(no subject)
Impractical Shoes (and Other Assorted Articles of Clothing), Ten/Rose, PG-13, 2365 words
Author's Note: Contains bondage and implied issues of consent.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rose says. She tries to cover herself, but her hands are literally tied, and the squirming only draws more attention to the expanse of naked skin.
The Doctor looks pointedly at the three over-excited looking aliens in the corner. “They’d beg to differ, I think.”
“You can’t go out dressed like that.”
Rose doesn’t quite see where the Doctor gets off checking her outfit at the door like a bouncer at some upscale nightclub, especially considering that he never changes his.
“That’s because my outfit is eminently practical,” he says smugly. “Blends in everywhere. Perfect for running. Why change?”
Blends in everywhere. A brown suit with light blue pinstripes, a coat that nearly trails the ground, and multiple colours of trainers. Sure.
But then, when he does change it tends to be into that tuxedo, which never fails to spell disaster (more than usual, at least). So maybe he has a point.
Regardless, his explanation is a variation on a theme that usually makes Rose grumble under her breath and retreat back into the wardrobe room to look for something that better fits whatever time period or place they’ve landed in. Which, considering it’s her favourite room on the whole TARDIS and that she actually loves dressing up, is not really as much of a hardship as she jokingly makes out. Especially not on the rare occasions that the Doctor’s eyes widen appreciatively when she re-emerges.
This time, however, they haven’t landed in any particular time or place yet. And she already is dressed up, thank you very much. She catches the way he looks her up and down as she enters the console room, eyes lingering where the black fabric clings to her curves.
She recognises his usual outfit-screening look when she sees it. This is not it.
This look is hungry.
So this time, she’s not budging an inch, unless it’s in the direction of the TARDIS exterior doors.
“I’m not changin’,” Rose insists stubbornly.
“There’s no way you can run in those shoes,” he admonishes. “You can barely walk on the grating in them.” While he’s completely on the money, he fails to realise that no amount of telling a woman that her shoes are impractical will change her mind about wearing them. Besides, the effect of his tirade is slightly lessened by the fact that he’s not looking at said shoes at all.
“Well,” Rose says, quirking her eyebrow, “that means you’ll just have to steer us to somewhere where we won’t need to run, then, won’t you? Or are you sayin’ your drivin’ skills aren’t up to that? I could have a go. Probably wouldn’t go much more off-course than you usually do.”
The Doctor sputters indignantly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“That’s - that’s - it’s not the point, is it? The point is, you’ll start a riot in that outfit. Are you doing a study of the interior of prisons on all the planets we visit or something? Because that,” he indicated her outfit, “is guaranteed to book us a one-way trip.”
“Just this one more and I get bingo,” she teased.
He scowled, clearly not interested in playing along this time.
“Honestly, Doctor,” Rose sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m not askin’ to sashay up to the Queen - any of the Queens - at her coronation or anythin’. Just take me to a time and place where this’ll blend in.”
“Rose,” the Doctor begins, sounding flustered, “there is no time and place where you could possibly blend in wearing that outfit.”
That is, of course, the point of it.
“I just want to go dancin’, Doctor,” she coerces. “You don’t have to come. You can just drop me off. Jack made the 51st century sound like a bit of a party, let’s try there.”
The Doctor scoffs. “Like I’m letting you out in the 51st century wearing that tiny scrap of material. You’ll get accosted before you even get both feet out the TARDIS door. Or one foot out the door. In fact, if I even get the door open an inch before male, female, multi-sex and undecided beings all hit it like spawning salmon coming up against a cliff, I’ll be stunned.”
“In the 21st century we called this a dress, not a scrap. I bet it’s considered downright tame in the 51st. And what, you sayin’ I can’t look after myself?”
“That,” the Doctor says with gravitas, “is exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then you’ll just have to come with. Be there to fend off the blokes for me if they get too handsy.”
“Too handsy,” the Doctor mutters. Rose thinks maybe she wasn’t supposed to catch that, but her hearing is better than he sometimes gives her credit for. He adds, in a louder voice, “If you’re really set on the 51st century, it won’t necessarily be men. Or even humans,” the Doctor warns.
Rose smiles. She can feel his resolve weakening. She can smell it in the air. It smells like victory.
Or maybe like the toast she burnt in the kitchen earlier, actually, but still.
“I’ll take my chances,” she says with a coaxing smile.
The Doctor hesitates, and she knows she has him. “And just what are you planning on doing when we inevitably have to leg it?”
“Bet you ten quid that if you can successfully park the TARDIS just around the corner from a decent 51st century club, I can avoid havin’ to run in these heels.”
Though he often makes out that he’s above such things, the Doctor hasn’t backed down from one of her bets yet. He also hardly ever wins them, so Rose feels that making the bet in the first place is as good a sign as any that things might go as much to plan as is possible with the Doctor involved.
She really should have learned by now that saying aloud anything to the tune of ‘nothing will go wrong’ absolutely guarantees that nothing will actually go right.
* * *
The Doctor bursts into the room, which is well across town from the club they’d been in only an hour ago.
Though Rose never doubted he’d come for her, she has been waiting for quite some time, so it’s a huge relief to see him.
Of course, that’s until his eyes widen as he takes in the tableau, making Rose sort of wish that he’d never busted his way inside.
She’s kneeling on a bed wearing nothing but her lacy black bra, matching panties made up of just barely enough material to conceal the fact that she’s not a natural blonde, and her admittedly very impractical shoes. Her hands are tied tightly above her head with a blood red silk scarf, suspended from the roof. The dress that had earlier fostered the description ‘tiny scrap of material’ has now earned that title, lying torn into strips on the ground beside the bed.
She’d liked that dress. So had he, though he’d never say so.
Although, come to think of it, his eyes are screaming very loudly that he likes this outfit (if it can be called that) a great deal more.
“All right,” the Doctor breathes. “I take back what I said earlier. This is the sort of thing that you shouldn’t be going out in.”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rose says. She tries to cover herself, but her hands are literally tied, and the squirming only draws more attention to the expanse of naked skin.
The Doctor looks pointedly at the three over-excited looking aliens in the corner. “They’d beg to differ, I think.” He smirks, clearly enjoying being right. It’s one of his favourite things; the ‘I told you so’ moment. “I could step outside again, if you needed some privacy. Maybe hang a sock on the door as I go, to avoid any more awkward interruptions. What d’you think?”
“Or you could cut me down?” Rose offers hopefully, giving him an innocent smile.
“And have that lot catch and kill both of us because you couldn’t outrun them in your five foot heels?” the Doctor scoffed.
“You could carry me,” she suggests. The upper end of her spectrum of pleading expressions only comes out of the arsenal in truly dire situations. This, she decides, is one of them.
“It’s three miles to the TARDIS,” the Doctor whines.
Rose knows she’s made him cave for the second time in as many hours. And they have the rest of the night still to come. Forget Bingo; she thinks that her new game of choice might just be Connect Four.
The Doctor sighs and whips the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket with inhuman speed. The knot tying the scarf to the roof fixtures falls suddenly undone, and Rose sways a little, trying to catch her balance without being able to use her arms. The Doctor moves to Rose’s side and pulls her still-bound wrists over his head. She wraps her legs around his hips and he takes off at a run, breaking away just as tentacles rasp over Rose’s exposed skin.
The aliens had been fairly content to stand back and leave her be when she was firmly tied up. Now that she’s clearly escaping, they suddenly look a lot more threatening.
Then again, the aliens always do look more threatening when they’re chasing them.
She has to admit, though, that it’s a little difficult to take the situation seriously when the Doctor is piggybacking her three miles while she’s wearing nothing but her underwear and heels. That’s definitely a new one. Much better than hopping for their lives that one time.
She misses having Jack around. He’d have appreciated this. All right, so he would have spent equal time leering and laughing at her, but she wouldn't have minded. Jack just had that way about him.
Of course, however much the Doctor might grumble, Rose can feel his double heartbeat racing under her hands long before he’s been running long enough to account for the acceleration. She thinks he might quite like having her naked legs wrapped around him as well.
When they burst back into the safety of the TARDIS, the door is slammed shut against the tentacled creatures and a whole additional mob of people that her state of undress attracted along the way.
Honestly, Rose thinks, if they’re all getting as much sex in this century as Jack always implied, shouldn’t they have a bit more control of themselves? She’d be forgiven for thinking they’d never seen a half-naked woman in their lives.
Rose is startled out of her musings when she’s dumped unceremoniously on the captain’s seat beside the console. She gives the Doctor the ‘who me?’ look that always works so well to make Mickey melt when he’s mad at her.
Apparently it takes a little longer to work on aliens.
“See!” the Doctor exclaims. Rose senses the beginnings of one of his typical rants. “Didn’t I tell you? Accosted by aliens within the first few minutes.”
“Can you let me out of this, now?” Rose interrupts quickly, holding up her wrists.
The Doctor shakes his head resolutely. “No. You’re in a Time Out, effective immediately. You’re going to sit there and think about what you’ve done.”
“Sit here. In my underwear,” she comments lightly.
“If need be!” he says. “Perhaps that’ll stop you running about like that.”
“And you’re going to stand there and watch me, of course?” she teases.
“I have to make sure you don’t go swanning off, ignoring the Time Out, don’t I? Not much use assigning one if you’re not going to stick to it. Honestly, what did Jackie teach you when you were younger?”
Rose wriggles her fingers at him. “You could just tie the other end of this scarf to something. That’d make sure I stay put.”
The Doctor’s eyes glaze over a little again.
Mickey had been right, Rose thinks. The Doctor is definitely a bit more of a bloke than he likes to let on.
He shakes his head slightly, refocusing. “Maybe I should.” He says it like a caution. Rose hears nothing but promise.
“Maybe you should even try double measures,” Rose suggests coyly. “Tyin’ me up and watchin’ me. Just to be sure, y’know?”
“That would be the smart thing to do,” the Doctor agrees. “I know how prone you are to wandering off, after all.”
“Except,” Rose says speculatively, “the punishment really should fit the crime, shouldn’t it? I mean, you found me tied like this to a bed, not a chair. If I’m really going to remember what I’ve done wrong, that’s the image that should stick with me, right?”
“Bed,” the Doctor murmurs absent-mindedly. Rose notes that his line of sight is once more lingering on her body, but this time the places he’s staring aren’t covered by material. Or by much material, at least.
“Yeah,” Rose says, her voice dropping a little lower than usual. “Bed.”
She doesn’t know whether this is going to progress as far tonight as it undoubtedly would if the Doctor were any other man. But unlike any other man, the Doctor is well worth the wait. And they really have made great strides of progress in the last few hours alone, so she thinks, for the first time, it might not necessarily be completely out of the question.
The Doctor picks her up, this time sweeping her into his arms. He carries her down the hallway much more easily than his slight frame would suggest should be possible. Rose likes that; whipcord strong.
Rose finds herself tied to a bed - his bed, she’s fairly sure - this time lying on her back rather than balancing precariously on her knees.
Even Jack wouldn’t believe this, not even if he saw it with his own eyes.
And the relocation to the bed totals three concessions he’s made to her tonight. That Connect Four is looking more likely by the moment. And she has a very clear idea what the final thing he should give in on should be.
She stretches and writhes a little against the sheets. Her eyes are inviting. His eyes widen.
However this night turns out, Rose thinks it’s definitely worth the ten pounds she now owes him for losing the bet just to see what he’ll do next.
And she’s certainly learned a valuable lesson about the practicality of her clothing; she should dress like this more often!
~FIN~
Sequel: Unexpected Kidnappings and Enforced Nudity
Author's Note: Contains bondage and implied issues of consent.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rose says. She tries to cover herself, but her hands are literally tied, and the squirming only draws more attention to the expanse of naked skin.
The Doctor looks pointedly at the three over-excited looking aliens in the corner. “They’d beg to differ, I think.”
“You can’t go out dressed like that.”
Rose doesn’t quite see where the Doctor gets off checking her outfit at the door like a bouncer at some upscale nightclub, especially considering that he never changes his.
“That’s because my outfit is eminently practical,” he says smugly. “Blends in everywhere. Perfect for running. Why change?”
Blends in everywhere. A brown suit with light blue pinstripes, a coat that nearly trails the ground, and multiple colours of trainers. Sure.
But then, when he does change it tends to be into that tuxedo, which never fails to spell disaster (more than usual, at least). So maybe he has a point.
Regardless, his explanation is a variation on a theme that usually makes Rose grumble under her breath and retreat back into the wardrobe room to look for something that better fits whatever time period or place they’ve landed in. Which, considering it’s her favourite room on the whole TARDIS and that she actually loves dressing up, is not really as much of a hardship as she jokingly makes out. Especially not on the rare occasions that the Doctor’s eyes widen appreciatively when she re-emerges.
This time, however, they haven’t landed in any particular time or place yet. And she already is dressed up, thank you very much. She catches the way he looks her up and down as she enters the console room, eyes lingering where the black fabric clings to her curves.
She recognises his usual outfit-screening look when she sees it. This is not it.
This look is hungry.
So this time, she’s not budging an inch, unless it’s in the direction of the TARDIS exterior doors.
“I’m not changin’,” Rose insists stubbornly.
“There’s no way you can run in those shoes,” he admonishes. “You can barely walk on the grating in them.” While he’s completely on the money, he fails to realise that no amount of telling a woman that her shoes are impractical will change her mind about wearing them. Besides, the effect of his tirade is slightly lessened by the fact that he’s not looking at said shoes at all.
“Well,” Rose says, quirking her eyebrow, “that means you’ll just have to steer us to somewhere where we won’t need to run, then, won’t you? Or are you sayin’ your drivin’ skills aren’t up to that? I could have a go. Probably wouldn’t go much more off-course than you usually do.”
The Doctor sputters indignantly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“That’s - that’s - it’s not the point, is it? The point is, you’ll start a riot in that outfit. Are you doing a study of the interior of prisons on all the planets we visit or something? Because that,” he indicated her outfit, “is guaranteed to book us a one-way trip.”
“Just this one more and I get bingo,” she teased.
He scowled, clearly not interested in playing along this time.
“Honestly, Doctor,” Rose sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m not askin’ to sashay up to the Queen - any of the Queens - at her coronation or anythin’. Just take me to a time and place where this’ll blend in.”
“Rose,” the Doctor begins, sounding flustered, “there is no time and place where you could possibly blend in wearing that outfit.”
That is, of course, the point of it.
“I just want to go dancin’, Doctor,” she coerces. “You don’t have to come. You can just drop me off. Jack made the 51st century sound like a bit of a party, let’s try there.”
The Doctor scoffs. “Like I’m letting you out in the 51st century wearing that tiny scrap of material. You’ll get accosted before you even get both feet out the TARDIS door. Or one foot out the door. In fact, if I even get the door open an inch before male, female, multi-sex and undecided beings all hit it like spawning salmon coming up against a cliff, I’ll be stunned.”
“In the 21st century we called this a dress, not a scrap. I bet it’s considered downright tame in the 51st. And what, you sayin’ I can’t look after myself?”
“That,” the Doctor says with gravitas, “is exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then you’ll just have to come with. Be there to fend off the blokes for me if they get too handsy.”
“Too handsy,” the Doctor mutters. Rose thinks maybe she wasn’t supposed to catch that, but her hearing is better than he sometimes gives her credit for. He adds, in a louder voice, “If you’re really set on the 51st century, it won’t necessarily be men. Or even humans,” the Doctor warns.
Rose smiles. She can feel his resolve weakening. She can smell it in the air. It smells like victory.
Or maybe like the toast she burnt in the kitchen earlier, actually, but still.
“I’ll take my chances,” she says with a coaxing smile.
The Doctor hesitates, and she knows she has him. “And just what are you planning on doing when we inevitably have to leg it?”
“Bet you ten quid that if you can successfully park the TARDIS just around the corner from a decent 51st century club, I can avoid havin’ to run in these heels.”
Though he often makes out that he’s above such things, the Doctor hasn’t backed down from one of her bets yet. He also hardly ever wins them, so Rose feels that making the bet in the first place is as good a sign as any that things might go as much to plan as is possible with the Doctor involved.
She really should have learned by now that saying aloud anything to the tune of ‘nothing will go wrong’ absolutely guarantees that nothing will actually go right.
* * *
The Doctor bursts into the room, which is well across town from the club they’d been in only an hour ago.
Though Rose never doubted he’d come for her, she has been waiting for quite some time, so it’s a huge relief to see him.
Of course, that’s until his eyes widen as he takes in the tableau, making Rose sort of wish that he’d never busted his way inside.
She’s kneeling on a bed wearing nothing but her lacy black bra, matching panties made up of just barely enough material to conceal the fact that she’s not a natural blonde, and her admittedly very impractical shoes. Her hands are tied tightly above her head with a blood red silk scarf, suspended from the roof. The dress that had earlier fostered the description ‘tiny scrap of material’ has now earned that title, lying torn into strips on the ground beside the bed.
She’d liked that dress. So had he, though he’d never say so.
Although, come to think of it, his eyes are screaming very loudly that he likes this outfit (if it can be called that) a great deal more.
“All right,” the Doctor breathes. “I take back what I said earlier. This is the sort of thing that you shouldn’t be going out in.”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rose says. She tries to cover herself, but her hands are literally tied, and the squirming only draws more attention to the expanse of naked skin.
The Doctor looks pointedly at the three over-excited looking aliens in the corner. “They’d beg to differ, I think.” He smirks, clearly enjoying being right. It’s one of his favourite things; the ‘I told you so’ moment. “I could step outside again, if you needed some privacy. Maybe hang a sock on the door as I go, to avoid any more awkward interruptions. What d’you think?”
“Or you could cut me down?” Rose offers hopefully, giving him an innocent smile.
“And have that lot catch and kill both of us because you couldn’t outrun them in your five foot heels?” the Doctor scoffed.
“You could carry me,” she suggests. The upper end of her spectrum of pleading expressions only comes out of the arsenal in truly dire situations. This, she decides, is one of them.
“It’s three miles to the TARDIS,” the Doctor whines.
Rose knows she’s made him cave for the second time in as many hours. And they have the rest of the night still to come. Forget Bingo; she thinks that her new game of choice might just be Connect Four.
The Doctor sighs and whips the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket with inhuman speed. The knot tying the scarf to the roof fixtures falls suddenly undone, and Rose sways a little, trying to catch her balance without being able to use her arms. The Doctor moves to Rose’s side and pulls her still-bound wrists over his head. She wraps her legs around his hips and he takes off at a run, breaking away just as tentacles rasp over Rose’s exposed skin.
The aliens had been fairly content to stand back and leave her be when she was firmly tied up. Now that she’s clearly escaping, they suddenly look a lot more threatening.
Then again, the aliens always do look more threatening when they’re chasing them.
She has to admit, though, that it’s a little difficult to take the situation seriously when the Doctor is piggybacking her three miles while she’s wearing nothing but her underwear and heels. That’s definitely a new one. Much better than hopping for their lives that one time.
She misses having Jack around. He’d have appreciated this. All right, so he would have spent equal time leering and laughing at her, but she wouldn't have minded. Jack just had that way about him.
Of course, however much the Doctor might grumble, Rose can feel his double heartbeat racing under her hands long before he’s been running long enough to account for the acceleration. She thinks he might quite like having her naked legs wrapped around him as well.
When they burst back into the safety of the TARDIS, the door is slammed shut against the tentacled creatures and a whole additional mob of people that her state of undress attracted along the way.
Honestly, Rose thinks, if they’re all getting as much sex in this century as Jack always implied, shouldn’t they have a bit more control of themselves? She’d be forgiven for thinking they’d never seen a half-naked woman in their lives.
Rose is startled out of her musings when she’s dumped unceremoniously on the captain’s seat beside the console. She gives the Doctor the ‘who me?’ look that always works so well to make Mickey melt when he’s mad at her.
Apparently it takes a little longer to work on aliens.
“See!” the Doctor exclaims. Rose senses the beginnings of one of his typical rants. “Didn’t I tell you? Accosted by aliens within the first few minutes.”
“Can you let me out of this, now?” Rose interrupts quickly, holding up her wrists.
The Doctor shakes his head resolutely. “No. You’re in a Time Out, effective immediately. You’re going to sit there and think about what you’ve done.”
“Sit here. In my underwear,” she comments lightly.
“If need be!” he says. “Perhaps that’ll stop you running about like that.”
“And you’re going to stand there and watch me, of course?” she teases.
“I have to make sure you don’t go swanning off, ignoring the Time Out, don’t I? Not much use assigning one if you’re not going to stick to it. Honestly, what did Jackie teach you when you were younger?”
Rose wriggles her fingers at him. “You could just tie the other end of this scarf to something. That’d make sure I stay put.”
The Doctor’s eyes glaze over a little again.
Mickey had been right, Rose thinks. The Doctor is definitely a bit more of a bloke than he likes to let on.
He shakes his head slightly, refocusing. “Maybe I should.” He says it like a caution. Rose hears nothing but promise.
“Maybe you should even try double measures,” Rose suggests coyly. “Tyin’ me up and watchin’ me. Just to be sure, y’know?”
“That would be the smart thing to do,” the Doctor agrees. “I know how prone you are to wandering off, after all.”
“Except,” Rose says speculatively, “the punishment really should fit the crime, shouldn’t it? I mean, you found me tied like this to a bed, not a chair. If I’m really going to remember what I’ve done wrong, that’s the image that should stick with me, right?”
“Bed,” the Doctor murmurs absent-mindedly. Rose notes that his line of sight is once more lingering on her body, but this time the places he’s staring aren’t covered by material. Or by much material, at least.
“Yeah,” Rose says, her voice dropping a little lower than usual. “Bed.”
She doesn’t know whether this is going to progress as far tonight as it undoubtedly would if the Doctor were any other man. But unlike any other man, the Doctor is well worth the wait. And they really have made great strides of progress in the last few hours alone, so she thinks, for the first time, it might not necessarily be completely out of the question.
The Doctor picks her up, this time sweeping her into his arms. He carries her down the hallway much more easily than his slight frame would suggest should be possible. Rose likes that; whipcord strong.
Rose finds herself tied to a bed - his bed, she’s fairly sure - this time lying on her back rather than balancing precariously on her knees.
Even Jack wouldn’t believe this, not even if he saw it with his own eyes.
And the relocation to the bed totals three concessions he’s made to her tonight. That Connect Four is looking more likely by the moment. And she has a very clear idea what the final thing he should give in on should be.
She stretches and writhes a little against the sheets. Her eyes are inviting. His eyes widen.
However this night turns out, Rose thinks it’s definitely worth the ten pounds she now owes him for losing the bet just to see what he’ll do next.
And she’s certainly learned a valuable lesson about the practicality of her clothing; she should dress like this more often!
~FIN~
Sequel: Unexpected Kidnappings and Enforced Nudity