(no subject)
Picking my rosebuds, TenII/Rose, Adult, 2,133 w.
He’s defeated the Sontarans, wiped out the Cybermen, outsmarted the Weeping Angels and ended the Time War single-handedly-is he going to let a little plastic cling wrap dress defeat him and his insatiable lust for Rose Tyler? On his birthday, no less??
A/N: This is a sequel to Getting to know you, all over again's The Spy Who Almost Got Shagged (a.k.a. the “James Bond” section) of challenge 50. This story takes place one year later.
It’s his birthday, or at least the day he was created in a metacrisis. It is also the anniversary of the day they were unceremoniously dumped back on Dårlig Ulv-Stranden, although by now the sting of that has been forgotten. Instead, they call it “I love you” Day.
She escapes from work before him so she can cook him dinner like a 1950s housewife. As a secret weapon she bakes him something special: Black Bottom Coconut Banana Cream Pie. She just knows he’s going to flip over that. But she has another secret weapon for the evening that she wants him to flip over, too:
She greets him at the door in a clear cling wrap dress and an apron.
(In hindsight, she should have maybe just worn the apron…)
She sings “Happy Birthday” to him at the door a la Marilyn Monroe and does a slow strip tease, removing the apron. One eyebrow goes up as he sees the cling wrap dress.
“Are you my present?” He asks, unconsciously licking his lips.
She nods, slowly.
“But I can already see through the wrappings.”
“Maybe you can enjoy your present without unwrapping it.” She grabs his tie and yanks him into the flat, kissing him roughly against the door.
“Well,” he breathes against her cheek. “I already know I don’t need to take it back, because it fits perfectly,” he grabs her bum and pulls her closer to him. She grinds deliciously against him.
“Why don’t you come inside and try it on anyway, just to make sure?” She giggles at the ridiculousness of their oh-so-obvious cliché porn banter, but she can see from the tenting action on the front of his trousers that it’s doing its job, so she keeps going. “It could be too tight.”
“Silly Rose,” he laughs softly into her hair as he kneads her arse, “there’s no such thing as too tight.”
He takes her hand and leads her back to the bedroom. She needs to take small steps. The dress is very tight.
He lets her get about one meter inside their bedroom before he pounces on her. She giggles again once he lets his mouth move towards other interesting locales south of her mouth.
“What an eager birthday boy,” she quips, rather breathlessly.
“Yeah, well, I find birthday sex… is all about fighting off… the inevitable… whilst sprinting towards death… and all that,” he murmurs in ragged pieces against her collarbone. “Something about… celebrating the here and now-”
“For tomorrow we may die?”
“Yeah. And I believe the poem goes: ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles to-day to-morrow will be dying.’”
“Well, that’s ever such a cheery thought, but then again, so very you, isn’t it? Y’always were obsessed with my withering decay and-”
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s enough talking. M’busy picking my rosebuds…” In one swift movement he takes her by the shoulders, spins her around and tips her backwards onto the bed as she squeals. He takes off his trousers, and kneeling on the edge of the bed above her, starts to rip off his shirt and tie until he has a second thought: “Or, should I leave my tie on tonight?”
“Oh, well you do want to look nice on your birthday, don’t you?”
He laughs lasciviously and then stops abruptly. “Oh… Quandary here: If I leave it on, how will I tie you up?”
“Silly Timelord,” purrs Rose, “you’ve plenty of ties…”
“Right!” He loosens it up and spins it around his neck. “Formal it is then!”
They are interrupted by a curious beeping noise.
“Ohmigod!” gasps Rose, “the fried chicken!!” and she sits up way too quickly before the Doctor can get out of the way.
Their heads connect with a sickeningly loud thud.
“OOOOooooch!” She yelps as he reels from the impact. “Oh, Doctor, I’m so sorry!”
“Rose! Are you ok?”
“Oh no! Your forehead is bleeding!”
He groans and rolls up and off the bed with her cradling his head. All of the previous images he had in his head of Rose bound up in his tie have quickly gone up in smoke.
He swears.
“You need a plaster, come into the kitchen with me.” Again, taking small steps, she leads him into the kitchen. She hands him a towel as she turns off the oven. “Here, try and get the bleeding stopped while I look for the plasters.”
“I can look after the plasters, you get the chicken. Really, m’fine just a little blood, nothing to worry about.”
Her hands are shaking. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him bleed.
“Y’know Rose, I was just joking about the whole sprinting toward death thing-you don’t need to hasten it,” he jokes as he dabs at his head before ripping open the plaster package.
Having taken the fried chicken out of the oven, she turns to him. He stands before her in his black socks, tie, boxer briefs and unbuttoned shirt, hedgehog hair more crazily mussed than usual-and a plaster stuck to his forehead. “Ta-Da!” he sings, and with his hand on his hip (pouting ridiculously), strikes an absurdly awkward sexy model pose and begins singing: “I’m. Too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt…” and begins stripping out of it. She giggles uncontrollably. “There, see? All better. Chicken ok?”
“Yeah, it’s dead,” she deadpans.
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Great! So! Can we get back to birthday sex now, please?”
She comes to him and kisses his forehead near the plaster. “M’sorry ‘bout that.”
“About what? Forgotten.” He pulls her closer to him and kisses her ear.
“At least it’s not bleeding much.”
“Blood has been repurposed to other areas for more important activities,” he growls as he fondles her breasts through the cling wrap. “Now, it’s about time I unwrapped my gift…” He scrabbles at the hemline of the cling wrap dress and attempts to pull it apart, but it doesn’t budge.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
“Whazthe matter?”
“Rose, how many layers of cling wrap did you use? This thing is like vinyl.”
“Well, then: Use. Your. Teeth.”
He snickers. “That’s my Rose, always thinkin’. Where would I be without you?”
“Oh, I dunno… Dissolved in a vat of sentient plastic?”
“And I’ve told you how grateful I was for that, haven’t I?” He says as he kneels in front of her.
“I like this view of you, Doctor…”
“Not half as much as I enjoy this view of you,” he murmurs darkly, and takes the hem of the dress into his teeth, worrying at it fitfully. “Great Rassilon’s Ghost, this thing is impossible!”
“Please hurry Doctor, it’s getting really hot!”
“I’m on it.”
He gnaws furiously at it and it begins to fray in shreds. Spitting out tiny pieces of plastic, he works the rip larger until he frees the darker thatch of hair that has taunted him from beneath the plastic wrap. But she grunts in frustration once he attempts to guide one of her legs around his shoulder.
“Nope. Still too tight, see? I toldja some things can be too tight.”
He groans. “Where’s the scissors?”
“NO! Doctor-there are some things that have no business being in that general area, and scissors and knives wielded by horny half-aliens are at the top of that list!”
Driven to the point of distraction, he whines “but I want my present,” and in that moment looks more to Rose like a toddler than a nine-hundred and ten year-old (former) alien.
“There, there,” she coos. “Lemme help you out a bit. After all, it is your birthday and my gift to you is that you get to come first. So it’s good that you freed up enough space for me to do this.” She kneels in front of him, taking his boxers down.
In half a jiffy, he is securely in her mouth. Whining ceased, he groans approvingly as he watches her head bob up and down.
“Rose, I take it back: This is my favourite view of you…”
And while he’s enjoying both the view and Rose’s ultra-fabulous mouth, the puzzle of that dress thing eats away at the back of his mind. He’s a Timelord, after all-He’s defeated the Sontarans, wiped out the Cybermen, outsmarted the Weeping Angels and ended the Time War single-handedly-is he going to let a little plastic cling wrap dress defeat him and his insatiable lust for Rose Tyler? On his birthday, no less??
“Rose…”
She pulls him out of her mouth with a sloppy pop. “What, Doctor? Too fast?”
“No. Come up here.”
He helps her up. As she stands she can see the smoldering look in his eyes. She knows this look…
The Oncoming Storm has arrived.
He catches her up and pushes her into the counter. As her hands reach backwards to steady herself she accidentally slaps the edge of a large bowl on the counter filled with flour to coat the chicken for their dinner. A huge plume of flour spews into the air like ash from Mount St. Helens, coating her, most of the kitchen and her cling dress.
Oh, but is she going to hate cleaning this up later.
If the Doctor notices, he doesn’t let it deter him as he grasps either side of the partially ripped hem of the dress and with one great jerk, tears it apart. Freed from her sweaty plastic prison, Rose launches herself at his face, kissing him with wild abandon. As she wraps her legs around him he hoists her up onto his hips and shuffles them over to the dining room table, which has already been set for their dinner. She moans into his mouth as his hands run slick over her body, which is moist with sweat and desire, the flour adding a pleasurable texture to her skin. She feels a little dirty-an idea that matches nicely with his POV of Rose, nude, panting and sweaty, balanced on the edge of their dining room table-and this clouds his mind deliciously. Dirty little Rose. He pushes abruptly inside of her, jostling the table.
Although the tableware clinks ominously with each thrust, they don’t hear it over the noise of their own vocalizations and bodily sound effects. Furthermore, in an effort to salvage the whole enterprise, Rose is trying every trick that she’s been compiling in their year together from the book that is The Doctor’s Known Erogenous Zones and Favourite Tricks: Her fingers clutch at his hair, her feet push his bum further into her, she bares her neck to have him lick and nip her, and she lets loose with a litany of filth, interspersed with a great deal of appreciative moans and gasps-all of which are entirely genuine.
When he moans her name and his thrusts lose focus, she knows he’s getting close. She stops sucking on his earlobe long enough to moan gruffly “Oh, Doctor… You feel so-oooo good… Don’t stop… Oooohhh, yeah.”
He moans again, “My dirty… little… Rose.”
“Yeah, you love it… You love it when I’ve got your cock in your mouth. Don’t you? You love it…”
Suddenly, he stops for half a beat and she’s not sure, but she swears he giggles slightly as he comes, a little quieter than usual.
Totally spent and out of breath, he laughs softly.
“What??” she asks.
“Rose… You said ‘your cock in your mouth.’”
“I wha?”
He’s still chuckling.
Finally, she realises her faux pas and blushes violently. “Well, you knew what I meant, right?” she asks, totally embarrassed, having now flunked Filthy Sex Talk 101. “Fuck!” she mutters.
Still gathering his strength, the Doctor pets her hair, appreciatively. “No, no, it’s all right. I knew what you meant. Still was sexy... It was you, after all, and I love everything that comes out of your mouth.” He kisses her tenderly and gently helps her up off the table.
They survey the carnage.
The dining room table is in disarray. Shreds of cling wrap, plaster packages, a bloody towel and assorted bits of the Doctor’s clothing litter the floor-and all of it with a thin veil of flour coating absolutely everything.
“Well, I can definitely say this was the first time I’ve ever had sex in a kitchen!” chirps Rose.
The Doctor gently cups her cheek and turns her to him, kissing her. “Rose Tyler, I want to be the rest of all your firsts.”
“Happy first birthday, Doctor.”
“The best one I’ve ever had.”
“You say that now, just wait ‘til you see your pie.”
“Rose, don’t cha mean to say, ‘my pie’? Ouch!”
“How old are you again?”
“C’mere, Rose. Dance with me.”
“Oooh. So formal, now.”
“Well, I do still have a tie on…”
He’s defeated the Sontarans, wiped out the Cybermen, outsmarted the Weeping Angels and ended the Time War single-handedly-is he going to let a little plastic cling wrap dress defeat him and his insatiable lust for Rose Tyler? On his birthday, no less??
A/N: This is a sequel to Getting to know you, all over again's The Spy Who Almost Got Shagged (a.k.a. the “James Bond” section) of challenge 50. This story takes place one year later.
It’s his birthday, or at least the day he was created in a metacrisis. It is also the anniversary of the day they were unceremoniously dumped back on Dårlig Ulv-Stranden, although by now the sting of that has been forgotten. Instead, they call it “I love you” Day.
She escapes from work before him so she can cook him dinner like a 1950s housewife. As a secret weapon she bakes him something special: Black Bottom Coconut Banana Cream Pie. She just knows he’s going to flip over that. But she has another secret weapon for the evening that she wants him to flip over, too:
She greets him at the door in a clear cling wrap dress and an apron.
(In hindsight, she should have maybe just worn the apron…)
She sings “Happy Birthday” to him at the door a la Marilyn Monroe and does a slow strip tease, removing the apron. One eyebrow goes up as he sees the cling wrap dress.
“Are you my present?” He asks, unconsciously licking his lips.
She nods, slowly.
“But I can already see through the wrappings.”
“Maybe you can enjoy your present without unwrapping it.” She grabs his tie and yanks him into the flat, kissing him roughly against the door.
“Well,” he breathes against her cheek. “I already know I don’t need to take it back, because it fits perfectly,” he grabs her bum and pulls her closer to him. She grinds deliciously against him.
“Why don’t you come inside and try it on anyway, just to make sure?” She giggles at the ridiculousness of their oh-so-obvious cliché porn banter, but she can see from the tenting action on the front of his trousers that it’s doing its job, so she keeps going. “It could be too tight.”
“Silly Rose,” he laughs softly into her hair as he kneads her arse, “there’s no such thing as too tight.”
He takes her hand and leads her back to the bedroom. She needs to take small steps. The dress is very tight.
He lets her get about one meter inside their bedroom before he pounces on her. She giggles again once he lets his mouth move towards other interesting locales south of her mouth.
“What an eager birthday boy,” she quips, rather breathlessly.
“Yeah, well, I find birthday sex… is all about fighting off… the inevitable… whilst sprinting towards death… and all that,” he murmurs in ragged pieces against her collarbone. “Something about… celebrating the here and now-”
“For tomorrow we may die?”
“Yeah. And I believe the poem goes: ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles to-day to-morrow will be dying.’”
“Well, that’s ever such a cheery thought, but then again, so very you, isn’t it? Y’always were obsessed with my withering decay and-”
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s enough talking. M’busy picking my rosebuds…” In one swift movement he takes her by the shoulders, spins her around and tips her backwards onto the bed as she squeals. He takes off his trousers, and kneeling on the edge of the bed above her, starts to rip off his shirt and tie until he has a second thought: “Or, should I leave my tie on tonight?”
“Oh, well you do want to look nice on your birthday, don’t you?”
He laughs lasciviously and then stops abruptly. “Oh… Quandary here: If I leave it on, how will I tie you up?”
“Silly Timelord,” purrs Rose, “you’ve plenty of ties…”
“Right!” He loosens it up and spins it around his neck. “Formal it is then!”
They are interrupted by a curious beeping noise.
“Ohmigod!” gasps Rose, “the fried chicken!!” and she sits up way too quickly before the Doctor can get out of the way.
Their heads connect with a sickeningly loud thud.
“OOOOooooch!” She yelps as he reels from the impact. “Oh, Doctor, I’m so sorry!”
“Rose! Are you ok?”
“Oh no! Your forehead is bleeding!”
He groans and rolls up and off the bed with her cradling his head. All of the previous images he had in his head of Rose bound up in his tie have quickly gone up in smoke.
He swears.
“You need a plaster, come into the kitchen with me.” Again, taking small steps, she leads him into the kitchen. She hands him a towel as she turns off the oven. “Here, try and get the bleeding stopped while I look for the plasters.”
“I can look after the plasters, you get the chicken. Really, m’fine just a little blood, nothing to worry about.”
Her hands are shaking. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him bleed.
“Y’know Rose, I was just joking about the whole sprinting toward death thing-you don’t need to hasten it,” he jokes as he dabs at his head before ripping open the plaster package.
Having taken the fried chicken out of the oven, she turns to him. He stands before her in his black socks, tie, boxer briefs and unbuttoned shirt, hedgehog hair more crazily mussed than usual-and a plaster stuck to his forehead. “Ta-Da!” he sings, and with his hand on his hip (pouting ridiculously), strikes an absurdly awkward sexy model pose and begins singing: “I’m. Too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt…” and begins stripping out of it. She giggles uncontrollably. “There, see? All better. Chicken ok?”
“Yeah, it’s dead,” she deadpans.
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Great! So! Can we get back to birthday sex now, please?”
She comes to him and kisses his forehead near the plaster. “M’sorry ‘bout that.”
“About what? Forgotten.” He pulls her closer to him and kisses her ear.
“At least it’s not bleeding much.”
“Blood has been repurposed to other areas for more important activities,” he growls as he fondles her breasts through the cling wrap. “Now, it’s about time I unwrapped my gift…” He scrabbles at the hemline of the cling wrap dress and attempts to pull it apart, but it doesn’t budge.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
“Whazthe matter?”
“Rose, how many layers of cling wrap did you use? This thing is like vinyl.”
“Well, then: Use. Your. Teeth.”
He snickers. “That’s my Rose, always thinkin’. Where would I be without you?”
“Oh, I dunno… Dissolved in a vat of sentient plastic?”
“And I’ve told you how grateful I was for that, haven’t I?” He says as he kneels in front of her.
“I like this view of you, Doctor…”
“Not half as much as I enjoy this view of you,” he murmurs darkly, and takes the hem of the dress into his teeth, worrying at it fitfully. “Great Rassilon’s Ghost, this thing is impossible!”
“Please hurry Doctor, it’s getting really hot!”
“I’m on it.”
He gnaws furiously at it and it begins to fray in shreds. Spitting out tiny pieces of plastic, he works the rip larger until he frees the darker thatch of hair that has taunted him from beneath the plastic wrap. But she grunts in frustration once he attempts to guide one of her legs around his shoulder.
“Nope. Still too tight, see? I toldja some things can be too tight.”
He groans. “Where’s the scissors?”
“NO! Doctor-there are some things that have no business being in that general area, and scissors and knives wielded by horny half-aliens are at the top of that list!”
Driven to the point of distraction, he whines “but I want my present,” and in that moment looks more to Rose like a toddler than a nine-hundred and ten year-old (former) alien.
“There, there,” she coos. “Lemme help you out a bit. After all, it is your birthday and my gift to you is that you get to come first. So it’s good that you freed up enough space for me to do this.” She kneels in front of him, taking his boxers down.
In half a jiffy, he is securely in her mouth. Whining ceased, he groans approvingly as he watches her head bob up and down.
“Rose, I take it back: This is my favourite view of you…”
And while he’s enjoying both the view and Rose’s ultra-fabulous mouth, the puzzle of that dress thing eats away at the back of his mind. He’s a Timelord, after all-He’s defeated the Sontarans, wiped out the Cybermen, outsmarted the Weeping Angels and ended the Time War single-handedly-is he going to let a little plastic cling wrap dress defeat him and his insatiable lust for Rose Tyler? On his birthday, no less??
“Rose…”
She pulls him out of her mouth with a sloppy pop. “What, Doctor? Too fast?”
“No. Come up here.”
He helps her up. As she stands she can see the smoldering look in his eyes. She knows this look…
The Oncoming Storm has arrived.
He catches her up and pushes her into the counter. As her hands reach backwards to steady herself she accidentally slaps the edge of a large bowl on the counter filled with flour to coat the chicken for their dinner. A huge plume of flour spews into the air like ash from Mount St. Helens, coating her, most of the kitchen and her cling dress.
Oh, but is she going to hate cleaning this up later.
If the Doctor notices, he doesn’t let it deter him as he grasps either side of the partially ripped hem of the dress and with one great jerk, tears it apart. Freed from her sweaty plastic prison, Rose launches herself at his face, kissing him with wild abandon. As she wraps her legs around him he hoists her up onto his hips and shuffles them over to the dining room table, which has already been set for their dinner. She moans into his mouth as his hands run slick over her body, which is moist with sweat and desire, the flour adding a pleasurable texture to her skin. She feels a little dirty-an idea that matches nicely with his POV of Rose, nude, panting and sweaty, balanced on the edge of their dining room table-and this clouds his mind deliciously. Dirty little Rose. He pushes abruptly inside of her, jostling the table.
Although the tableware clinks ominously with each thrust, they don’t hear it over the noise of their own vocalizations and bodily sound effects. Furthermore, in an effort to salvage the whole enterprise, Rose is trying every trick that she’s been compiling in their year together from the book that is The Doctor’s Known Erogenous Zones and Favourite Tricks: Her fingers clutch at his hair, her feet push his bum further into her, she bares her neck to have him lick and nip her, and she lets loose with a litany of filth, interspersed with a great deal of appreciative moans and gasps-all of which are entirely genuine.
When he moans her name and his thrusts lose focus, she knows he’s getting close. She stops sucking on his earlobe long enough to moan gruffly “Oh, Doctor… You feel so-oooo good… Don’t stop… Oooohhh, yeah.”
He moans again, “My dirty… little… Rose.”
“Yeah, you love it… You love it when I’ve got your cock in your mouth. Don’t you? You love it…”
Suddenly, he stops for half a beat and she’s not sure, but she swears he giggles slightly as he comes, a little quieter than usual.
Totally spent and out of breath, he laughs softly.
“What??” she asks.
“Rose… You said ‘your cock in your mouth.’”
“I wha?”
He’s still chuckling.
Finally, she realises her faux pas and blushes violently. “Well, you knew what I meant, right?” she asks, totally embarrassed, having now flunked Filthy Sex Talk 101. “Fuck!” she mutters.
Still gathering his strength, the Doctor pets her hair, appreciatively. “No, no, it’s all right. I knew what you meant. Still was sexy... It was you, after all, and I love everything that comes out of your mouth.” He kisses her tenderly and gently helps her up off the table.
They survey the carnage.
The dining room table is in disarray. Shreds of cling wrap, plaster packages, a bloody towel and assorted bits of the Doctor’s clothing litter the floor-and all of it with a thin veil of flour coating absolutely everything.
“Well, I can definitely say this was the first time I’ve ever had sex in a kitchen!” chirps Rose.
The Doctor gently cups her cheek and turns her to him, kissing her. “Rose Tyler, I want to be the rest of all your firsts.”
“Happy first birthday, Doctor.”
“The best one I’ve ever had.”
“You say that now, just wait ‘til you see your pie.”
“Rose, don’t cha mean to say, ‘my pie’? Ouch!”
“How old are you again?”
“C’mere, Rose. Dance with me.”
“Oooh. So formal, now.”
“Well, I do still have a tie on…”