(no subject)
A perfectly uneventful day at the shops (1/2), TenII/Rose, R
Her instructions to him had been easy enough, but for the life of him he just could. Not. Focus. He was trapped in a violently colorful subculture of satin, lace, organza and mesh and he didn’t know what to do with himself. 1, 407 words.
A/N: I picked Vision
This was so not fair.
How could she actually not know this wasn’t fair? Soooo not fair.
He didn’t know how to deal with this, so he simply focused (as best he could) on the Not Fairness of Things.
He’d dealt pretty well, he thought, with the whole shopping thing. It’s not like he’d never shopped-don’t misunderstand-in 907 years of traveling, you nip into shops from time to time and get things you need. But what Rose was engaging in now wasn’t like that. This was Epic Shopping. And sure, he was a bit more adaptable and maybe even tolerant of the hedonistic pursuit of capitalist consumerism since the metacrisis had endowed him with certain aspects, shall we say, of Donna Noble’s personality-but this, he thought, was simply pushing it.
She’d steered him into an upscale ladies underwear boutique.
“Forever is a long time,” Rose had said, “and it’s time I started learning what you like.”
“But you look amazing in everything you put on,” he’d whined.
“No. I don’t.” She held her hand up to stop the bleating noise she knew would come from him. “No, really. For example, I look horrid in yellow.”
The Doctor tried to imagine it. He grimaced.
“Yes. So, y’see? You do have preferences, you just don’t know what they are yet. Help me-just pick out stuff that catches your eye.”
That’d been 20 minutes ago and he still hadn’t picked anything up. He glanced around for Rose, who was carrying an armful of stuff and seemed busy foraging around at the back of the store. Her instructions to him had been easy enough, but for the life of him he just could. Not. Focus. He was trapped in a violently colorful subculture of satin, lace, organza and mesh and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Previously he’d found the only places that had interested him enough to actively browse had been bookstores or libraries (although, admittedly sort of the same thing) or car boot sales and jumbles-he simply could never believe what some people would put in their homes! But this was different. He was finding it difficult to get used to this human body and this whole new sex drive thing. He was overstimulated by color, texture and his own inventive visual imagination: He saw Rose in every single one of these things (minus the yellow ones) and he was beginning to feel very, very funny. For he just didn’t see bra, panty, robe, bra, nightie-he saw the way the stretchy red lace knickers would cling magnificently to Rose’s perfect bum, Rose’s creamy thighs wickedly indented with black garter straps, Rose’s pert nipples poking out from underneath an adorable violet mesh babydoll. The sheer cornucopia of erotic possibilities made him break out into a sweat…
Ye Gods! This wasn’t an underwear store, it was a giant advert for sex! How could she have dragged him in here and expected him to be of any use?
He coughed out his discomfort and looked around, noticing a thin brunette woman towing a big, balding bloke behind her. Their eyes met and the Doctor was struck by a look of humiliation and fear in the man’s eyes and realised what it was: The terror that he may become unexpectedly-and visibly-aroused. The man’s pace behind hers slowed ever so slightly. “Bernard!” The woman called sharply, and the man ran after her like a scolded puppy.
Humans are so vulnerable, he thought disdainfully. No. Correction: He was so vulnerable, and he didn’t like it much. Oh no, he thought miserably, do I look like that too?
“Hi honey, can I help you find anything?” Asked tall woman behind him. She had a thick American Southern accent.
He jumped and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. “Um… Uh… Er…” he stammered as he instinctively pushed hangers around on their metal rails, ostensibly browsing.
The saleswoman giggled softly to herself, no doubt having seen this pantomime before. “Oh, that’s ok honey, just browse away. Holler if you need me, I’m Debbie.”
“Uh… Thanks, Debbie.” Horrified at himself, he closed his eyes and turned away. Well, that was smooth…
After all, what was his problem? He’d seen death and plague and all manner of creatures dish out the absolute worst their kind could offer! He’d fought giant robots and mutated maggots; telepathic weeds and murderous toymakers. He’d beaten the Cybermen over and over again and had survived the bloody Time War and the Daleks, yet here he was in a ladies underwear shop squirming like a coward! It was enough to give a half-Timelord, half-human metacrisis a complete complex.
Then, he found it. Hanging on a little white puffy hanger was a beautiful little...uh… nightie, thingy-whatever they called it. It had thin spaghetti-type straps and was made of satin, accented with lace at the bust and hem. He also noticed, with a raise of his eyebrow, that it had quite a generous slit up the side and also came with a very scanty pair of satiny pants.
It was perfect. It was Rose. It was candy floss pink.
This, he liked.
He slid the hanger off the display after guessing her size and wandered off through the store with newfound confidence. Maybe this choosing lingerie thing wasn’t so difficult after all…
“So, I see you’ve found something,” said Debbie.
He grinned daftly, proudly displaying the item like he’d caught Rose a small mammal to eat for dinner. “Yeah, not that hard after all,” he said, his old bravado returning. He imagined he’d be able to find lots of stuff now.
“Oh, that’s a great choice,” flattered Debbie. “You can go take it back to her to try on-she’s in the last dressing room in the back of the store to the right.”
“Back and to the right, last dressing room,” he repeated.
“You just let me know if she needs any other sizes, OK?”
“A-O.K. will do.” He gave her a salute and strode back through the store, prize in hand.
“That you, Doctor?” Rose called as he got close.
“Yep.”
“Find anything?”
“Oh yes.” He said, eying his satiny candy floss confection.
“Good. Me too.” She opened the door a crack and he saw her red polished nails beckoning him to come closer. Once he did, she snatched up a fistful of his buttoned shirt, dragged him into the dressing room and threw him backwards, where his legs deposited him onto a little settee in the back of the spacious dressing room.
Standing against the door was Rose, dressed in a black lace teddy thing that he was having a hard time wrapping his testosterone-soaked brain around. The teddy thing was miniscule and could be explained by no better word than “HOT.” A pair of what looked like 3” semi-opaque lace braces came down from her shoulders, covering her nipples and attached to a small “V” shaped pair of knickers-but they continued down into garters, which held up a pair of fence net stockings. The whole ensemble was finished off with some absolutely punishing 5” heel black crisscross sandals.
He dropped the nightie.
She stood in front of the door, her hands on her hips. “Whatcha got there, tiger?” She purred, tilting her chin to indicate the fallen nightie.
“Nothing… Nothing, it’s just… Nothing.” He stammered, attempting to kick it under the settee.
Rose, he thought, was different. He’d neglected to take this into account while he’d been browsing for intimate apparel. The pink thing he’d chosen, he realised, would’ve been fine for Dame Rose of the Powell Estates, the 19-year old girl he’d met and invited (twice) to travel with him. The smoking hot woman in front of him now was the Rose that girl had become. She’d become this as a result of having traveled with him, fought beside him, and been left behind by him. This was a woman who had gone back to school to study Quantum physics, had been trained at Torchwood and built a Dimension Cannon just to find him again-and hadn’t batted an eyelash once she’d found herself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with (other) him, facing down intergalactic evil in the vault of yet another Dalek ship.
This was exactly the sort of woman who would choose-and look absolutely exquisite in-something exactly what she appeared in front of him wearing now. Yes, indeedy, he liked this new Rose.
“Like it?” She asked, innocently.”
“Oh… Yes! Fan-tastic.”
Adult sexytimes ahead! Click here for Part II...
Her instructions to him had been easy enough, but for the life of him he just could. Not. Focus. He was trapped in a violently colorful subculture of satin, lace, organza and mesh and he didn’t know what to do with himself. 1, 407 words.
A/N: I picked Vision
This was so not fair.
How could she actually not know this wasn’t fair? Soooo not fair.
He didn’t know how to deal with this, so he simply focused (as best he could) on the Not Fairness of Things.
He’d dealt pretty well, he thought, with the whole shopping thing. It’s not like he’d never shopped-don’t misunderstand-in 907 years of traveling, you nip into shops from time to time and get things you need. But what Rose was engaging in now wasn’t like that. This was Epic Shopping. And sure, he was a bit more adaptable and maybe even tolerant of the hedonistic pursuit of capitalist consumerism since the metacrisis had endowed him with certain aspects, shall we say, of Donna Noble’s personality-but this, he thought, was simply pushing it.
She’d steered him into an upscale ladies underwear boutique.
“Forever is a long time,” Rose had said, “and it’s time I started learning what you like.”
“But you look amazing in everything you put on,” he’d whined.
“No. I don’t.” She held her hand up to stop the bleating noise she knew would come from him. “No, really. For example, I look horrid in yellow.”
The Doctor tried to imagine it. He grimaced.
“Yes. So, y’see? You do have preferences, you just don’t know what they are yet. Help me-just pick out stuff that catches your eye.”
That’d been 20 minutes ago and he still hadn’t picked anything up. He glanced around for Rose, who was carrying an armful of stuff and seemed busy foraging around at the back of the store. Her instructions to him had been easy enough, but for the life of him he just could. Not. Focus. He was trapped in a violently colorful subculture of satin, lace, organza and mesh and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Previously he’d found the only places that had interested him enough to actively browse had been bookstores or libraries (although, admittedly sort of the same thing) or car boot sales and jumbles-he simply could never believe what some people would put in their homes! But this was different. He was finding it difficult to get used to this human body and this whole new sex drive thing. He was overstimulated by color, texture and his own inventive visual imagination: He saw Rose in every single one of these things (minus the yellow ones) and he was beginning to feel very, very funny. For he just didn’t see bra, panty, robe, bra, nightie-he saw the way the stretchy red lace knickers would cling magnificently to Rose’s perfect bum, Rose’s creamy thighs wickedly indented with black garter straps, Rose’s pert nipples poking out from underneath an adorable violet mesh babydoll. The sheer cornucopia of erotic possibilities made him break out into a sweat…
Ye Gods! This wasn’t an underwear store, it was a giant advert for sex! How could she have dragged him in here and expected him to be of any use?
He coughed out his discomfort and looked around, noticing a thin brunette woman towing a big, balding bloke behind her. Their eyes met and the Doctor was struck by a look of humiliation and fear in the man’s eyes and realised what it was: The terror that he may become unexpectedly-and visibly-aroused. The man’s pace behind hers slowed ever so slightly. “Bernard!” The woman called sharply, and the man ran after her like a scolded puppy.
Humans are so vulnerable, he thought disdainfully. No. Correction: He was so vulnerable, and he didn’t like it much. Oh no, he thought miserably, do I look like that too?
“Hi honey, can I help you find anything?” Asked tall woman behind him. She had a thick American Southern accent.
He jumped and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. “Um… Uh… Er…” he stammered as he instinctively pushed hangers around on their metal rails, ostensibly browsing.
The saleswoman giggled softly to herself, no doubt having seen this pantomime before. “Oh, that’s ok honey, just browse away. Holler if you need me, I’m Debbie.”
“Uh… Thanks, Debbie.” Horrified at himself, he closed his eyes and turned away. Well, that was smooth…
After all, what was his problem? He’d seen death and plague and all manner of creatures dish out the absolute worst their kind could offer! He’d fought giant robots and mutated maggots; telepathic weeds and murderous toymakers. He’d beaten the Cybermen over and over again and had survived the bloody Time War and the Daleks, yet here he was in a ladies underwear shop squirming like a coward! It was enough to give a half-Timelord, half-human metacrisis a complete complex.
Then, he found it. Hanging on a little white puffy hanger was a beautiful little...uh… nightie, thingy-whatever they called it. It had thin spaghetti-type straps and was made of satin, accented with lace at the bust and hem. He also noticed, with a raise of his eyebrow, that it had quite a generous slit up the side and also came with a very scanty pair of satiny pants.
It was perfect. It was Rose. It was candy floss pink.
This, he liked.
He slid the hanger off the display after guessing her size and wandered off through the store with newfound confidence. Maybe this choosing lingerie thing wasn’t so difficult after all…
“So, I see you’ve found something,” said Debbie.
He grinned daftly, proudly displaying the item like he’d caught Rose a small mammal to eat for dinner. “Yeah, not that hard after all,” he said, his old bravado returning. He imagined he’d be able to find lots of stuff now.
“Oh, that’s a great choice,” flattered Debbie. “You can go take it back to her to try on-she’s in the last dressing room in the back of the store to the right.”
“Back and to the right, last dressing room,” he repeated.
“You just let me know if she needs any other sizes, OK?”
“A-O.K. will do.” He gave her a salute and strode back through the store, prize in hand.
“That you, Doctor?” Rose called as he got close.
“Yep.”
“Find anything?”
“Oh yes.” He said, eying his satiny candy floss confection.
“Good. Me too.” She opened the door a crack and he saw her red polished nails beckoning him to come closer. Once he did, she snatched up a fistful of his buttoned shirt, dragged him into the dressing room and threw him backwards, where his legs deposited him onto a little settee in the back of the spacious dressing room.
Standing against the door was Rose, dressed in a black lace teddy thing that he was having a hard time wrapping his testosterone-soaked brain around. The teddy thing was miniscule and could be explained by no better word than “HOT.” A pair of what looked like 3” semi-opaque lace braces came down from her shoulders, covering her nipples and attached to a small “V” shaped pair of knickers-but they continued down into garters, which held up a pair of fence net stockings. The whole ensemble was finished off with some absolutely punishing 5” heel black crisscross sandals.
He dropped the nightie.
She stood in front of the door, her hands on her hips. “Whatcha got there, tiger?” She purred, tilting her chin to indicate the fallen nightie.
“Nothing… Nothing, it’s just… Nothing.” He stammered, attempting to kick it under the settee.
Rose, he thought, was different. He’d neglected to take this into account while he’d been browsing for intimate apparel. The pink thing he’d chosen, he realised, would’ve been fine for Dame Rose of the Powell Estates, the 19-year old girl he’d met and invited (twice) to travel with him. The smoking hot woman in front of him now was the Rose that girl had become. She’d become this as a result of having traveled with him, fought beside him, and been left behind by him. This was a woman who had gone back to school to study Quantum physics, had been trained at Torchwood and built a Dimension Cannon just to find him again-and hadn’t batted an eyelash once she’d found herself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with (other) him, facing down intergalactic evil in the vault of yet another Dalek ship.
This was exactly the sort of woman who would choose-and look absolutely exquisite in-something exactly what she appeared in front of him wearing now. Yes, indeedy, he liked this new Rose.
“Like it?” She asked, innocently.”
“Oh… Yes! Fan-tastic.”
Adult sexytimes ahead! Click here for Part II...