggest mistake he’d made in a while, well, at least she was happily making it right along with him.
Her hands tangled in his perfectly mussed hair and she moaned deep in her throat as her tongue stroked along his. His hands moved from her hips, where he’d been clutching her tight enough to bruise, down to her arse, pushing into her as if he could shag her through their clothes. Bricks scraped his knuckles as he rocked his hips into her, and he didn’t give a damn, but if they carried on like this, this would be over before it began.
Rose let out a growl of frustration, tore her mouth from his, and pushed him away with a mighty shove. He stumbled back, confused. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she didn’t want this at all.
But she was bending, teetering slightly on her ridiculously high heels, reaching under her skirt and whipping her knickers off. Oh.
“Now.” she demanded.
And it wasn’t his game anymore, but that was hardly worth a passing thought because he was fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers and returning to her and she was lifting a leg around his hip and he was driving his cock into her tight, wet, warmth and she was gasping hot breaths against his ear and it was absolutely amazing.
She hooked her other leg around him and with the wall’s help, he supported her as he pounded into her, loosing his pent up frustrations, hopefully assuaging hers, and setting a wild pace he had no hope of controlling. With her arms around his neck, she held on and moved against him as best she could. He had no idea if this was good for her, but she was giving him breathy sighs, then panting, and then soft cries, raising in pitch, in length, and if he just focussed on that he might be able to hang on long enough to-
“Coming...” she mumbled and he was too far gone to even try to look at her face because she was clenching around him, so incredibly tight, and his head was buried somewhere in her hair as he pumped into her a few final times before he shuddered through his own release, the pleasure surging through him so intense it hardly seemed possible, as he came inside her with a long, guttural groan.
“God,” Rose was saying. He thought. He heard it through the rushing of blood in his ears, as if from far away. “That was...”
As his senses slowly returned to him she breathed out, “Amazing.”
“Yes,” he agreed, when he was capable of speech again. Still rather use his mouth for snogging, so he did. No reason not to, now.
She turned her head away after a few seconds, though. “Let me down?”
“Oh, yes, sorry!” He did as she asked, pulling out of her gently, setting her down on shaky legs and smoothing down her skirt before refastening his trousers.
She grinned at him and he wanted to kiss her again. “How’s that jealous rage of yours working out, then?”
“I...” he spluttered “...You... Did you plan this?”
She chuckled. “How could I? You don’t do anything like a regular bloke. If you did, you’d have shagged me months ago. I just wanted to go dancing.”
“Worked, though,” he said as if she had admitted to having a plan. He ran a hand through his now quite imperfectly mussed hair. “Suppose in some ways I’m not so different to ‘regular blokes.’”
“Yeah, pawing at me like an ape the second someone else put his hands on me.”
“Oi! Pawing, yes. Maybe. Ape, never!”
She laughed again at his ‘I’m quite offended but really I’m the happiest alien on earth today’ face. Then she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, rising up to give him an almost chaste kiss on the lips.
“Doctor,” she said, “you’re like no one I’ve ever met.”
He beamed at her.
“Now, any idea where my knickers got to?”
FIN