Everyday Fantastic: A Time Lord's Guide to the Slow Path (10/15)
Title: Everyday Fantastic: A Time Lord's Guide to the Slow Path (10/15)
Author: Roxyk630
WARNING: There are S4 spoilers beyond this point.
Character/Pairing: Ten II (10.5, Handy!Ten, Human!Ten, Blue!Ten)/Rose, Appearances by: Jackie, Jake, Pete, Tony and others
Rating: R (for sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor any of the characters contained within. All rights belong to the BBC. I do inflict humiliation upon my dalek action figures and make them wear silly hats and aprons. So... even more concern than the BBC coming after me... is the Cult of Skaro, an encounter I definitely would not survive.
Betas:
otahyoni for this chapter. Thank you! <3 Special thanks to swankkat, who specifically requested portions of this chapter and forced me to venture out of my ficcy comfort zone.
Summary: The Doctor learning to live day by day on the slow path with Rose.
Author's Notes: Back from vacation! I needed a stress reliever/distraction from work, today. Thank you so much for your patience with me! In this chapter our rating raises and Roxy ventures into new fictional zones. Be kind!
Previous Chapters: Teaspoon, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 , Chapter 9
CHAPTER 10
The Doctor’s eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. He could swear he and Rose had lit candles, but as the darkness greets him, he realizes that obviously he is mistaken. With a slight groan, he rolls and pulls Rose to him, shutting his eyes before shock opens them once again. He’d been having a lovely and equally naughty dream involving chocolate syrup, possibly jam, and other things lick-able about Rose. He tests his theory by lightly rubbing his fingers together. Not sticky. The disappointment is enough to bring his attention to other problems at hand. In pulling Rose toward him, he’s trapped a very noticeable bit of his anatomy against her warm and, if dares think it, rather soft bottom.
A soft sigh from her end of the bed awakens his brain a little further to realize that he was actually pressing and grinding into her repeatedly during his thoughts. It feels fantastic. He stops immediately, eyes wide, hoping he hasn’t actually managed to wake her, before removing his hand from her hip and sliding away from her warmth. With a sigh of frustration he rolls onto his back, realizing that, once again, human anatomy has managed to trump his Time Lord brain.
Really, what was the point in leaving him with a superior brain if it couldn’t control his body or hormonal functions? He mentally berates himself, hands clutching the sheets of Rose’s bed before releasing them. Her breathing is still steady as he watches the rise and fall of her shoulder and the curve of her back moving softly against the moonlight filtering through the window. He wants to claim her with his basest of instincts.
He’s not ready to wake her. It’s out of the question, as he’d rather she be coherent for anything remotely-He shies at the thought and rubs his hands at his face. He’d whimper loudly if he wasn’t afraid of disturbing her. Rose seems to be a rather strong sleeper, but he has yet to have the privilege of waking her beyond her light sleep during the car trip. He doesn’t want to wake her for a midnight romp. That’s the last thing he wants, to make a farce of the emotions and foundations he’s working so hard to rebuild with her. Unfortunately, the thought of making love to her really does nothing to help his current situation.
His eyes shift back to his pajama bottoms, hidden slightly by the sheet. The duvet he’s managed to kick completely off in his sleep. He’s warm and clammy and highly distressed by his hardly used parts, which seem to enjoy causing him immense torment when it comes to Rose. Really, Jack had never mentioned anything like this. He thinks now that he may actually admire the man for restraint, but not too much.
After a few seconds of staring, he’s desperately running through his brain, trying to think of ways to calm himself down in hopes of soothing the relentless beast he seems to have awakened. All his thoughts, however, are of Rose and licking and sounds he knows he’s never heard her make, at least not in that context.
A conversation with it is out. It seems to avoid reason and all logical thought. Nothing new, there. So he ignores it and rolls onto his side, away from Rose, and clutches his pillow under his head.
She must notice his movement in her sleep, because she rolls over and aligns her body with his, pressing lightly but noticeably into his back. Her body heat is entirely distracting, not at all hidden by the thin night-shirt and flannel pants she sleeps in. He can feel all of her and absently wonders what it would feel like to have her completely against him, without the nightshirt in the way. He scoots further towards the edge of the bed and Rose follows, flopping her arm over his stomach and brushing his hardness ever so slightly with her fingertips.
With a sharp intake of breath, he’s out of the bed faster than the word “Clom.” He watches Rose again, upset that she might awaken and be highly disturbed by his behavior, but she doesn’t. Instead, her brow furrows and she snuggles into his pillow.
It feels so much easier when she’s there with him, giving him cheeky remarks to encourage him or at least keep his thoughts at bay. Handling this alone is much worse and still just as tempting. It feels wrong, if only it wasn’t so pleasing.
Unfortunately now his issue has escalated further. Rose is everything. She’s beautiful, even in sleep, with her horribly rumpled hair and sleepy breath. Her t-shirt has ridden up in her restlessness and the smooth expanse of her stomach and hip is bared to him. He notes a thin scrap of lace peeking from beneath her flannel pajama pants and decides that all things Rose were designed to slowly torture and kill him. All he can think of is what the rest of the lace must look like hugged to her form.
She sighs in her sleep and his mind is immediately riddled with images from dreams, both past and present, involving Rose-some innocent, some far from it. Either way, he’s starting to ache and something needs to give soon. In desperation for relief, he tries to think of what alternative options he has, beyond the obvious. He paces about slowly as he thinks, fingers running through his hair. Think of things that would take his mind off Rose. He knows his mind well enough to know the dangers that lie in that alternative, so he notes it as a last resort.
The obvious answer would be to take care of the problem. He’s only uncomfortable with that thought because she’s so near. If she wakes, she’s highly likely to misconstrue the situation. He wants to solve the problem, slightly embarrassed by the thought, but the feeling of Rose’s fingers brushing against him is ingrained in his thoughts, as is the sensation.
He rationalizes his actions. It would be best to know what this body likes before sharing it with Rose. So many other things have changed in this body. Sensation has changed before. Why shouldn’t it be different? And really, how could he figure out what Rose likes if he’s too busy figuring out what he likes? This is for her, he decides, so that he can be a better lover. His hand drifts lower, pressing into his length, and he releases a shuddering breath. Things have changed. The sensation is completely different from what he remembers dealing with as a Time Lord. He doesn’t remember needing to take care of this as often. In the past he could simply think it away, mind over matter. No wonder Jack seemed a sexual deviant; the human sex drive is so much stronger than that of a Time Lord.
When Rose murmurs something in her sleep about scones, he’s brought crashing back to reality. Somehow, the human parts are meddling with his brain and rationalizing in a way he isn’t sure he’s completely comfortable with. Taking one retreating glance at Rose, he decides that maybe its time for a cold shower.
Every part of his skin feels incredibly sensitive as he undresses, aware of the problem he’s already been mentally wrestling with for at least fifteen minutes. And while his intent is to cool himself off, he finds, as he turns on the faucet, that he leaves it warm.
A contented moan escapes his lips as the water cascades over his thin form. The warmth of the water soothes away his initial aches and any hesitation he may have had with it. His body is warm, a sensation completely new, and he finds himself increasing the temperature of the water, allowing a thin haze of steam to fill the room. The shower is filled with scents and traces of Rose that entice his senses further. Reaching for some sort of manly scented nonsense they’d picked up at the shop, he lathers away. He remembers Rose’s smile when she picked it up and smelled it. It was really the only reason he bought it.
That smile haunted his thoughts as he lathered at his skin before allowing his eyes to drift to the one area he’d avoided. It still stood at attention, not quite as annoyingly high as before, but not gone. With a poke, he grimaces and decides he doesn’t enjoy the sensation of poking. He feels a bit daft for thinking he might in the first place.
Rose had brushed it, by accident, but it had felt amazing, a heat crushing through him from head to toe starting with her fingers. A heat he felt now as his fingers lightly brushed at the tip. Tracing the length with a soapy hand, he enjoys the slickness of his fingertips. The tease is all right but not exactly satisfying. He might enjoy it if he was more patient and the fingers were that of Rose and not his own. As his thoughts drift back to Rose, he wraps his hand around himself, liking the feel of his warm palm against his hardness. With a sharp intake of breath, he thinks of her lips, full and wet with his kisses.
He moves, pushing gently into his hand.
He remembers the feel of her body against his when they kiss or when they lie in bed, her breasts pressed against his back as she curls her arms around him. He moves faster, his jaw going slack at the sensations as they overtake his body. Shifting, he moves under the water to remove the soap as he continues, the cascade of slightly warm water increasing the feeling of his already sensitive skin.
He remembers his dream, Rose beneath him, making all sorts of delightful noises as he teased her to the edge. He likes the idea of teasing and control, he realizes, hardening further in his hand at the idea. Having her in control, being at the mercy of her every whim-the thought makes him groan as heat suffuses his body. He leans back against the wall of the shower, where he had Rose pressed the first time he’d been jealous of something as simple as water. The first time he’d felt her naked. Not that he’d taken much time to look as opposed to feel.
The feel of her skin against his as he makes her writhe with pleasure makes his hand move at a furious pace. The Doctor bites his lower lip to keep from crying out with sheer pleasure at the thought.
He can feel the tension building in his body, muscles tensing and flexing as he brings himself closer to climax. Her kisses, her scent, her smile, the way she feels, knowing he can’t wait to love her, to be within her, brings him to the very brink with a shuddering growl. Imagining her face in the throes of ecstasy, knowing he’s the one that placed that expression there.
Knowing that right now, at this moment, she’s sleeping in their bed, wanting him, wanting a life with him, needing him; brings him crashing over the edge with her name on his lips. He utters a few alien expletives, slacking against the wall of the shower.
Several minutes later, he’s clean once again and wrapping a towel around his waist. With a grin to his reflection, hidden by the steam, he feels almost giddy. Considering how antsy he felt, he’ll gladly suffer through showers daily until he and Rose are ready. He decides, in his satisfied state, to forgo pants in favor of his pajama bottoms, shoving his pants into the laundry and heading back into their room.
His weight shifting back into the bed is what rouses her from slumber.
“You’re back. Nightmare?” she asks groggily, tugging him towards her.
“Not exactly,” He whispers with a chuckle, placing his arms gently around her.
She rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat with a sleepy smile. It’s racing, but it doesn’t seem to register that there should be any reason for that. “Midnight shower?”
He determines from her tone that she isn’t fully awake.
“Just felt- “He pauses, trying to avoid the only wording his mind can come up with. “-a bit dirty.”
“Mmm.” She grins, eyes closed, as she snuggles into his chest. “Y’ smell nice.”
He can barely see the outline of her smile from his position as her breathing steadies into that of sleep. Anxiety or no, this is quite possibly the best place to be stuck, with Rose Tyler. The words had given him a panic attack on Krop Tor but now, as he watches her sleep, hand resting lightly against his chest, head tilted in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable over a long period of time, he thinks being stuck with Rose is the best thing he’s experienced in a long time. Being trapped in a human body with one disgusting heart beating a ridiculously rapid timbre, he’d said it like he didn’t want it when he’d come into existence. It’s definitely the most conclusive research experiment he’s managed to run. He has a lot of research and testing to do with this human life, but he’s always enjoyed experimentation. He’s decided to treat this no differently than any other adventure, to throw his being into it with the natives, conjugate his verbs incorrectly. He’s only got one chance, and he’s taking it. He seals it with a kiss to the top of Rose’s head.
Before he drifts off to sleep, he silently thanks his other self for having the intelligence to leave him behind.
Author: Roxyk630
WARNING: There are S4 spoilers beyond this point.
Character/Pairing: Ten II (10.5, Handy!Ten, Human!Ten, Blue!Ten)/Rose, Appearances by: Jackie, Jake, Pete, Tony and others
Rating: R (for sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who nor any of the characters contained within. All rights belong to the BBC. I do inflict humiliation upon my dalek action figures and make them wear silly hats and aprons. So... even more concern than the BBC coming after me... is the Cult of Skaro, an encounter I definitely would not survive.
Betas:
otahyoni for this chapter. Thank you! <3 Special thanks to swankkat, who specifically requested portions of this chapter and forced me to venture out of my ficcy comfort zone.
Summary: The Doctor learning to live day by day on the slow path with Rose.
Author's Notes: Back from vacation! I needed a stress reliever/distraction from work, today. Thank you so much for your patience with me! In this chapter our rating raises and Roxy ventures into new fictional zones. Be kind!
Previous Chapters: Teaspoon, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 , Chapter 9
CHAPTER 10
The Doctor’s eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. He could swear he and Rose had lit candles, but as the darkness greets him, he realizes that obviously he is mistaken. With a slight groan, he rolls and pulls Rose to him, shutting his eyes before shock opens them once again. He’d been having a lovely and equally naughty dream involving chocolate syrup, possibly jam, and other things lick-able about Rose. He tests his theory by lightly rubbing his fingers together. Not sticky. The disappointment is enough to bring his attention to other problems at hand. In pulling Rose toward him, he’s trapped a very noticeable bit of his anatomy against her warm and, if dares think it, rather soft bottom.
A soft sigh from her end of the bed awakens his brain a little further to realize that he was actually pressing and grinding into her repeatedly during his thoughts. It feels fantastic. He stops immediately, eyes wide, hoping he hasn’t actually managed to wake her, before removing his hand from her hip and sliding away from her warmth. With a sigh of frustration he rolls onto his back, realizing that, once again, human anatomy has managed to trump his Time Lord brain.
Really, what was the point in leaving him with a superior brain if it couldn’t control his body or hormonal functions? He mentally berates himself, hands clutching the sheets of Rose’s bed before releasing them. Her breathing is still steady as he watches the rise and fall of her shoulder and the curve of her back moving softly against the moonlight filtering through the window. He wants to claim her with his basest of instincts.
He’s not ready to wake her. It’s out of the question, as he’d rather she be coherent for anything remotely-He shies at the thought and rubs his hands at his face. He’d whimper loudly if he wasn’t afraid of disturbing her. Rose seems to be a rather strong sleeper, but he has yet to have the privilege of waking her beyond her light sleep during the car trip. He doesn’t want to wake her for a midnight romp. That’s the last thing he wants, to make a farce of the emotions and foundations he’s working so hard to rebuild with her. Unfortunately, the thought of making love to her really does nothing to help his current situation.
His eyes shift back to his pajama bottoms, hidden slightly by the sheet. The duvet he’s managed to kick completely off in his sleep. He’s warm and clammy and highly distressed by his hardly used parts, which seem to enjoy causing him immense torment when it comes to Rose. Really, Jack had never mentioned anything like this. He thinks now that he may actually admire the man for restraint, but not too much.
After a few seconds of staring, he’s desperately running through his brain, trying to think of ways to calm himself down in hopes of soothing the relentless beast he seems to have awakened. All his thoughts, however, are of Rose and licking and sounds he knows he’s never heard her make, at least not in that context.
A conversation with it is out. It seems to avoid reason and all logical thought. Nothing new, there. So he ignores it and rolls onto his side, away from Rose, and clutches his pillow under his head.
She must notice his movement in her sleep, because she rolls over and aligns her body with his, pressing lightly but noticeably into his back. Her body heat is entirely distracting, not at all hidden by the thin night-shirt and flannel pants she sleeps in. He can feel all of her and absently wonders what it would feel like to have her completely against him, without the nightshirt in the way. He scoots further towards the edge of the bed and Rose follows, flopping her arm over his stomach and brushing his hardness ever so slightly with her fingertips.
With a sharp intake of breath, he’s out of the bed faster than the word “Clom.” He watches Rose again, upset that she might awaken and be highly disturbed by his behavior, but she doesn’t. Instead, her brow furrows and she snuggles into his pillow.
It feels so much easier when she’s there with him, giving him cheeky remarks to encourage him or at least keep his thoughts at bay. Handling this alone is much worse and still just as tempting. It feels wrong, if only it wasn’t so pleasing.
Unfortunately now his issue has escalated further. Rose is everything. She’s beautiful, even in sleep, with her horribly rumpled hair and sleepy breath. Her t-shirt has ridden up in her restlessness and the smooth expanse of her stomach and hip is bared to him. He notes a thin scrap of lace peeking from beneath her flannel pajama pants and decides that all things Rose were designed to slowly torture and kill him. All he can think of is what the rest of the lace must look like hugged to her form.
She sighs in her sleep and his mind is immediately riddled with images from dreams, both past and present, involving Rose-some innocent, some far from it. Either way, he’s starting to ache and something needs to give soon. In desperation for relief, he tries to think of what alternative options he has, beyond the obvious. He paces about slowly as he thinks, fingers running through his hair. Think of things that would take his mind off Rose. He knows his mind well enough to know the dangers that lie in that alternative, so he notes it as a last resort.
The obvious answer would be to take care of the problem. He’s only uncomfortable with that thought because she’s so near. If she wakes, she’s highly likely to misconstrue the situation. He wants to solve the problem, slightly embarrassed by the thought, but the feeling of Rose’s fingers brushing against him is ingrained in his thoughts, as is the sensation.
He rationalizes his actions. It would be best to know what this body likes before sharing it with Rose. So many other things have changed in this body. Sensation has changed before. Why shouldn’t it be different? And really, how could he figure out what Rose likes if he’s too busy figuring out what he likes? This is for her, he decides, so that he can be a better lover. His hand drifts lower, pressing into his length, and he releases a shuddering breath. Things have changed. The sensation is completely different from what he remembers dealing with as a Time Lord. He doesn’t remember needing to take care of this as often. In the past he could simply think it away, mind over matter. No wonder Jack seemed a sexual deviant; the human sex drive is so much stronger than that of a Time Lord.
When Rose murmurs something in her sleep about scones, he’s brought crashing back to reality. Somehow, the human parts are meddling with his brain and rationalizing in a way he isn’t sure he’s completely comfortable with. Taking one retreating glance at Rose, he decides that maybe its time for a cold shower.
Every part of his skin feels incredibly sensitive as he undresses, aware of the problem he’s already been mentally wrestling with for at least fifteen minutes. And while his intent is to cool himself off, he finds, as he turns on the faucet, that he leaves it warm.
A contented moan escapes his lips as the water cascades over his thin form. The warmth of the water soothes away his initial aches and any hesitation he may have had with it. His body is warm, a sensation completely new, and he finds himself increasing the temperature of the water, allowing a thin haze of steam to fill the room. The shower is filled with scents and traces of Rose that entice his senses further. Reaching for some sort of manly scented nonsense they’d picked up at the shop, he lathers away. He remembers Rose’s smile when she picked it up and smelled it. It was really the only reason he bought it.
That smile haunted his thoughts as he lathered at his skin before allowing his eyes to drift to the one area he’d avoided. It still stood at attention, not quite as annoyingly high as before, but not gone. With a poke, he grimaces and decides he doesn’t enjoy the sensation of poking. He feels a bit daft for thinking he might in the first place.
Rose had brushed it, by accident, but it had felt amazing, a heat crushing through him from head to toe starting with her fingers. A heat he felt now as his fingers lightly brushed at the tip. Tracing the length with a soapy hand, he enjoys the slickness of his fingertips. The tease is all right but not exactly satisfying. He might enjoy it if he was more patient and the fingers were that of Rose and not his own. As his thoughts drift back to Rose, he wraps his hand around himself, liking the feel of his warm palm against his hardness. With a sharp intake of breath, he thinks of her lips, full and wet with his kisses.
He moves, pushing gently into his hand.
He remembers the feel of her body against his when they kiss or when they lie in bed, her breasts pressed against his back as she curls her arms around him. He moves faster, his jaw going slack at the sensations as they overtake his body. Shifting, he moves under the water to remove the soap as he continues, the cascade of slightly warm water increasing the feeling of his already sensitive skin.
He remembers his dream, Rose beneath him, making all sorts of delightful noises as he teased her to the edge. He likes the idea of teasing and control, he realizes, hardening further in his hand at the idea. Having her in control, being at the mercy of her every whim-the thought makes him groan as heat suffuses his body. He leans back against the wall of the shower, where he had Rose pressed the first time he’d been jealous of something as simple as water. The first time he’d felt her naked. Not that he’d taken much time to look as opposed to feel.
The feel of her skin against his as he makes her writhe with pleasure makes his hand move at a furious pace. The Doctor bites his lower lip to keep from crying out with sheer pleasure at the thought.
He can feel the tension building in his body, muscles tensing and flexing as he brings himself closer to climax. Her kisses, her scent, her smile, the way she feels, knowing he can’t wait to love her, to be within her, brings him to the very brink with a shuddering growl. Imagining her face in the throes of ecstasy, knowing he’s the one that placed that expression there.
Knowing that right now, at this moment, she’s sleeping in their bed, wanting him, wanting a life with him, needing him; brings him crashing over the edge with her name on his lips. He utters a few alien expletives, slacking against the wall of the shower.
Several minutes later, he’s clean once again and wrapping a towel around his waist. With a grin to his reflection, hidden by the steam, he feels almost giddy. Considering how antsy he felt, he’ll gladly suffer through showers daily until he and Rose are ready. He decides, in his satisfied state, to forgo pants in favor of his pajama bottoms, shoving his pants into the laundry and heading back into their room.
His weight shifting back into the bed is what rouses her from slumber.
“You’re back. Nightmare?” she asks groggily, tugging him towards her.
“Not exactly,” He whispers with a chuckle, placing his arms gently around her.
She rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat with a sleepy smile. It’s racing, but it doesn’t seem to register that there should be any reason for that. “Midnight shower?”
He determines from her tone that she isn’t fully awake.
“Just felt- “He pauses, trying to avoid the only wording his mind can come up with. “-a bit dirty.”
“Mmm.” She grins, eyes closed, as she snuggles into his chest. “Y’ smell nice.”
He can barely see the outline of her smile from his position as her breathing steadies into that of sleep. Anxiety or no, this is quite possibly the best place to be stuck, with Rose Tyler. The words had given him a panic attack on Krop Tor but now, as he watches her sleep, hand resting lightly against his chest, head tilted in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable over a long period of time, he thinks being stuck with Rose is the best thing he’s experienced in a long time. Being trapped in a human body with one disgusting heart beating a ridiculously rapid timbre, he’d said it like he didn’t want it when he’d come into existence. It’s definitely the most conclusive research experiment he’s managed to run. He has a lot of research and testing to do with this human life, but he’s always enjoyed experimentation. He’s decided to treat this no differently than any other adventure, to throw his being into it with the natives, conjugate his verbs incorrectly. He’s only got one chance, and he’s taking it. He seals it with a kiss to the top of Rose’s head.
Before he drifts off to sleep, he silently thanks his other self for having the intelligence to leave him behind.