Birthday Fic!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMACRESS! ...I was so excited, I had to write you a fic! (No smut because the smut bunnies aren't jiving today.)
Author: ladychi
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Ten/Rose (mentions of Nine/Rose)
Rating: Teen Plus
On Purpose
Happy early birthday to momacress, aka the_tenzo. I hope you like it!.
Rose thinks he might be doing it on purpose. He has a marmalade jar in his hand, bent over the kitchen counter in tight brown trousers. He shifts his weight from side to side, and the fabric crinkles in ways that make Rose's very center melts. Then one finger dips inside of the jar and draws out just the perfect amount of marmalade. But he doesn't just eat it, he sniffs it, draws in its scent, and then his tongue flicks out, just to the very tip of his finger. Apparently satisfied, he nods and engulfs the whole finger inside of his mouth, catching all the marmalade and then releasing it with a faint 'pop'. Rose's knees go weak and she grips the door frame.
“Ah, Rose!” he turns to face her and grins. “Good morning!”
Her face instantly inflames, and she studies the ground for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. “'Morning, Doctor.” Just walking to the kitchen table sends shivers down her spine as her legs brush together.
She sees his nostrils flare, and then his grin widens.
**
Rose has a feeling he's doing it on purpose. They're in fifteenth century France, a town called Beauvais, and the townspeople are celebrating the first shipment of food and goods after a long siege by the Duke of Burgundy. The streets aren't clean and the Doctor holds her arm with one careful hand as he maneuvers the manure-lined streets. Vendors call out in French Rose hears translated by the Tardis, but also that she remembers from school:
“Voulez-vous une pâtisserie, Monsieur? Elles sont juste sorties du four!”
“Non, non,” The Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor . “J'en ai déjà une ici! Merci beaucoup!”
Rose is glad he's turned down the vendors offer of another pastry, because watching him eat the first one is going to kill her. It's filled with some sort of clotted cream, and a little bit of the filling has got on his slightly pointed nose. Rose wants to reach up and lick it off. Instead, she clears her throat.
“Doctor?”
“Hmm? This is fantastic, by the way Rose, you really should have gotten one. Perfect balance of sweet and tart. My god, no one does bread like the French. Brilliant!”
“'M wearing a corset,” Rose says shortly. “I feel like I'm going to burst out of it anyway.”
“Nonsense! Did those ties up myself. You could have had a pastry. Do you want a bite?” The Doctor, still with clotted cream on his face, hands her the sweet treat.
“Oh, all right,” Rose says reluctantly, and bites into it. It's light and sweet and perfect, and she closes her eyes, unable to stop a groan of satisfaction from passing her lips, and when her eyes open again, she looks up to find the Doctor staring at her. His eyes have gone dark and his Adam's apple is working. She grins. After the way he's been slowly working his way through the pastry, licking the cream out from the center, he deserves to have the tables turned on him.
She reaches up and coquettishly swipes the cream from his nose, putting it in her mouth before he has time to react. “Had a bit on your face,” she says after she's swallowed.
The Doctor nods and can't seem to find words for a few moments. “So I see,” he mutters. “Problem is, that was my cream. I'm a very possessive man, Rose.”
“What, are you going to retrieve now?”
He takes a step towards her and deftly maneuvers her into an alleyway. “Yes.”
Then his mouth is descending on hers and it is glorious. His tongue plays against her lips at first, and then begs entrance inside. There's nothing she could deny him, and she opens her mouth under his gentle persuasion. His tongue slides along hers, invites it to dance, and they swirl against each other. Rose can taste him - the clotted cream he is seeking, the remnants of the pastry, but also something spicy that is uniquely the Doctor. He seems as though he's drinking her in, his cool mouth absorbing as much of her as he can take. His hips press urgently against hers and she can feel his hand slide up the hourglass curve created by the corset. She can't resist and lets her hands cup his bum. He laughs into her mouth, and she uses the opportunity to breathe before his mouth meets hers again. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss... She could kiss him forever, she thought. He was a taste she could never get enough of... a water that could quench her thirst like nothing had before.
Finally, he stepped back from her and grinned at her. “I think I got it.”
Rose blinks. “What?”
“On we go! 1472, France! There's a woman I want you to meet. Local hero, of a sort. Jeanne Hachette, saved the entire town of Beauvais, without which, I would not be enjoying this wonderful... pastry.” He pops what's left of it into his mouth and chews it noisily. “Brilliant!”
“Sometimes,” Rose says with as much dignity as she can manage. “You are a right arsehole, Doctor.”
“Oi!” the Doctor protests. “That's hardly fair!”
**
Rose, the Doctor thinks positively, is doing it on purpose. He's spent enough years among human females to know when one is trying to get his attention, not that Rose has to try. He's underneath the Tardis console when she walks in. The smell of her, clean and earthy, is the first thing that alerts him to her presence.
“Doctor?”
“Under here!” he calls, his mouth full of sonic screwdriver so that it sounds more like “fundbur ear!”
Rose's head appears in his line of vision, and the Doctor concludes that she has crouched down to see where he's located. “Hello,” she says cheerfully.
“Hello! I'll go ahead and slide out now, if you don't mind.”
Rose grins wickedly, but nods her head. “All right.”
He pushes himself out of the tight space and stands full upright before he looks his companion over and nearly falls to the floor. The dress she's wearing is, well... illegal on two thirds of the planets he's ever been to. It's shockingly scarlet red and clings to her every curve, accenting her bust line, nipping in at the waist and stopping just before mid-thigh.
“Rose,” the Doctor starts, but can find no way to finish.
“Do you like it?” She does a quick twirl, and the Doctor notices that she has high, high heels and stockings on. His mouth goes completely dry. He does like stockings.
He coughs. “Yes, yes I do. Brilliant, in fact. Well done.”
Rose grins. “One small problem I'm going to need your help with. Zipper?”
“What?” The Doctor is staring at her face, trying not to stare at her legs, trying not to think of what her legs are wrapped in. Silk, maybe? The Tardis keeps those around. Or maybe they're nylon. In any case, they have to go all the way up to her thigh. Maybe she's got a garter belt on. He struggles not to bounce at the thought of a garter belt.
“Doctor,” Rose says again, patiently. “My zipper. You wanted to go to this party, remember?”
“Can't imagine why,” the Doctor mutters. “Good thing you don't dress like this every day. I thought you were going to have to restart my right heart. It's a bit tetchy in this regeneration.”
Rose blushes and looks at the floor. “I'm so glad you like it.”
After a considerable debate with himself, the Doctor decides to take Rose out into the brilliant night of Marcos, a planet some four galaxies away from Rose's home, and five thousand years into her future. The Doctor knows someone opening a night club here, and he knows they could use a break after all they've been through.
She holds his hand on the way into the club, and heads turn. Rose laughs at something he says and she glows just right in the lighting of the club. Her cheeks are rosy, her hair is so blonde it shimmers and the Doctor is overwhelmed by love. He wishes he could shout like that silly human celebrity Jackie's so obsessed with. Perhaps if he could find an appropriate white couch, that would be an acceptable display of emotion.
Rose seems to sense his inner turmoil and turns to kiss him on the shoulder. “Thank you,” she says softly. “This is going to be so much fun! Dancing. We've not done that since Glen Miller in the Tardis with Jack.”
He smiles. “Still got moves!”
**
The Doctor is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose. She just naturally is. Whether it's Gwen, giving her life for the good of all, who never had anyone to mourn her, or an angry teenaged boy, smarter than his father, in the 1950s, she is compassion. And so, when she looks him in the eye and asks him if he's all right, he knows that she really wants to know.
And he lies... and it's definitely on purpose.
**
Rose thinks he's doing it on purpose. He's stretched out on the couch in the library of the Tardis with her tucked into his side, reading a copy of Little Women, strangely enough, but he's doing it while he eats from a bowl of strawberries she's washed and cut for them to snack on. There's something incredibly sensual about the Doctor eating, she thinks distractedly, and tries to settle back in to her own book, a romantic series about an immortal race of vampire like men who snatch up young women to be their mates forever and ever.
Rose tried not to analyze her subconscious too much.
“It must be a good book,” the Doctor says, closing his own tome.
“What?” Rose angles her head to look up at him.
“Your book. It must be good.”
Rose blinks. “What makes you think that?”
“You smell,” the Doctor buried his nose in the side of her neck. “Absolutely divine.”
“Oh,” Rose says weakly. “That kind of good. Um... it definitely is.”
“You realize, the sex in those books is completely unrealistic,” the Doctor is saying while he pushes her hair aside to nibble on her ear.
“Which bit?” Rose asks on a gasp as the Doctor's tongue flicks against her earlobe. “The telepathy or the seven orgasms?”
“Welllll,” the Doctor says, and draws her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment before releasing it. “The orgasm... well, that's possible. So is the telepathy. It's the whole... having sex with a plasmavore being pleasurable thing that's a bit iffy. Maybe if you were, you know. Drugged.”
“It's a good thing I have you around,” Rose says with a sigh. “I'll add that to my list of things I'm not supposed to do: have sex with a plasmavore.”
“Now,” the Doctor says, rolling her over onto her back and pulling her t-shirt up to expose her tummy, “sex with a Time Lord. That is much, much better.”
**
She is doing it on purpose. The Doctor knows, can feel both of his hearts shattering into a million pieces as she tries to find the words.
“I... I love you.”
...Rose, in the corset, in the alleyway in France, clinging to him as he samples her taste for the first time, laying with her in the apple grass of New York, holding her oh so tight the night they were suspended over Krop Tor. Rose, so human and so right, that night in Cardiff when he held her hand and told her he was glad he knew her. Swinging her around and around in the Tardis when they both lived. Gas mask zombies and werewolves and nightclubs and sex and promises and...
He can find the courage to say what he needs to say.
When the Tardis can no longer hold the connection open, he cries... and he's doing it on purpose.
“Voulez-vous une pâtisserie, Monsieur? Ils sont frais sortie du four!”
“Non, non,” The Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor . “Je vais une ici! Merci beaucoup!”
Translates roughly to:
"Would you like a pastry, sir? They're fresh from the oven!"
"No, no," the Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor. "I have one here! Thanks very much!"
Beauvais is a real town in south-western France, with a local hero who really did help the town survive a siege by the Duke of Burgundy (Oh, Wikipedia, I love you). It also has (apparently) a very nice cathedral.
Comments are love and bunnies.
Author: ladychi
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Ten/Rose (mentions of Nine/Rose)
Rating: Teen Plus
On Purpose
Happy early birthday to momacress, aka the_tenzo. I hope you like it!.
Rose thinks he might be doing it on purpose. He has a marmalade jar in his hand, bent over the kitchen counter in tight brown trousers. He shifts his weight from side to side, and the fabric crinkles in ways that make Rose's very center melts. Then one finger dips inside of the jar and draws out just the perfect amount of marmalade. But he doesn't just eat it, he sniffs it, draws in its scent, and then his tongue flicks out, just to the very tip of his finger. Apparently satisfied, he nods and engulfs the whole finger inside of his mouth, catching all the marmalade and then releasing it with a faint 'pop'. Rose's knees go weak and she grips the door frame.
“Ah, Rose!” he turns to face her and grins. “Good morning!”
Her face instantly inflames, and she studies the ground for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. “'Morning, Doctor.” Just walking to the kitchen table sends shivers down her spine as her legs brush together.
She sees his nostrils flare, and then his grin widens.
**
Rose has a feeling he's doing it on purpose. They're in fifteenth century France, a town called Beauvais, and the townspeople are celebrating the first shipment of food and goods after a long siege by the Duke of Burgundy. The streets aren't clean and the Doctor holds her arm with one careful hand as he maneuvers the manure-lined streets. Vendors call out in French Rose hears translated by the Tardis, but also that she remembers from school:
“Voulez-vous une pâtisserie, Monsieur? Elles sont juste sorties du four!”
“Non, non,” The Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor . “J'en ai déjà une ici! Merci beaucoup!”
Rose is glad he's turned down the vendors offer of another pastry, because watching him eat the first one is going to kill her. It's filled with some sort of clotted cream, and a little bit of the filling has got on his slightly pointed nose. Rose wants to reach up and lick it off. Instead, she clears her throat.
“Doctor?”
“Hmm? This is fantastic, by the way Rose, you really should have gotten one. Perfect balance of sweet and tart. My god, no one does bread like the French. Brilliant!”
“'M wearing a corset,” Rose says shortly. “I feel like I'm going to burst out of it anyway.”
“Nonsense! Did those ties up myself. You could have had a pastry. Do you want a bite?” The Doctor, still with clotted cream on his face, hands her the sweet treat.
“Oh, all right,” Rose says reluctantly, and bites into it. It's light and sweet and perfect, and she closes her eyes, unable to stop a groan of satisfaction from passing her lips, and when her eyes open again, she looks up to find the Doctor staring at her. His eyes have gone dark and his Adam's apple is working. She grins. After the way he's been slowly working his way through the pastry, licking the cream out from the center, he deserves to have the tables turned on him.
She reaches up and coquettishly swipes the cream from his nose, putting it in her mouth before he has time to react. “Had a bit on your face,” she says after she's swallowed.
The Doctor nods and can't seem to find words for a few moments. “So I see,” he mutters. “Problem is, that was my cream. I'm a very possessive man, Rose.”
“What, are you going to retrieve now?”
He takes a step towards her and deftly maneuvers her into an alleyway. “Yes.”
Then his mouth is descending on hers and it is glorious. His tongue plays against her lips at first, and then begs entrance inside. There's nothing she could deny him, and she opens her mouth under his gentle persuasion. His tongue slides along hers, invites it to dance, and they swirl against each other. Rose can taste him - the clotted cream he is seeking, the remnants of the pastry, but also something spicy that is uniquely the Doctor. He seems as though he's drinking her in, his cool mouth absorbing as much of her as he can take. His hips press urgently against hers and she can feel his hand slide up the hourglass curve created by the corset. She can't resist and lets her hands cup his bum. He laughs into her mouth, and she uses the opportunity to breathe before his mouth meets hers again. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss... She could kiss him forever, she thought. He was a taste she could never get enough of... a water that could quench her thirst like nothing had before.
Finally, he stepped back from her and grinned at her. “I think I got it.”
Rose blinks. “What?”
“On we go! 1472, France! There's a woman I want you to meet. Local hero, of a sort. Jeanne Hachette, saved the entire town of Beauvais, without which, I would not be enjoying this wonderful... pastry.” He pops what's left of it into his mouth and chews it noisily. “Brilliant!”
“Sometimes,” Rose says with as much dignity as she can manage. “You are a right arsehole, Doctor.”
“Oi!” the Doctor protests. “That's hardly fair!”
**
Rose, the Doctor thinks positively, is doing it on purpose. He's spent enough years among human females to know when one is trying to get his attention, not that Rose has to try. He's underneath the Tardis console when she walks in. The smell of her, clean and earthy, is the first thing that alerts him to her presence.
“Doctor?”
“Under here!” he calls, his mouth full of sonic screwdriver so that it sounds more like “fundbur ear!”
Rose's head appears in his line of vision, and the Doctor concludes that she has crouched down to see where he's located. “Hello,” she says cheerfully.
“Hello! I'll go ahead and slide out now, if you don't mind.”
Rose grins wickedly, but nods her head. “All right.”
He pushes himself out of the tight space and stands full upright before he looks his companion over and nearly falls to the floor. The dress she's wearing is, well... illegal on two thirds of the planets he's ever been to. It's shockingly scarlet red and clings to her every curve, accenting her bust line, nipping in at the waist and stopping just before mid-thigh.
“Rose,” the Doctor starts, but can find no way to finish.
“Do you like it?” She does a quick twirl, and the Doctor notices that she has high, high heels and stockings on. His mouth goes completely dry. He does like stockings.
He coughs. “Yes, yes I do. Brilliant, in fact. Well done.”
Rose grins. “One small problem I'm going to need your help with. Zipper?”
“What?” The Doctor is staring at her face, trying not to stare at her legs, trying not to think of what her legs are wrapped in. Silk, maybe? The Tardis keeps those around. Or maybe they're nylon. In any case, they have to go all the way up to her thigh. Maybe she's got a garter belt on. He struggles not to bounce at the thought of a garter belt.
“Doctor,” Rose says again, patiently. “My zipper. You wanted to go to this party, remember?”
“Can't imagine why,” the Doctor mutters. “Good thing you don't dress like this every day. I thought you were going to have to restart my right heart. It's a bit tetchy in this regeneration.”
Rose blushes and looks at the floor. “I'm so glad you like it.”
After a considerable debate with himself, the Doctor decides to take Rose out into the brilliant night of Marcos, a planet some four galaxies away from Rose's home, and five thousand years into her future. The Doctor knows someone opening a night club here, and he knows they could use a break after all they've been through.
She holds his hand on the way into the club, and heads turn. Rose laughs at something he says and she glows just right in the lighting of the club. Her cheeks are rosy, her hair is so blonde it shimmers and the Doctor is overwhelmed by love. He wishes he could shout like that silly human celebrity Jackie's so obsessed with. Perhaps if he could find an appropriate white couch, that would be an acceptable display of emotion.
Rose seems to sense his inner turmoil and turns to kiss him on the shoulder. “Thank you,” she says softly. “This is going to be so much fun! Dancing. We've not done that since Glen Miller in the Tardis with Jack.”
He smiles. “Still got moves!”
**
The Doctor is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose. She just naturally is. Whether it's Gwen, giving her life for the good of all, who never had anyone to mourn her, or an angry teenaged boy, smarter than his father, in the 1950s, she is compassion. And so, when she looks him in the eye and asks him if he's all right, he knows that she really wants to know.
And he lies... and it's definitely on purpose.
**
Rose thinks he's doing it on purpose. He's stretched out on the couch in the library of the Tardis with her tucked into his side, reading a copy of Little Women, strangely enough, but he's doing it while he eats from a bowl of strawberries she's washed and cut for them to snack on. There's something incredibly sensual about the Doctor eating, she thinks distractedly, and tries to settle back in to her own book, a romantic series about an immortal race of vampire like men who snatch up young women to be their mates forever and ever.
Rose tried not to analyze her subconscious too much.
“It must be a good book,” the Doctor says, closing his own tome.
“What?” Rose angles her head to look up at him.
“Your book. It must be good.”
Rose blinks. “What makes you think that?”
“You smell,” the Doctor buried his nose in the side of her neck. “Absolutely divine.”
“Oh,” Rose says weakly. “That kind of good. Um... it definitely is.”
“You realize, the sex in those books is completely unrealistic,” the Doctor is saying while he pushes her hair aside to nibble on her ear.
“Which bit?” Rose asks on a gasp as the Doctor's tongue flicks against her earlobe. “The telepathy or the seven orgasms?”
“Welllll,” the Doctor says, and draws her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment before releasing it. “The orgasm... well, that's possible. So is the telepathy. It's the whole... having sex with a plasmavore being pleasurable thing that's a bit iffy. Maybe if you were, you know. Drugged.”
“It's a good thing I have you around,” Rose says with a sigh. “I'll add that to my list of things I'm not supposed to do: have sex with a plasmavore.”
“Now,” the Doctor says, rolling her over onto her back and pulling her t-shirt up to expose her tummy, “sex with a Time Lord. That is much, much better.”
**
She is doing it on purpose. The Doctor knows, can feel both of his hearts shattering into a million pieces as she tries to find the words.
“I... I love you.”
...Rose, in the corset, in the alleyway in France, clinging to him as he samples her taste for the first time, laying with her in the apple grass of New York, holding her oh so tight the night they were suspended over Krop Tor. Rose, so human and so right, that night in Cardiff when he held her hand and told her he was glad he knew her. Swinging her around and around in the Tardis when they both lived. Gas mask zombies and werewolves and nightclubs and sex and promises and...
He can find the courage to say what he needs to say.
When the Tardis can no longer hold the connection open, he cries... and he's doing it on purpose.
“Voulez-vous une pâtisserie, Monsieur? Ils sont frais sortie du four!”
“Non, non,” The Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor . “Je vais une ici! Merci beaucoup!”
Translates roughly to:
"Would you like a pastry, sir? They're fresh from the oven!"
"No, no," the Doctor says, waving the bun he's just purchased from a vendor. "I have one here! Thanks very much!"
Beauvais is a real town in south-western France, with a local hero who really did help the town survive a siege by the Duke of Burgundy (Oh, Wikipedia, I love you). It also has (apparently) a very nice cathedral.
Comments are love and bunnies.