DW Fic: We Both Go Down Together (1/1)
Title: We Both Go Down Together (1/1)
Rating: Adult
Genres/Warnings: Angst and smut. Probably a bit on the darker side.
Spoilers: Journey's End
Characters/Pairings: 10.2/Rose
Summary: Adjusting to the rest of their lives in Pete's World isn't easy. On either of them.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who owns my soul. I own nothing.
Standing in the rain, watching an angry Rose bark out orders at the Torchwood clean-up team, was not the Doctor's idea of a good time. Especially when he knew that at least half of that anger was directed at him. Well, when he said half, he meant more like sixty percent. Seventy-five. Okay, so maybe ninety percent was more accurate.
What it all boiled down anyway, was that she was angry. At him. Again.
With a sigh, he turned away from the bay and headed back to the car park. He'd wait for her in the SUV where it was dry. And he wouldn't feel a bit of guilt over it either. After all, it'd been her decision to come here, to help out. It was a Saturday night, supposedly both of their days off. And yet, here they were, foiling another alien invasion, and then managing the clean-up before anyone took note.
This wasn't the way he'd imagined his life would be all those months ago when he'd dropped them off here. He, as in the other him. His duplicate. Doppleganger. Whatever you wanted to call him. Regardless, this wasn't the human life he'd thought he'd end up with. The picture in his mind back then had included a little more excitement, a little less Torchwood and a lot more Rose.
Instead, what he got was a job that he hated, missions that were less than challenging and a Rose that treated him like a mate on her good days. And that was the best of the best. If you factored in the still constant adaptations he was going through both physically and mentally, the loss of his home and--
“Oi, you could've waited for me, ya know,” Rose snapped, drawing up alongside him. Her face was flushed from the cold; hair hanging down in wet bundles of blonde that desperately needed a touch-up, breath coming out in short puffs of steam. She looked like a drowned cat, a thought which made him snicker. Probably not a good idea, all things considered.
Losing his mirth at the glare she sent his way, he shrugged his shoulders, hands buried deep within his coat pockets, feeling a bit like his old self again. Except that he never would be that again. He was human now, and that was just the icing on top of his bad night. Week. Bloody hell, life.
“You were busy. Taking control. Again.” He was being snippy and he knew it. But he didn't care. It was cold and wet and he was dead tired. He hated that he was affected by those things now. Being human wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.
“Not your ship, not your rules,” she bit out through clenched teeth. It was the same old double standard she'd been using on him for months; ever since...well, ever since they'd arrived here.
“You know you can't have it both ways, right?” He did nothing to tame the scathing tone of his voice. Didn't want to. He'd been putting up with this for far too long and tonight's incident was simply the proverbial straw that broke his already aching back. “You can't tell me I'm not him and then turn around and throw his words back at me. We're either the same or we're not. There's no middle ground on this, Rose.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” she mumbled under her breath.
He stopped dead in his tracks, waiting until she slowed and turned reluctantly to face him. “What'd you say?”
“Nothing.” She darted her gaze back toward the bay, avoiding his eyes and avoiding him. Just like always.
Something snapped.
As much as she was hurting, he was hurting too. She may have lost the man--alien--she loved, but he'd lost his self, his home, the only life he’d ever known. Didn't he deserve at least a little understanding because of that? Wasn't he owed some small amount of kindness, not the bitter loathing and reluctant sympathy she gave him?
“No.” He crossed the short distance between them and grabbed her by the arms, giving her a little shake. “What. Did. You say?”
This time she did meet his gaze. Unflinchingly. And there was such anger in her eyes; anger and sadness and bitterness and...fear. He almost wanted to yell at her, ”That's what I feel. All the time. And doesn't it drive you mad?”, but he didn't, wasn’t sure she'd like having that particular quote thrown in her face right about now.
“I said,” she grimaced, trying to pull back, but he didn’t let up, wasn't letting her get away that easily. “Sometimes I wonder.”
He tightened his grip on her arms. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you act just like him sometimes.” Pawing at his hands, she backed herself up even further, unknowingly heading them down a dark side alley. “You're always trying to tell me what to do. Trying to control my life.”
“I do it to protect you. To keep you safe.”
“Like he did when he abandoned me here with you?” And that right there was the reason for all of this. For every single fight they'd had in the last four months. “I'm not that nineteen year old shop girl anymore,” she said a little quieter, but with no less anger. “I can take care of myself.”
"Like you did tonight?" he ground out, pushing her against a brick wall when she tried to shove past him. "No. You're always running away, Rose. Not this time." Fisting his hands in her wet coat, wanting to force some sense into her, he closed his eyes, fighting for control. "What you did tonight was stupid. Running out there, no weapon--"
"I was distracting them," she snapped, shoving against his arms. "And I don't need you telling me what to do. Got a dad for that already, thanks. Now, shove off." When he didn't move, she fisted her hands in his coat; the same camel hair coat he'd worn before, as another man. Same clothes, same Doctor, same Rose. Same feelings.
Different rules. But, TARDIS or not, he knew what was best for her, understood the dangers out there far better than she ever would.
“It was foolish.” The storm had passed now but a bead of rainwater dripped down from somewhere above them, landing on her temple. “You could've got yourself killed.” The droplet slid down her cheek, hung off her chin, then slipped down her neck and lower. He followed its path with his eyes, feeling a hunger for the flesh it traveled rising up inside of him.
Rose hmphed, calling his attention back up to her face just as the drop of water slid beneath her jacket and out of sight. “Been doing the Torchwood thing for nearly seven years now, Doc,” she stressed the title knowing it irritated him. Knowing that the fact that she still refused to call him by his real name angered him more than anything else. “Think I know a thing or two about aliens.”
“And that means you're infallible now, does it?” He leaned in closer, anger showing clearly on his face. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating off of her despite the chill in the air. “Means you can just waltz into any situation and make it back out alive again?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you're any better.”
“I, at least, know what I'm doing,” he growled, frustrated that she couldn't get it through her thick skull that she could be broken. That she could die...that he could lose her.
Except that he couldn't. She was all he had left. All he had in this universe, all he wanted. Didn't she understand that? Didn't she understand that he was the same man? That he cared for her just as much as the other him? More so even?
Struggling against him again, she shoved at his arms, his chest; anywhere she could, trying to push him away from her. “Get. Off,” she spat. “You're hurting me.”
Quick as a shot, he grabbed her by the hands, lifting her arms up above her head and holding them still against the wet brick wall. “Like you hurt me every time you look right through me?” They were practically nose-to-nose now and he could smell every last bit of her. From the strawberry of her shampoo from her shower earlier this morning, to the chips and vinegar she'd had for lunch. He may not be a Time Lord anymore, but he still had the heightened senses. “Every time you look through me and see someone else? Someone you'd rather be seeing?”
“Because you're not him,” she whispered but she wasn't very convincing. Not when he could smell desire on her. Not when he could practically taste her pheromones on the air.
He shifted closer, thrusting a knee between her legs. “You're right. I'm not him.” Her eyes widened slightly and he knew it wasn't because of what he'd just said. “'Cause he'd never do this.” And with that he closed the last of the distance between them, slamming his mouth into hers in a hard, bruising kiss.
The whimper that came from deep in the back of her throat was one of want and need and desire. It was the sound of feelings long kept pent-up, denial, and frustration. It was the sound of his human life so far. But things were changing and that something that had snapped earlier, that piece of him that had finally lost it when faced once again with her avoidance, was aflame.
Not slowing in his attack on her mouth, he released her hands, dropping his to the hem of her shirt and forcing his fingers up, beneath the thin material, nails scraping against her skin. He needed to get at everything at once. Everything he wanted. Everything he'd been denied thus far.
Everything she wasn't denying him anymore.
She grabbed at his coat, fisting it, using the leverage to anchor him to where he was. Anchor him to her.
Not like she had to. He wasn't going anywhere. God, no. He wouldn't be able to even if he wanted, which he didn't. Not now. Not ever. He'd stay with her forever if she'd have him. All she had to do was say the word.
She wouldn't though.
Despite what they were doing here, now, despite the fact that she was using her grip on his coat to pull him even closer to her, she'd never give him that. He knew because she'd gone for four months without using his name. Four months without touching him more than was absolutely necessary, avoiding him like he was catching or something.
And he'd seen the looks she gave him, when she thought his attention was elsewhere. The thoughtful, quiet, watchful looks, which always seemed to end with her deciding he wasn't him, the man she really loved. The man who, despite being a whole universe away, was still coming between them.
Would always come between them.
Forcing her mouth open further, taking even more of it, of her, he shoved her shirt up and over her breasts, roughly drawing her bra aside to cup one of her fleshy mounds. They both moaned. He may not be who she really wanted, but she was desperate enough that she'd take him anyway, accept the substitute. For now anyway, which was all he needed.
He was just desperate enough himself that, if this was all he was going to get, he'd take it. Gladly.
Ripping his mouth from hers, he took a quick breath--it was hard to remember all those little human quirks, like the need for oxygen, when you're being flooded with desire--then lowered his head, taking a nipple between lips and teeth. She hissed at the contact, her hands twisting in the rough material of his coat, just like he was twisting the pebbled flesh in his mouth. Turning it this way and that, stretching it until it was taut, before releasing it with a wet pop. Rolling his tongue around the roughened flesh and then grazing his teeth over the top, he listened to her suck in a deep, shuddering breath of her own.
“God,” she breathed out, pressing down on his thigh.
“Not God.” He lifted his head to level his gaze on her, taking in her heavy-lidded eyes, her flushed cheeks. “Doctor.” Then before she could protest, he reached around the back of her neck, pulling her to him, crushing any words of disagreement with his lips.
But it wasn't like she was trying to stop him. She didn't draw back, didn't spit out spiteful words filled with disgust. No, she was too far gone for that, too into this. As much as he was in fact, if the way she was meeting him kiss-for-kiss, fingers tangled up in his hair, drawing him closer, was any indication.
Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, dirt and concrete digging into his palm, he kept the other behind her head, holding her tight to him. He wasn't going to risk her running away from him now, not after he'd waited for this for so long. There was a twitching between his legs, and his trousers grew more and more uncomfortable as he got more and more of a taste of her.
Lips and tongues and teeth battled for dominance, both of them fighting for control of the kiss, control of what they were surely about to do, the desperate dance that had been a long time coming. Pulling back from her warmth and the all too familiar phrase, he tried to force the term from his mind, focusing instead on the bared flesh of her neck.
Nipping, sucking, biting, he listened to her moans and grabbed at the waistband of her jeans, tugging hard. “Take them off,” he hissed in her ear, feeling the shudder that went through her. “Now.”
A second later, and she was pulling him away from her. He panicked, wondering if he'd gone too far, pushed her to hard. But his gaze was drawn down her body, past nipples pebbling--pressing--against the thin, wet material of her shirt, to where fingers were fumbling with her zip. Her breathing was coming hard and fast, through snog-swollen lips, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to help.
He wanted to watch.
And he did. He watched as she struggled with button and zip, then, without preamble, shoved her jeans and knickers to the wet ground. She struggled a bit more, trying to pull them off over her trainers before quickly giving up and yanking off shoes and stepping out of clothing in multiple clumsy movements. There was nothing slow or playful or teasing about the way she undressed. There was only want. Her wanting him and him wanting her...though, his want went much further than hers. He wanted to swallow up every last inch of flesh she revealed to him, wanted to devour her; body, mind, and soul.
Swallowing hard, he raised his gaze from the light patch of dark hair just above where her legs met. It wasn't the time or place for some of the things he wanted to do to her. And the other things...well, she'd never let him anyway, so there was no point in dwelling.
This was about sex and sex only, nothing more. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking it meant anything else to her.
Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he took in his fill, committing to memory how she looked right now. Naked from the waist down, shirt clinging to her every curve, accenting the outline of each breast. She was panting with need, hands clenching at her sides as she waited for him to make the next move.
“Fantastic,” he murmured, licking his lips.
“Don't,” she growled, grabbing his arms and yanking him to her. “Don't ever say that word.” And it was her turn to descend on him; his neck, his chin, the soft spot just behind his ear. “You're not him,” she hissed, stressing her point with a sharp tug on his trousers, and then dropping her hands further to roughly cup the bulge there.
He couldn't take it any longer.
Regaining control of the situation, he shoved her against the wall, pushing her shirt back up and out of his way. One hand cupped her left breast as he lowered his head to the right, strumming both nipples at the same time; one with his teeth, the other with his nails. Reaching down with his free hand, he brushed hers aside, releasing himself from the restriction of his trousers. Then he let them, and his pants, slide down his legs to pool at his feet.
A moan escaped her lips as she raised a leg to his waist, trying to line him up with her entrance. He could feel her heat, the wetness waiting for him there and his cock twitched, dipping lightly into her folds, coming back out with a bit of her dampness on him. He groaned into her shoulder then bit down hard, knowing he'd leave a mark.
Hoping.
“Fuck me,” she swore and he could hear the pause at the end, where his name was meant to be but wasn't. And as much as he pretended that it didn't, as much as he felt prepared for her continuous denial of him, it still hurt.
Grabbing her by the waist, he turned her around until she was facing away from him. “Hands on the wall.” His voice was low, guttural. Keeping his grip on her waist, he pulled her back slightly, until her arse was pressed up against his cock. “Spread 'em wider,” he said, nudging her feet apart with his own.
She did as she was told immediately, tossing a glance over her shoulder at him, eyes dark with desire. He leaned across her back, letting her feel just how hard he was, just how much he wanted her. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he reached down between her legs to guide himself once again to her entrance.
Then he stopped.
She whimpered. Pushed back. Tried to impale herself on him.
He held her still.
“Please.” It was more of a command than an actual plea, and he leaned in closer, tempting her, taunting her with just the slightest bit of penetration. She shoved back again, using her hands as leverage.
Still, he held her firmly in place, running his fingers through her damp hair, enjoying the feel of the blonde strands rubbing against his skin, imaging those same strands tickling his stomach as she took him in her mouth... Fingers met scalp and he gripped a chunk of her hair and yanked her head back a little. “Who am I?”
He felt more than heard her sharp intake of breath. Watched as she held herself very still, no longer pushing back against him. But he could also see the way her arms trembled as she tried to hold herself away from the wall. There was no turning back now and she knew it. She was too far gone, too horny to do anything else but what he wanted, as long as it meant he'd fuck her.
“Who?” he hissed in her ear, reaching down to rub his cock along her folds.
She shook her head, refusing to answer. It was a battle of wills between them and he'd win, he knew he would. He had 900 years of experience on his side, and even if he was human too now, he had far more patience than even the most patient of her--his--species.
“Please!” This time it was a plea, but that wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want her to beg, he just wanted what was rightfully his.
His name.
“I said...” Pushing forward, letting the very tip of his cock enter her, he gave her a little taste but not nearly enough to quench her thirst. Barely even enough to be a tease. “Who am I?” Then he pulled all the way back out again, dropping her hair and backing away from everything he'd ever wanted.
The cool night air picked up a bit, making his coat billow around his bare legs. Goosebumps rose up everywhere he had hair and he thought again about how much it sucked to be a human, to not be a Time Lord anymore. Because if she did somehow manage to resist, to refuse to give him what he wanted, he'd be left with a raging hard-on that he knew wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Not without help anyway. And frankly, he was a bit tired of taking care of things himself.
He wouldn't cave on this though. He deserved this, at the very least, from her. He deserved his name.
“You're not him, no matter how many times you make me say it,” she told him so quietly he almost didn't even hear her over his own ragged breathing. She turned around, eyebrows rising at the picture he made, then quickly closed the distance between them, brazen in her nudity. Her hand darted out, as if to cup his cheek, her face softening a little, and he thought she might just give in then. Instead, at the very last second, she reached down and grabbed his cock, stroked him hard, a challenging look in her eyes.
“Rose,” he warned, moving in closer, thinking she'd back away, try to keep a distance between them. And she did. Right up until she hit the brick wall behind her, hand still wrapped around him, still stroking him. “Rose, stop.” His breathing was coming faster now, the feeling of her warmth surrounding him, the knowledge that she was finally touching him like this his undoing.
“What?” Her tongue poked out from between her teeth, just like he'd always loved, but she wasn't teasing. Not like she used to anyway. “You can dish it out but you can't take it? That it?” She hooked a leg over his waist, standing on tiptoe and leaning forward just a bit. The hand that wasn't on his cock slid along his neck, balancing her in the precarious position.
He was quickly losing any control he had over the situation. It'd been too long, he'd wanted this too much. And now she was here, half-naked, his hard length in hand, guiding it to the warm center he'd fantasized about sliding into since shortly after his regeneration. Back when he was a Time Lord and could regenerate.
A firm tug and his thoughts were jerked back to the present. To that hand, wrapped around him, lining him up just so and-- He bucked up into her in one long, hard thrust. There was a ringing in his ears, a fogginess to his vision, and suddenly all his attention was focused on that one small part of his anatomy. His legs went shaky on him, and before he knew it, he was falling forward, hitting the brick wall with his hands, bracing himself there.
The sudden change in position pushed him deeper into her wet folds and Rose groaned. Somehow, despite his added weight affecting her balance, she managed to stay upright. Her other hand joined the first and she rocked backwards, letting him slip out just that little bit.
“Fuck me.”
And he did.
Mind lost to everything but the feeling of her surrounding him, reason no longer stood a chance. There was no question of who he was, no need any more to hear her say it.
There was just him and her; the Doctor and Rose.
Leaning her back against the wall, he grabbed the leg around his waist and raised it, guiding her to straighten it, so that her foot was above their heads. It was a good thing she was so flexible--thanks to Jackie for sending her to gymnastics when she was a kid--or this, fucking her up against a wall, wouldn't be nearly as possible. As it was, it was a bit awkward, but once he found the ideal position, he began slamming into her with abandon.
Both of them grasped, fumbling for purchase. He on her hips, digging his fingers in so deep he was certain there'd be a bruise there in the morning. Her on his back, her nails biting into his flesh and he knew there'd be marks there in the morning. Not that he minded. He wanted her to mark him as much as he wanted to mark her.
Each and every stroke inside her, every time he thrust forward, she met him halfway, giving as much as he did, not content to just lean back and let him do all the work. But that wasn't all. She, Rose, his Rose, was quite the little minx once she got started. She just couldn't stay still and he felt like she was the one in control, not himself. Pulling his head to hers, she kissed him long and hard, her tongue darting into his mouth, tasting him, sampling his every nook and cranny. She dominated him, set the rhythm that he pounded into her with.
He was so far gone that he didn't care anymore.
The alley was filled with them. The smell of sex overwhelming the fresh rain-scented air. The sounds of them--grunts with each thrust, the slick, wet sound of body parts moving within body parts, his balls slapping into her thigh--echoed off the buildings around them, ringing in his ears.
It was only a matter of minutes before he felt himself coming undone. He braced himself on one hand, snaking the other between their tightly pressed bodies, seeking out the little nub of pleasure that he knew would send her over the edge as well. But she batted his hand away, pushing her body closer to his and started riding him from above, squeezing his waist between her thighs, his cock between her folds.
“Rose, oh...” He slammed his hand back into the wall, trying to keep himself upright. “Fuck...Rose...yesss,” he hissed, throwing his head back as he came, jerking his hips forward without rhythm.
And as he came down off his high, as his balls stopped spasming, and his cock stopped pumping her full of his seed, he heard her coming as well, his name a quiet whisper on her breath.
Rating: Adult
Genres/Warnings: Angst and smut. Probably a bit on the darker side.
Spoilers: Journey's End
Characters/Pairings: 10.2/Rose
Summary: Adjusting to the rest of their lives in Pete's World isn't easy. On either of them.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who owns my soul. I own nothing.
Standing in the rain, watching an angry Rose bark out orders at the Torchwood clean-up team, was not the Doctor's idea of a good time. Especially when he knew that at least half of that anger was directed at him. Well, when he said half, he meant more like sixty percent. Seventy-five. Okay, so maybe ninety percent was more accurate.
What it all boiled down anyway, was that she was angry. At him. Again.
With a sigh, he turned away from the bay and headed back to the car park. He'd wait for her in the SUV where it was dry. And he wouldn't feel a bit of guilt over it either. After all, it'd been her decision to come here, to help out. It was a Saturday night, supposedly both of their days off. And yet, here they were, foiling another alien invasion, and then managing the clean-up before anyone took note.
This wasn't the way he'd imagined his life would be all those months ago when he'd dropped them off here. He, as in the other him. His duplicate. Doppleganger. Whatever you wanted to call him. Regardless, this wasn't the human life he'd thought he'd end up with. The picture in his mind back then had included a little more excitement, a little less Torchwood and a lot more Rose.
Instead, what he got was a job that he hated, missions that were less than challenging and a Rose that treated him like a mate on her good days. And that was the best of the best. If you factored in the still constant adaptations he was going through both physically and mentally, the loss of his home and--
“Oi, you could've waited for me, ya know,” Rose snapped, drawing up alongside him. Her face was flushed from the cold; hair hanging down in wet bundles of blonde that desperately needed a touch-up, breath coming out in short puffs of steam. She looked like a drowned cat, a thought which made him snicker. Probably not a good idea, all things considered.
Losing his mirth at the glare she sent his way, he shrugged his shoulders, hands buried deep within his coat pockets, feeling a bit like his old self again. Except that he never would be that again. He was human now, and that was just the icing on top of his bad night. Week. Bloody hell, life.
“You were busy. Taking control. Again.” He was being snippy and he knew it. But he didn't care. It was cold and wet and he was dead tired. He hated that he was affected by those things now. Being human wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.
“Not your ship, not your rules,” she bit out through clenched teeth. It was the same old double standard she'd been using on him for months; ever since...well, ever since they'd arrived here.
“You know you can't have it both ways, right?” He did nothing to tame the scathing tone of his voice. Didn't want to. He'd been putting up with this for far too long and tonight's incident was simply the proverbial straw that broke his already aching back. “You can't tell me I'm not him and then turn around and throw his words back at me. We're either the same or we're not. There's no middle ground on this, Rose.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” she mumbled under her breath.
He stopped dead in his tracks, waiting until she slowed and turned reluctantly to face him. “What'd you say?”
“Nothing.” She darted her gaze back toward the bay, avoiding his eyes and avoiding him. Just like always.
Something snapped.
As much as she was hurting, he was hurting too. She may have lost the man--alien--she loved, but he'd lost his self, his home, the only life he’d ever known. Didn't he deserve at least a little understanding because of that? Wasn't he owed some small amount of kindness, not the bitter loathing and reluctant sympathy she gave him?
“No.” He crossed the short distance between them and grabbed her by the arms, giving her a little shake. “What. Did. You say?”
This time she did meet his gaze. Unflinchingly. And there was such anger in her eyes; anger and sadness and bitterness and...fear. He almost wanted to yell at her, ”That's what I feel. All the time. And doesn't it drive you mad?”, but he didn't, wasn’t sure she'd like having that particular quote thrown in her face right about now.
“I said,” she grimaced, trying to pull back, but he didn’t let up, wasn't letting her get away that easily. “Sometimes I wonder.”
He tightened his grip on her arms. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you act just like him sometimes.” Pawing at his hands, she backed herself up even further, unknowingly heading them down a dark side alley. “You're always trying to tell me what to do. Trying to control my life.”
“I do it to protect you. To keep you safe.”
“Like he did when he abandoned me here with you?” And that right there was the reason for all of this. For every single fight they'd had in the last four months. “I'm not that nineteen year old shop girl anymore,” she said a little quieter, but with no less anger. “I can take care of myself.”
"Like you did tonight?" he ground out, pushing her against a brick wall when she tried to shove past him. "No. You're always running away, Rose. Not this time." Fisting his hands in her wet coat, wanting to force some sense into her, he closed his eyes, fighting for control. "What you did tonight was stupid. Running out there, no weapon--"
"I was distracting them," she snapped, shoving against his arms. "And I don't need you telling me what to do. Got a dad for that already, thanks. Now, shove off." When he didn't move, she fisted her hands in his coat; the same camel hair coat he'd worn before, as another man. Same clothes, same Doctor, same Rose. Same feelings.
Different rules. But, TARDIS or not, he knew what was best for her, understood the dangers out there far better than she ever would.
“It was foolish.” The storm had passed now but a bead of rainwater dripped down from somewhere above them, landing on her temple. “You could've got yourself killed.” The droplet slid down her cheek, hung off her chin, then slipped down her neck and lower. He followed its path with his eyes, feeling a hunger for the flesh it traveled rising up inside of him.
Rose hmphed, calling his attention back up to her face just as the drop of water slid beneath her jacket and out of sight. “Been doing the Torchwood thing for nearly seven years now, Doc,” she stressed the title knowing it irritated him. Knowing that the fact that she still refused to call him by his real name angered him more than anything else. “Think I know a thing or two about aliens.”
“And that means you're infallible now, does it?” He leaned in closer, anger showing clearly on his face. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating off of her despite the chill in the air. “Means you can just waltz into any situation and make it back out alive again?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you're any better.”
“I, at least, know what I'm doing,” he growled, frustrated that she couldn't get it through her thick skull that she could be broken. That she could die...that he could lose her.
Except that he couldn't. She was all he had left. All he had in this universe, all he wanted. Didn't she understand that? Didn't she understand that he was the same man? That he cared for her just as much as the other him? More so even?
Struggling against him again, she shoved at his arms, his chest; anywhere she could, trying to push him away from her. “Get. Off,” she spat. “You're hurting me.”
Quick as a shot, he grabbed her by the hands, lifting her arms up above her head and holding them still against the wet brick wall. “Like you hurt me every time you look right through me?” They were practically nose-to-nose now and he could smell every last bit of her. From the strawberry of her shampoo from her shower earlier this morning, to the chips and vinegar she'd had for lunch. He may not be a Time Lord anymore, but he still had the heightened senses. “Every time you look through me and see someone else? Someone you'd rather be seeing?”
“Because you're not him,” she whispered but she wasn't very convincing. Not when he could smell desire on her. Not when he could practically taste her pheromones on the air.
He shifted closer, thrusting a knee between her legs. “You're right. I'm not him.” Her eyes widened slightly and he knew it wasn't because of what he'd just said. “'Cause he'd never do this.” And with that he closed the last of the distance between them, slamming his mouth into hers in a hard, bruising kiss.
The whimper that came from deep in the back of her throat was one of want and need and desire. It was the sound of feelings long kept pent-up, denial, and frustration. It was the sound of his human life so far. But things were changing and that something that had snapped earlier, that piece of him that had finally lost it when faced once again with her avoidance, was aflame.
Not slowing in his attack on her mouth, he released her hands, dropping his to the hem of her shirt and forcing his fingers up, beneath the thin material, nails scraping against her skin. He needed to get at everything at once. Everything he wanted. Everything he'd been denied thus far.
Everything she wasn't denying him anymore.
She grabbed at his coat, fisting it, using the leverage to anchor him to where he was. Anchor him to her.
Not like she had to. He wasn't going anywhere. God, no. He wouldn't be able to even if he wanted, which he didn't. Not now. Not ever. He'd stay with her forever if she'd have him. All she had to do was say the word.
She wouldn't though.
Despite what they were doing here, now, despite the fact that she was using her grip on his coat to pull him even closer to her, she'd never give him that. He knew because she'd gone for four months without using his name. Four months without touching him more than was absolutely necessary, avoiding him like he was catching or something.
And he'd seen the looks she gave him, when she thought his attention was elsewhere. The thoughtful, quiet, watchful looks, which always seemed to end with her deciding he wasn't him, the man she really loved. The man who, despite being a whole universe away, was still coming between them.
Would always come between them.
Forcing her mouth open further, taking even more of it, of her, he shoved her shirt up and over her breasts, roughly drawing her bra aside to cup one of her fleshy mounds. They both moaned. He may not be who she really wanted, but she was desperate enough that she'd take him anyway, accept the substitute. For now anyway, which was all he needed.
He was just desperate enough himself that, if this was all he was going to get, he'd take it. Gladly.
Ripping his mouth from hers, he took a quick breath--it was hard to remember all those little human quirks, like the need for oxygen, when you're being flooded with desire--then lowered his head, taking a nipple between lips and teeth. She hissed at the contact, her hands twisting in the rough material of his coat, just like he was twisting the pebbled flesh in his mouth. Turning it this way and that, stretching it until it was taut, before releasing it with a wet pop. Rolling his tongue around the roughened flesh and then grazing his teeth over the top, he listened to her suck in a deep, shuddering breath of her own.
“God,” she breathed out, pressing down on his thigh.
“Not God.” He lifted his head to level his gaze on her, taking in her heavy-lidded eyes, her flushed cheeks. “Doctor.” Then before she could protest, he reached around the back of her neck, pulling her to him, crushing any words of disagreement with his lips.
But it wasn't like she was trying to stop him. She didn't draw back, didn't spit out spiteful words filled with disgust. No, she was too far gone for that, too into this. As much as he was in fact, if the way she was meeting him kiss-for-kiss, fingers tangled up in his hair, drawing him closer, was any indication.
Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, dirt and concrete digging into his palm, he kept the other behind her head, holding her tight to him. He wasn't going to risk her running away from him now, not after he'd waited for this for so long. There was a twitching between his legs, and his trousers grew more and more uncomfortable as he got more and more of a taste of her.
Lips and tongues and teeth battled for dominance, both of them fighting for control of the kiss, control of what they were surely about to do, the desperate dance that had been a long time coming. Pulling back from her warmth and the all too familiar phrase, he tried to force the term from his mind, focusing instead on the bared flesh of her neck.
Nipping, sucking, biting, he listened to her moans and grabbed at the waistband of her jeans, tugging hard. “Take them off,” he hissed in her ear, feeling the shudder that went through her. “Now.”
A second later, and she was pulling him away from her. He panicked, wondering if he'd gone too far, pushed her to hard. But his gaze was drawn down her body, past nipples pebbling--pressing--against the thin, wet material of her shirt, to where fingers were fumbling with her zip. Her breathing was coming hard and fast, through snog-swollen lips, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to help.
He wanted to watch.
And he did. He watched as she struggled with button and zip, then, without preamble, shoved her jeans and knickers to the wet ground. She struggled a bit more, trying to pull them off over her trainers before quickly giving up and yanking off shoes and stepping out of clothing in multiple clumsy movements. There was nothing slow or playful or teasing about the way she undressed. There was only want. Her wanting him and him wanting her...though, his want went much further than hers. He wanted to swallow up every last inch of flesh she revealed to him, wanted to devour her; body, mind, and soul.
Swallowing hard, he raised his gaze from the light patch of dark hair just above where her legs met. It wasn't the time or place for some of the things he wanted to do to her. And the other things...well, she'd never let him anyway, so there was no point in dwelling.
This was about sex and sex only, nothing more. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking it meant anything else to her.
Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he took in his fill, committing to memory how she looked right now. Naked from the waist down, shirt clinging to her every curve, accenting the outline of each breast. She was panting with need, hands clenching at her sides as she waited for him to make the next move.
“Fantastic,” he murmured, licking his lips.
“Don't,” she growled, grabbing his arms and yanking him to her. “Don't ever say that word.” And it was her turn to descend on him; his neck, his chin, the soft spot just behind his ear. “You're not him,” she hissed, stressing her point with a sharp tug on his trousers, and then dropping her hands further to roughly cup the bulge there.
He couldn't take it any longer.
Regaining control of the situation, he shoved her against the wall, pushing her shirt back up and out of his way. One hand cupped her left breast as he lowered his head to the right, strumming both nipples at the same time; one with his teeth, the other with his nails. Reaching down with his free hand, he brushed hers aside, releasing himself from the restriction of his trousers. Then he let them, and his pants, slide down his legs to pool at his feet.
A moan escaped her lips as she raised a leg to his waist, trying to line him up with her entrance. He could feel her heat, the wetness waiting for him there and his cock twitched, dipping lightly into her folds, coming back out with a bit of her dampness on him. He groaned into her shoulder then bit down hard, knowing he'd leave a mark.
Hoping.
“Fuck me,” she swore and he could hear the pause at the end, where his name was meant to be but wasn't. And as much as he pretended that it didn't, as much as he felt prepared for her continuous denial of him, it still hurt.
Grabbing her by the waist, he turned her around until she was facing away from him. “Hands on the wall.” His voice was low, guttural. Keeping his grip on her waist, he pulled her back slightly, until her arse was pressed up against his cock. “Spread 'em wider,” he said, nudging her feet apart with his own.
She did as she was told immediately, tossing a glance over her shoulder at him, eyes dark with desire. He leaned across her back, letting her feel just how hard he was, just how much he wanted her. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he reached down between her legs to guide himself once again to her entrance.
Then he stopped.
She whimpered. Pushed back. Tried to impale herself on him.
He held her still.
“Please.” It was more of a command than an actual plea, and he leaned in closer, tempting her, taunting her with just the slightest bit of penetration. She shoved back again, using her hands as leverage.
Still, he held her firmly in place, running his fingers through her damp hair, enjoying the feel of the blonde strands rubbing against his skin, imaging those same strands tickling his stomach as she took him in her mouth... Fingers met scalp and he gripped a chunk of her hair and yanked her head back a little. “Who am I?”
He felt more than heard her sharp intake of breath. Watched as she held herself very still, no longer pushing back against him. But he could also see the way her arms trembled as she tried to hold herself away from the wall. There was no turning back now and she knew it. She was too far gone, too horny to do anything else but what he wanted, as long as it meant he'd fuck her.
“Who?” he hissed in her ear, reaching down to rub his cock along her folds.
She shook her head, refusing to answer. It was a battle of wills between them and he'd win, he knew he would. He had 900 years of experience on his side, and even if he was human too now, he had far more patience than even the most patient of her--his--species.
“Please!” This time it was a plea, but that wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want her to beg, he just wanted what was rightfully his.
His name.
“I said...” Pushing forward, letting the very tip of his cock enter her, he gave her a little taste but not nearly enough to quench her thirst. Barely even enough to be a tease. “Who am I?” Then he pulled all the way back out again, dropping her hair and backing away from everything he'd ever wanted.
The cool night air picked up a bit, making his coat billow around his bare legs. Goosebumps rose up everywhere he had hair and he thought again about how much it sucked to be a human, to not be a Time Lord anymore. Because if she did somehow manage to resist, to refuse to give him what he wanted, he'd be left with a raging hard-on that he knew wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Not without help anyway. And frankly, he was a bit tired of taking care of things himself.
He wouldn't cave on this though. He deserved this, at the very least, from her. He deserved his name.
“You're not him, no matter how many times you make me say it,” she told him so quietly he almost didn't even hear her over his own ragged breathing. She turned around, eyebrows rising at the picture he made, then quickly closed the distance between them, brazen in her nudity. Her hand darted out, as if to cup his cheek, her face softening a little, and he thought she might just give in then. Instead, at the very last second, she reached down and grabbed his cock, stroked him hard, a challenging look in her eyes.
“Rose,” he warned, moving in closer, thinking she'd back away, try to keep a distance between them. And she did. Right up until she hit the brick wall behind her, hand still wrapped around him, still stroking him. “Rose, stop.” His breathing was coming faster now, the feeling of her warmth surrounding him, the knowledge that she was finally touching him like this his undoing.
“What?” Her tongue poked out from between her teeth, just like he'd always loved, but she wasn't teasing. Not like she used to anyway. “You can dish it out but you can't take it? That it?” She hooked a leg over his waist, standing on tiptoe and leaning forward just a bit. The hand that wasn't on his cock slid along his neck, balancing her in the precarious position.
He was quickly losing any control he had over the situation. It'd been too long, he'd wanted this too much. And now she was here, half-naked, his hard length in hand, guiding it to the warm center he'd fantasized about sliding into since shortly after his regeneration. Back when he was a Time Lord and could regenerate.
A firm tug and his thoughts were jerked back to the present. To that hand, wrapped around him, lining him up just so and-- He bucked up into her in one long, hard thrust. There was a ringing in his ears, a fogginess to his vision, and suddenly all his attention was focused on that one small part of his anatomy. His legs went shaky on him, and before he knew it, he was falling forward, hitting the brick wall with his hands, bracing himself there.
The sudden change in position pushed him deeper into her wet folds and Rose groaned. Somehow, despite his added weight affecting her balance, she managed to stay upright. Her other hand joined the first and she rocked backwards, letting him slip out just that little bit.
“Fuck me.”
And he did.
Mind lost to everything but the feeling of her surrounding him, reason no longer stood a chance. There was no question of who he was, no need any more to hear her say it.
There was just him and her; the Doctor and Rose.
Leaning her back against the wall, he grabbed the leg around his waist and raised it, guiding her to straighten it, so that her foot was above their heads. It was a good thing she was so flexible--thanks to Jackie for sending her to gymnastics when she was a kid--or this, fucking her up against a wall, wouldn't be nearly as possible. As it was, it was a bit awkward, but once he found the ideal position, he began slamming into her with abandon.
Both of them grasped, fumbling for purchase. He on her hips, digging his fingers in so deep he was certain there'd be a bruise there in the morning. Her on his back, her nails biting into his flesh and he knew there'd be marks there in the morning. Not that he minded. He wanted her to mark him as much as he wanted to mark her.
Each and every stroke inside her, every time he thrust forward, she met him halfway, giving as much as he did, not content to just lean back and let him do all the work. But that wasn't all. She, Rose, his Rose, was quite the little minx once she got started. She just couldn't stay still and he felt like she was the one in control, not himself. Pulling his head to hers, she kissed him long and hard, her tongue darting into his mouth, tasting him, sampling his every nook and cranny. She dominated him, set the rhythm that he pounded into her with.
He was so far gone that he didn't care anymore.
The alley was filled with them. The smell of sex overwhelming the fresh rain-scented air. The sounds of them--grunts with each thrust, the slick, wet sound of body parts moving within body parts, his balls slapping into her thigh--echoed off the buildings around them, ringing in his ears.
It was only a matter of minutes before he felt himself coming undone. He braced himself on one hand, snaking the other between their tightly pressed bodies, seeking out the little nub of pleasure that he knew would send her over the edge as well. But she batted his hand away, pushing her body closer to his and started riding him from above, squeezing his waist between her thighs, his cock between her folds.
“Rose, oh...” He slammed his hand back into the wall, trying to keep himself upright. “Fuck...Rose...yesss,” he hissed, throwing his head back as he came, jerking his hips forward without rhythm.
And as he came down off his high, as his balls stopped spasming, and his cock stopped pumping her full of his seed, he heard her coming as well, his name a quiet whisper on her breath.