Fic: Eighty-Three Miles to Aberdeen
Title: Eighty-Three Miles to Aberdeen
Author: the_tenzo
Characters/Pairings: Ten II/Rose
Rating: Adult
Word Count: ~2200
Series: The Morris Minor 'Verse
Summary: Completely plotless porn featuring awkward car sex in the Highlands. Part of the Morris Minor 'verse but there's no need to be familiar with the previous stories. Just understand that Cloen and Rose now travel in a robins-egg blue Morris Minor.
A/N: I feel like it has been about a year since I've dashed-off any PWP with no other redeeming qualities whatsoever. Dedicated to the good people of the Chambersburg Panera Bread who had no idea that filthy smut was being written in their midst.
Rose smoothed down the Doctor’s fringe, attempting to soothe him through his little tantrum. “It’s okay. It happens to everyone sometimes.”
“I’m not everyone,” he pouted, hanging his head. “And it’s never happened to me. I swear, Rose. Not ever.”
She smiled indulgently, reminding herself that, as bad as it was for her, it was worse for him. His wounded pride might never recover. “I’m sure it hasn’t. It’s just a fluke.” She rubbed the palm of her hand against the fogged-up window and peered out into the night. “Think of it this way: At least you don’t have a Mini?”
The Doctor leaned forward and hit his head against the steering wheel several times.
“Hey, why don’t you try one more time,” Rose said, putting an encouraging lilt in her voice. “It can’t hurt.”
It was dark, but she heard him fumble with the keys, followed by a distinct lack of any sounds that would indicate the engine of a Morris Minor turning over.
“I don’t know what it could be,” he moaned, taking the keys out of the ignition again. “She was running like a dream when we left Inverness.”
“And how many miles to Aberdeen?”
“About fifty. Give or take. Mostly give, I reckon. So, sixty. Sixty-five, maybe.”
She pulled her mobile out and checked for a signal, for about the fifteenth time. Nothing.
“Or seventy,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly. “It’s definitely less than eighty. Almost certainly.”
“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Rose sighed, putting her phone away again. “The car won’t start-” At that, the Doctor moaned miserably, again. “There’s no signal on my mobile, so there’s really just one thing we can do.”
“Yeah, I know,” the Doctor said, straightening himself in his seat. “I’ll get my wellies out of the boot.”
“You’ll get your- what?”
“Like you said, there’s just one thing to do: start walking.”
She had to laugh at that. Of course he’d want to walk. He was already feeling responsible for them breaking down, and from here on out, he’d completely disregard any opportunity to do the easy, sensible thing in favour of the daft, misplaced heroics, in an attempt to redeem himself. Once the Doctor, always the Doctor, albeit sometimes on a much smaller scale.
The chill of the Scottish mist was beginning to seep in, and their speech was now being accompanied by little puffs of fog. Waiting until sunrise would be a cold, damp affair, even with the blankets they had stored in the boot. But there was one very human mystery that Rose had been waiting for quite some time to initiate the Doctor into. At least, she assumed he’d need initiation. Any jokes about back-seat shagging had previously been met with looks of confusion and no small degree of pearl-clutching shock. He’d, apparently, not yet acclimated to travelling in a vehicle that was incapable of getting offended.
Brushing off his mad desire to walk through stinging cold rain in the middle of the night, she ordered him into the tiny, leatherette back seat and was surprised to be met with silent compliance. Well, then. There’s a first time for everything.
***
It was about two minutes before Rose began to think that this perhaps was not the most brilliant plan she’d ever had. The Doctor’s shirt was half-off, but he couldn’t stretch his arms out enough to work the cuffs over his hands, and he was stuck flailing about in what had suddenly become a straight-jacket.
“Hang on,” Rose hissed, trying to work her fingers inside the Doctor’s sleeve to undo the minuscule little buttons there and free him. “Stop thrashing around!” His elbow hit the back of the driver’s side front seat, which then flipped forward, striking the horn. The car emitted a terse, anemic little bleat.
His hands finally free, the Doctor pushed the passenger seat forward as well, more gently, which gave them an insignificant amount of extra room, and not in any of the dimensions in which it was really needed.
“Sex in cars,” the Doctor said, with a note of bafflement.
“To be fair, cars were a lot bigger when I was a teenager.” She considered this for a second, realising that her bum would barely fit on the seat as she sat sideways on it. “Or maybe I was smaller.”
“Can you budge up?” he asked, now flinging his discarded shirt well out of the way and attempting to unbutton his trousers by lifting his hips. This required him to get some purchase on the floor with his feet (still in trainers, which was an error in order-of-disrobement that haunted them later), and he wound up kicking Rose on the shin.
Rose, meanwhile, was struggling to undo her bra, but couldn’t get enough elbow room to reach round and unhook the clasps. One of her breasts popped out from beneath the underwire, and she felt like a performer who’s gone on stage before her cue.
“This isn’t working,” she sighed, and catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the window: Hair, a fright from the time they’d spent out in the driving wind peering under the bonnet with a torch; mascara, raccoon-like due to the ever-present drizzle; lipstick smeared from the minute of snogging they’d accomplished before getting impatient; shirt off, bra on, and one tit out.
“It’s working,” the Doctor said, still fiddling about with his zip. “It’s just not working well.”
Never let it be said that her lover was one to give up without a fight. He was biting his bottom lip and concentrating on his trousers like the secrets to all of time and space lay within. When Rose reached out and stilled his hand, he looked crestfallen, but with an undertone of that steely determination that she’d always found irresistible. If he couldn’t get their car started again, and she wouldn’t let him walk for miles and miles in the cold rain, then he would damn well give her the automotive shag of her life.
“I have a plan,” she said, squaring her shoulders. One of his eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly. “You, sit here.”
He complied, settling himself into the seat where she indicated. Now this is trust, she thought. All of those battles they’d fought together, but none of them ever involved a trouser zip, cramped quarters, and a straining erection.
“You’ve done this before, Miss Tyler,” the Doctor said with admiration, as he lifted his hips slightly and she pulled his trousers down (encountering his shoes and cursing under her breath).
“Well, no one would ever mistake you for an expert.” She stood up as much as she could, hunched over at the neck. “Okay, now I need you to pull my knickers down. Please.” The final word came out as a bit of a desperate plea, though she hadn’t meant it to. All of this complicated choreography had taken her out of the moment, but when his fingers ran along the elastic of her knickers, she felt like her mind had fallen from a great height, coming to land in the pit of her stomach. Her breath hitched, and a slow, thin smile crept across the Doctor’s face. She felt one finger tentatively begin to explore a bit deeper, with long, light strokes. For a wonderful moment, all thought of logistics melted away as he teased, and rubbed, and used the silky fabric of her knickers to bring another texture into play. If only she could magic them into a four-poster bed, she’d be happy for this to go on for ever. As it was, though-
“Just, er, this isn’t really comfortable,” she breathed, her cricked neck fighting with the pooling weight collecting lower down. “So if you could just-”
He managed to pull her knickers all the way to her ankles (not quite in the smooth, effortless motion of a romance-novel ravishment, but close enough) and she was able to step out of one leg. Now she could properly straddle him, her knees making the leather seat squeak as she knelt.
“Little help?” She looked down to indicate her brassier problem, but instead of reaching around and undoing it, he leaned forward and planted his mouth right on her exposed breast, running his tongue against her nipple, pressing her forward with his hands on the small of her back. Damn this man and his inability to follow instructions!
He strained against her, pulling her to him in time with his sucking and she had to place her hands on the seat-back to keep from toppling forward completely. He brought a knee up in an attempt to bring her closer still and, just by chance, caught her directly on the spot just above her clit that always brought an instant response.
Once discovered, he made the same motion again, and again Rose momentarily lost control. He knew what he was doing, and he bore that look in his eye which, she knew from experience, meant that his scientific curiosity was now fully engaged as a force for good.
The building sensations quickly became unbearable for her-his warm mouth on her breast, such a temperature difference from the dank, cold of the air, and his knee gently nudging her towards complete irrationality. Finally, he reached behind her and unhooked her bra, flinging it away. (She saw later that it had landed on the rear-view mirror, like a trophy.)
She was close, and told him so (he liked to know about how he made her feel, in detail if possible). He shifted himself to deliver what he clearly thought was going to be the coup de grâce.
She ached, she was ready to arch into him, her extremities tingled on pins and needles...
“Augh!” the Doctor cried, disengaging from her and looking with concern over her shoulder, towards the front of the car.
Rose closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself, then looked behind her. He’d kicked the gear-shift, knocked the little ball that sat on top of it off, and gotten his trousers (which were still around his ankles, trapped there by his trainers) caught up on it. He tried to shake his way off, but it wasn’t working very well with Rose sitting on top of him and impeding most of his range of motion.
“Hang on,” she said, laughing in spite of (perhaps because of) her thwarted orgasm. “Let me.”
She leaned back, happy for the yoga classes she’d been taking, and began to unlace the Doctor’s shoes. Once he saw what that she was dealing with the immediate problem, he took the opportunity to start exploring with fingers again.
Rose took a deep breath, not wanting him to stop, but also not wanting to leave him hanging there on the gear-shift with one trouser-leg on and one off. This is not something they teach in yoga, she thought. Though maybe they ought to.
With both shoes off now, and a very careful removal of trousers from ankles, Rose could sit back upright at any time, but she found that she didn’t want to. The Doctor had two thumbs working now, rubbing in circles, and if she sat up, he’d have to stop. She shimmied her bottom a little, trying to get comfortable, and with surprise felt his cock enter her. Just the tip, just a bit, because there wasn’t really enough leverage for her to maintain her position and for him to really thrust up into her as he certainly wanted to. It was enough, though. The sensation of being entered, and stroked and petted all at once, it was glorious. She didn’t hold back.
Her muscles began to spasm, and he groaned hoarsely, gripping her now at the hips to keep her from leaving him. Her ankles flexed against the leather and, holding her tight, the Doctor finally managed to move her more fully onto him. She continued to orgasm for much longer than she thought was possible, breathless, surprised and elated; helped along by his hard thrusts and iron grip on her hips, lifting her up and bringing her back down onto him. This was something Rose had rarely felt, and her thoughts swam as she lost the feeling in her feet, and complete control of her vocal chords.
The Doctor made a wordless exclamation, his fingers probably leaving bruises in the soft flesh of her lower back and bum. With one last strong lift of his hips off the seat to meet her, she felt him inside of her, pulsing, almost painful, but a good sort of pain.
He went still and she collapsed forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, the fast rise and fall of their chests coming into sync. They didn’t say anything for a long time, but Rose couldn’t keep from shivering in the cold forever. She moved off of him, making a face at the mess.
“That’s the benefit of a leather interior,” the Doctor murmured, looking around for some paper serviettes. “Easy clean-up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The Doctor shifted about a little, wiping the seat down and regathering their discarded clothing. “Sorry about that, old girl,” he said, patting the door. “But I can’t guarantee it’ll never happen again.”
“I don’t think she minds,” Rose said. “Probably more action than she’s seen since the 70’s.”
They snuggled into scratchy, stale-smelling woollen blankets and caught a couple hours of kip before the sun came up. The walk to Gordon Mackenzie’s sheep farm felt to Rose like it was being undertaken on rubber-bands instead of legs, but she was pretty sure that her yoga teacher had said that soreness is simply an indication that you needed more practise.
Rose agreed.
Author: the_tenzo
Characters/Pairings: Ten II/Rose
Rating: Adult
Word Count: ~2200
Series: The Morris Minor 'Verse
Summary: Completely plotless porn featuring awkward car sex in the Highlands. Part of the Morris Minor 'verse but there's no need to be familiar with the previous stories. Just understand that Cloen and Rose now travel in a robins-egg blue Morris Minor.
A/N: I feel like it has been about a year since I've dashed-off any PWP with no other redeeming qualities whatsoever. Dedicated to the good people of the Chambersburg Panera Bread who had no idea that filthy smut was being written in their midst.
Rose smoothed down the Doctor’s fringe, attempting to soothe him through his little tantrum. “It’s okay. It happens to everyone sometimes.”
“I’m not everyone,” he pouted, hanging his head. “And it’s never happened to me. I swear, Rose. Not ever.”
She smiled indulgently, reminding herself that, as bad as it was for her, it was worse for him. His wounded pride might never recover. “I’m sure it hasn’t. It’s just a fluke.” She rubbed the palm of her hand against the fogged-up window and peered out into the night. “Think of it this way: At least you don’t have a Mini?”
The Doctor leaned forward and hit his head against the steering wheel several times.
“Hey, why don’t you try one more time,” Rose said, putting an encouraging lilt in her voice. “It can’t hurt.”
It was dark, but she heard him fumble with the keys, followed by a distinct lack of any sounds that would indicate the engine of a Morris Minor turning over.
“I don’t know what it could be,” he moaned, taking the keys out of the ignition again. “She was running like a dream when we left Inverness.”
“And how many miles to Aberdeen?”
“About fifty. Give or take. Mostly give, I reckon. So, sixty. Sixty-five, maybe.”
She pulled her mobile out and checked for a signal, for about the fifteenth time. Nothing.
“Or seventy,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly. “It’s definitely less than eighty. Almost certainly.”
“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Rose sighed, putting her phone away again. “The car won’t start-” At that, the Doctor moaned miserably, again. “There’s no signal on my mobile, so there’s really just one thing we can do.”
“Yeah, I know,” the Doctor said, straightening himself in his seat. “I’ll get my wellies out of the boot.”
“You’ll get your- what?”
“Like you said, there’s just one thing to do: start walking.”
She had to laugh at that. Of course he’d want to walk. He was already feeling responsible for them breaking down, and from here on out, he’d completely disregard any opportunity to do the easy, sensible thing in favour of the daft, misplaced heroics, in an attempt to redeem himself. Once the Doctor, always the Doctor, albeit sometimes on a much smaller scale.
The chill of the Scottish mist was beginning to seep in, and their speech was now being accompanied by little puffs of fog. Waiting until sunrise would be a cold, damp affair, even with the blankets they had stored in the boot. But there was one very human mystery that Rose had been waiting for quite some time to initiate the Doctor into. At least, she assumed he’d need initiation. Any jokes about back-seat shagging had previously been met with looks of confusion and no small degree of pearl-clutching shock. He’d, apparently, not yet acclimated to travelling in a vehicle that was incapable of getting offended.
Brushing off his mad desire to walk through stinging cold rain in the middle of the night, she ordered him into the tiny, leatherette back seat and was surprised to be met with silent compliance. Well, then. There’s a first time for everything.
***
It was about two minutes before Rose began to think that this perhaps was not the most brilliant plan she’d ever had. The Doctor’s shirt was half-off, but he couldn’t stretch his arms out enough to work the cuffs over his hands, and he was stuck flailing about in what had suddenly become a straight-jacket.
“Hang on,” Rose hissed, trying to work her fingers inside the Doctor’s sleeve to undo the minuscule little buttons there and free him. “Stop thrashing around!” His elbow hit the back of the driver’s side front seat, which then flipped forward, striking the horn. The car emitted a terse, anemic little bleat.
His hands finally free, the Doctor pushed the passenger seat forward as well, more gently, which gave them an insignificant amount of extra room, and not in any of the dimensions in which it was really needed.
“Sex in cars,” the Doctor said, with a note of bafflement.
“To be fair, cars were a lot bigger when I was a teenager.” She considered this for a second, realising that her bum would barely fit on the seat as she sat sideways on it. “Or maybe I was smaller.”
“Can you budge up?” he asked, now flinging his discarded shirt well out of the way and attempting to unbutton his trousers by lifting his hips. This required him to get some purchase on the floor with his feet (still in trainers, which was an error in order-of-disrobement that haunted them later), and he wound up kicking Rose on the shin.
Rose, meanwhile, was struggling to undo her bra, but couldn’t get enough elbow room to reach round and unhook the clasps. One of her breasts popped out from beneath the underwire, and she felt like a performer who’s gone on stage before her cue.
“This isn’t working,” she sighed, and catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the window: Hair, a fright from the time they’d spent out in the driving wind peering under the bonnet with a torch; mascara, raccoon-like due to the ever-present drizzle; lipstick smeared from the minute of snogging they’d accomplished before getting impatient; shirt off, bra on, and one tit out.
“It’s working,” the Doctor said, still fiddling about with his zip. “It’s just not working well.”
Never let it be said that her lover was one to give up without a fight. He was biting his bottom lip and concentrating on his trousers like the secrets to all of time and space lay within. When Rose reached out and stilled his hand, he looked crestfallen, but with an undertone of that steely determination that she’d always found irresistible. If he couldn’t get their car started again, and she wouldn’t let him walk for miles and miles in the cold rain, then he would damn well give her the automotive shag of her life.
“I have a plan,” she said, squaring her shoulders. One of his eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly. “You, sit here.”
He complied, settling himself into the seat where she indicated. Now this is trust, she thought. All of those battles they’d fought together, but none of them ever involved a trouser zip, cramped quarters, and a straining erection.
“You’ve done this before, Miss Tyler,” the Doctor said with admiration, as he lifted his hips slightly and she pulled his trousers down (encountering his shoes and cursing under her breath).
“Well, no one would ever mistake you for an expert.” She stood up as much as she could, hunched over at the neck. “Okay, now I need you to pull my knickers down. Please.” The final word came out as a bit of a desperate plea, though she hadn’t meant it to. All of this complicated choreography had taken her out of the moment, but when his fingers ran along the elastic of her knickers, she felt like her mind had fallen from a great height, coming to land in the pit of her stomach. Her breath hitched, and a slow, thin smile crept across the Doctor’s face. She felt one finger tentatively begin to explore a bit deeper, with long, light strokes. For a wonderful moment, all thought of logistics melted away as he teased, and rubbed, and used the silky fabric of her knickers to bring another texture into play. If only she could magic them into a four-poster bed, she’d be happy for this to go on for ever. As it was, though-
“Just, er, this isn’t really comfortable,” she breathed, her cricked neck fighting with the pooling weight collecting lower down. “So if you could just-”
He managed to pull her knickers all the way to her ankles (not quite in the smooth, effortless motion of a romance-novel ravishment, but close enough) and she was able to step out of one leg. Now she could properly straddle him, her knees making the leather seat squeak as she knelt.
“Little help?” She looked down to indicate her brassier problem, but instead of reaching around and undoing it, he leaned forward and planted his mouth right on her exposed breast, running his tongue against her nipple, pressing her forward with his hands on the small of her back. Damn this man and his inability to follow instructions!
He strained against her, pulling her to him in time with his sucking and she had to place her hands on the seat-back to keep from toppling forward completely. He brought a knee up in an attempt to bring her closer still and, just by chance, caught her directly on the spot just above her clit that always brought an instant response.
Once discovered, he made the same motion again, and again Rose momentarily lost control. He knew what he was doing, and he bore that look in his eye which, she knew from experience, meant that his scientific curiosity was now fully engaged as a force for good.
The building sensations quickly became unbearable for her-his warm mouth on her breast, such a temperature difference from the dank, cold of the air, and his knee gently nudging her towards complete irrationality. Finally, he reached behind her and unhooked her bra, flinging it away. (She saw later that it had landed on the rear-view mirror, like a trophy.)
She was close, and told him so (he liked to know about how he made her feel, in detail if possible). He shifted himself to deliver what he clearly thought was going to be the coup de grâce.
She ached, she was ready to arch into him, her extremities tingled on pins and needles...
“Augh!” the Doctor cried, disengaging from her and looking with concern over her shoulder, towards the front of the car.
Rose closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself, then looked behind her. He’d kicked the gear-shift, knocked the little ball that sat on top of it off, and gotten his trousers (which were still around his ankles, trapped there by his trainers) caught up on it. He tried to shake his way off, but it wasn’t working very well with Rose sitting on top of him and impeding most of his range of motion.
“Hang on,” she said, laughing in spite of (perhaps because of) her thwarted orgasm. “Let me.”
She leaned back, happy for the yoga classes she’d been taking, and began to unlace the Doctor’s shoes. Once he saw what that she was dealing with the immediate problem, he took the opportunity to start exploring with fingers again.
Rose took a deep breath, not wanting him to stop, but also not wanting to leave him hanging there on the gear-shift with one trouser-leg on and one off. This is not something they teach in yoga, she thought. Though maybe they ought to.
With both shoes off now, and a very careful removal of trousers from ankles, Rose could sit back upright at any time, but she found that she didn’t want to. The Doctor had two thumbs working now, rubbing in circles, and if she sat up, he’d have to stop. She shimmied her bottom a little, trying to get comfortable, and with surprise felt his cock enter her. Just the tip, just a bit, because there wasn’t really enough leverage for her to maintain her position and for him to really thrust up into her as he certainly wanted to. It was enough, though. The sensation of being entered, and stroked and petted all at once, it was glorious. She didn’t hold back.
Her muscles began to spasm, and he groaned hoarsely, gripping her now at the hips to keep her from leaving him. Her ankles flexed against the leather and, holding her tight, the Doctor finally managed to move her more fully onto him. She continued to orgasm for much longer than she thought was possible, breathless, surprised and elated; helped along by his hard thrusts and iron grip on her hips, lifting her up and bringing her back down onto him. This was something Rose had rarely felt, and her thoughts swam as she lost the feeling in her feet, and complete control of her vocal chords.
The Doctor made a wordless exclamation, his fingers probably leaving bruises in the soft flesh of her lower back and bum. With one last strong lift of his hips off the seat to meet her, she felt him inside of her, pulsing, almost painful, but a good sort of pain.
He went still and she collapsed forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, the fast rise and fall of their chests coming into sync. They didn’t say anything for a long time, but Rose couldn’t keep from shivering in the cold forever. She moved off of him, making a face at the mess.
“That’s the benefit of a leather interior,” the Doctor murmured, looking around for some paper serviettes. “Easy clean-up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The Doctor shifted about a little, wiping the seat down and regathering their discarded clothing. “Sorry about that, old girl,” he said, patting the door. “But I can’t guarantee it’ll never happen again.”
“I don’t think she minds,” Rose said. “Probably more action than she’s seen since the 70’s.”
They snuggled into scratchy, stale-smelling woollen blankets and caught a couple hours of kip before the sun came up. The walk to Gordon Mackenzie’s sheep farm felt to Rose like it was being undertaken on rubber-bands instead of legs, but she was pretty sure that her yoga teacher had said that soreness is simply an indication that you needed more practise.
Rose agreed.