(no subject)
Turns, Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler, adult.
HOLY SHIT I WROTE SOMETHING. That I'm not really all that happy with but at least it's something. You're excited, I can tell.
He shrugs and rests back in his chair. “I've always felt like that. Like there's somewhere else I'd rather be. Somewhere better. Someone I should be with.”, 2,858 words.
He'd said no more women. After Natalie, that whole mess, the way she did a complete one eighty on him and left him in the middle of the night. She'd left a note explaining how she'd never really known herself without a man and maybe they rushed into their relationship too quickly. He'd thrown it in the trash and immediately called his boss asking for a transfer from fucking Blackpool.
So, here he is in London. Standing on a dark street corner in the middle of a crowd of police cars and onlookers staring at a body beneath a sheet when a woman walks past him, a woman who smells of ginger and vanilla, and tells him he can leave and she'll take it from here.
“What's that?” He's still breathing in her perfume when she turns around. A sweep of blonde hair and he's caught by the gaze of her big, baby doll eyes.
“Your services aren't needed any longer, D.I Carlisle, you can go home.” She kneels down next to the body and lifts the sheet, only then does he realize he hasn't even seen the body yet.
Peter lifts an eyebrow and pushes his hands into his coat pockets. “Thank you for the offer. I could use a cuppa and a good night's sleep but see, I was sort of called here to do my job. And my job is under that sheet. And you are in my way.”
She smiles, big teeth beyond full lips, and for some reason he smiles back. It's the happiest he's ever felt next to a dead body.
“Believe me when I tell you that you've done your job as well as you can, and you can go enjoy that cuppa now.” She turns back and shouts over to a man called Jake who hurries towards them carrying a black case.
“Carlisle!” Peter turns towards the source of the barking to see his D.C.I gesturing for him come over. He throws a look back to pushy blonde before making his way over.
“We're done here, don't worry about it. S'just Torchwood business.” The older man adjusts his belt buckle and sniffs the night air.
“What the bloody hell is Torchwood?”
“Don't know. Don't care. But whenever they come around, s'time for us to go.”
Peter turns and looks past his cloud of breath to the woman directing what he supposes is a team and notices how if it wasn't for her streak of sunflower hair she would blend in with the night. Dark clothes, dark eyes, and something about the way she carries herself that makes him feel like he's looking at a ghost. At someone who's not really there.
“Oi!” She's about to climb into a, of course, black van but he stops her. “What's your name?”
Something makes her pause, as if she has to think about it twice. Mascara lashes blinking quickly, eyes surveying him and he feels self-conscious. Feels like he did in school around the pretty girls he was too afraid to ask out. But mostly he feels like if she leaves without telling him her name he won't sleep for a week.
She takes a breath, and he watches it fade to nothing in the cool air. “It's Rose.”
The van door shuts in his face and before he knows it she's down the street, turning right at the light and gone. Just like that.
He'd said no more women.
But he already knows she isn't just another woman.
- -
“How did you find me?” She looks annoyed, but impressed. Mostly annoyed. She looks a little brighter today, even in the dim atmosphere of the city. Skirt instead of pants, heels instead of boots. Her hair is in a bun and there are curls that keep hitting her cheeks in a way that make him want to push them behind her ear like some sap in a movie.
“It's a long story. Not a particularly good one. Do you want to hear it?” Basically it took a lot of Googling and calling in favors and walking around just to find out that Torchwood was based in bloody Canary Wharf, and not fifteen minutes after finding out he was across the street from the building. Staring at the woman called Rose, scratching her ankle and hailing a cab at the same time.
He had not looked at her cleavage for longer than it took him to cross the street.
“You've been stalking me?”
“Stalking? Stalking?” He scoffs, tilts his head, scratches the back of his neck. “Well, maybe. But there are a lot of Roses in this town and you didn't make finding you any easier by not giving me your last name and do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?”
She's staring at him, but there's a curve to the side of her, rather beautiful, mouth that wasn't there before. “Coffee?”
“Or tea. Or a beer. Or maybe a nice roast dinner?”
She bites her lip and looks down the street, probably praying for a cab to appear, and he can't stop himself when she turns and there's another piece of hair in her eyes. He reaches over and slides it behind her ear with two fingers, grazing her cheek on the way.
Rose doesn't flinch, or push him away. She just stops, clutching at her bag and staring at him some more like if she keeps it up he'll suddenly make some sort of sense.
“I'm sorry, I just.” He grins. “You're bloody gorgeous, you know that?”
Her cheeks darken, and she grins back, touching her cheek and shaking her head. “You are the exact type of person I should stay away from.”
“So that's a yes, then?”
A cab pulls up to the curb and she waves at it. He can't help but notice her long legs as she climbs into the backseat. There's a run in her stocking from where she scratched her leg.
“I have to be somewhere.” She leaves the door open, and looks forward like the answer to everything is just down at the stop light.
“I'll be here tomorrow at the same time. When you see me you can yell my name. It's Peter.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Right. So that's a yes?”
She grins and shuts the door. The cab drives on and this time she turns left at the intersection.
- -
“You look like someone I know.”
She's wearing blue today. A blue blouse, but her skirt is still black. If he didn't know better, which he doesn't really, he'd say she was in mourning.
When he'd met her outside Torchwood he'd had the odd urge to take her hand.
“Oh, is he terribly attractive as well?” He keeps popping peanuts like pills. Partly because chewing on something calms his nerves and partly because they keep his mouth busy and distract him from thinking about how much he wants to kiss her.
He really hopes she isn't allergic to peanuts.
She grins and takes another drink of her beer. “He'd like to think so.” She licks her lips and he crunches down violently on another nut.
“So, where is this handsome devil?”
The lighting in the pub is too dark, he can't read her eyes and then it doesn't matter because whatever was there is gone as quick as it came.
“Why are we here?”
He swallows a dry lump of chewed peanuts down his throat. “What do you mean? Enjoying the atmosphere.” There's a man at the front of the pub who keeps screaming at the television and pounding his fists on the bar.
She shakes her head and tries to hold back a grin. “No, why did you insist on breaking several laws that you definitely know just to have a beer with me?”
“I have a thing for mysterious woman who show up out of no where and tell me what to do.”
“So you want to shag me?”
He coughs, and that's the end of the nuts. He takes a swig of his beer and tries to push away the sudden thought of how many hands were in that little wooden bowl before him.
She grins again and it's the brightest thing in the room. “So that's a yes.”
He coughs again and clears his throat. “No. I mean, well. But no. That's not...entirely it.”
“Right.”
He leans forward against the table and looks at her quietly for a second, collecting his thoughts. “I'm new in town. I don't know a soul, really. Just the blokes from work and they're not exactly the kind of people you go out for a drink with. They're beautiful, of course, but definitely not as beautiful as you.”
She rolls her eyes but she's smiling.
“You look like you're new in town as well. Actually, I take that back. You seem to know your way around very well. You look like you know exactly what you're doing and I like that. But, I don't know. There's something about you that makes me think you don't really belong here. Like you're somewhere else at the same time.” He shrugs and rests back in his chair. “I've always felt like that. Like there's somewhere else I'd rather be. Somewhere better. Someone I should be with.”
She's quiet. Too quiet. He feels like he probably hit a nerve he shouldn't have.
“And I'd really like to shag you. But that's beside the point.”
It makes her laugh. There's something different about this laugh. Something that makes it more genuine than the others.
“Well, Peter. You're very perceptive.” There's a spark in her eyes that wasn't there before as she leans forward. “Can you tell me what I'm thinking about now?”
He can pretend she's thinking the same as him but he doubts it. She doesn't seem like that much of a deviant.
“I'm hoping it concerns ordering another round?”
There's a promise in her smile. “Definitely.”
- -
“That's an alien.”
She nods. “That's an alien.”
He stares at the creature swimming around in the tank in front of him. It could be the lager, but he swears it waves one of it's little fins at him. “And you work with aliens?”
“Well.” She giggles and leans against him for support. “Not exactly. It's... it's complicated.”
Peter waves back to the thing just to be polite. “This place is mad.”
“Yep.” She's still pressed against him and he doesn't move just so he can keep that feeling for another moment. When she walks away he follows.
“So, where to next? Got any little green men hiding around here?”
“We shouldn't even be here. I don't know why I brought you here. Too many beers.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. He squeezes back.
“Oh, what's on the top floor? I bet it's something good.” He goes for the elevator but she pulls him back.
“I never go up there.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “I don't ever need to go up there so I don't.”
He smiles and tugs at her hand. “Come on, I bet this place has a great view!”
When they reach the upper floor Peter steps out and looks around. He frowns at the desks and chairs like they've disappointed him on purpose. “Not much of a floor. I can see why you never come up here. Rose?”
Rose is standing in the middle of the room staring at the far wall. It's huge, and blank, just a white wall that makes the room seem almost infinite. It's unsettling, and it makes him want to leave. Something as plain as a wall shouldn't make him feel this way.
“Rose, are you alright?” He touches her hand and she jumps a little, looking at him as if he hasn't been here the whole time. “What's wrong?”
“Do you know my friend? The one you look like?” He can see tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to fall over onto her cheeks. “This is where I lost him.” She looks towards the wall again but he can tell it's not what she's really seeing.
He opens his mouth to ask what happened but he knows she won't say. He grips her hand harder and watches as one tear slides down the curve of her cheek.
She takes a breath and then she's kissing him. She kisses him like she hasn't seen him in years. Her lips taste like salt, wet from tears already drying and her hands search him out and find the back of his head to bring him closer.
His hands are at her waist pulling her against him and she moans into his mouth. The sound is soft and deep and it seems to echo in the vastness of the room. He doesn't know what happened here but he knows it's left a scar on her. Knows there's someone else in the room with them, someone she's kissing instead.
Her hands pull and tug like she's afraid he'll disappear at any moment and suddenly he's pressing her against the wall. Her hands work at his belt buckle until it's hanging open and she's undone his zip, finding him hot and hard. He's sliding his hand along her bare thigh and he doesn't have to wrap her leg around his waist, she does it for him.
She gasps when he slides inside, and wraps her other leg around him locking her ankles at the small of his back.
“Please.” She whispers, but he doesn't know what she's asking for. He grips her bottom and pushes deeper, burying his face in her neck and losing himself in the soft, wet pull.
Rose lets her head rest on the wall and closes her eyes as he leaves bite marks on her neck. One of her arms wraps around his shoulders and the other falls to her side, hand pressed against the cool plaster. She works her hips the best she can in the position, quicker and harder, breathing deep with each thrust of his hips.
“Rose.” When he says her name she whimpers and pleads for more from him.
After that it's fast and intense. Sweat builds on his back and makes his work shirt stick to his skin. She kisses him like she needs the air instead his lungs to breath and when she comes she shuts her eyes tight. She looks like she's a whole other world away.
There's a burn in his spine that tells him he's close and then he's there. Limbs shaking, wrists hurting with the strain of holding her up, he swears against her throat and her legs drop down around him.
There's a moment of nothing but breathing and clutching at each other before she pulls away and he's left awkwardly pulling up his trousers. When he turns she's the picture of innocence, the only visible sign of what happened the way her hair keeps falling into her face.
Peter sighs and pushes his belt into the last loop. He runs a hand through his hair. He asks. “What happened here?”
Rose looks at him, looks past him. There was never going to be an answer to that question.
“We should go.”
Outside, it's dark already. She's waiting for a cab and it seems daft to ask her for her number.
“You're right, Peter.” Her lips curve up into a small smile and she pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. She looks impossibly young all of a sudden. “I don't belong here. I should be somewhere else. Can I tell you a secret? I wasn't even born on this planet.”
He grins, considering the confession. “I knew you were out of this world.”
“Awful, just awful.” But she's laughing. A taxi pulls up and she kisses him soft, on the side of his mouth.
Before she can get into the car he pulls her back and kisses her properly, breathing her in and holding her close. He doesn't want to let her leave, doesn't want to give her up but something tells him he never had a chance of having her in the first place. When he pulls back he rests his forehead against hers. “Ya know I said no more women when I came to London.”
“Yeah? Sounds a bit extreme.”
“I never was one for following rules.” He squeezes her hand one last time and lets her get into the taxi.
“I hope you find your way back to your home planet.”
She grins and the night doesn't seem so dark anymore. The car starts towards the light and he doesn't stick around to see which way it turns.
--
HOLY SHIT I WROTE SOMETHING. That I'm not really all that happy with but at least it's something. You're excited, I can tell.
He shrugs and rests back in his chair. “I've always felt like that. Like there's somewhere else I'd rather be. Somewhere better. Someone I should be with.”, 2,858 words.
He'd said no more women. After Natalie, that whole mess, the way she did a complete one eighty on him and left him in the middle of the night. She'd left a note explaining how she'd never really known herself without a man and maybe they rushed into their relationship too quickly. He'd thrown it in the trash and immediately called his boss asking for a transfer from fucking Blackpool.
So, here he is in London. Standing on a dark street corner in the middle of a crowd of police cars and onlookers staring at a body beneath a sheet when a woman walks past him, a woman who smells of ginger and vanilla, and tells him he can leave and she'll take it from here.
“What's that?” He's still breathing in her perfume when she turns around. A sweep of blonde hair and he's caught by the gaze of her big, baby doll eyes.
“Your services aren't needed any longer, D.I Carlisle, you can go home.” She kneels down next to the body and lifts the sheet, only then does he realize he hasn't even seen the body yet.
Peter lifts an eyebrow and pushes his hands into his coat pockets. “Thank you for the offer. I could use a cuppa and a good night's sleep but see, I was sort of called here to do my job. And my job is under that sheet. And you are in my way.”
She smiles, big teeth beyond full lips, and for some reason he smiles back. It's the happiest he's ever felt next to a dead body.
“Believe me when I tell you that you've done your job as well as you can, and you can go enjoy that cuppa now.” She turns back and shouts over to a man called Jake who hurries towards them carrying a black case.
“Carlisle!” Peter turns towards the source of the barking to see his D.C.I gesturing for him come over. He throws a look back to pushy blonde before making his way over.
“We're done here, don't worry about it. S'just Torchwood business.” The older man adjusts his belt buckle and sniffs the night air.
“What the bloody hell is Torchwood?”
“Don't know. Don't care. But whenever they come around, s'time for us to go.”
Peter turns and looks past his cloud of breath to the woman directing what he supposes is a team and notices how if it wasn't for her streak of sunflower hair she would blend in with the night. Dark clothes, dark eyes, and something about the way she carries herself that makes him feel like he's looking at a ghost. At someone who's not really there.
“Oi!” She's about to climb into a, of course, black van but he stops her. “What's your name?”
Something makes her pause, as if she has to think about it twice. Mascara lashes blinking quickly, eyes surveying him and he feels self-conscious. Feels like he did in school around the pretty girls he was too afraid to ask out. But mostly he feels like if she leaves without telling him her name he won't sleep for a week.
She takes a breath, and he watches it fade to nothing in the cool air. “It's Rose.”
The van door shuts in his face and before he knows it she's down the street, turning right at the light and gone. Just like that.
He'd said no more women.
But he already knows she isn't just another woman.
- -
“How did you find me?” She looks annoyed, but impressed. Mostly annoyed. She looks a little brighter today, even in the dim atmosphere of the city. Skirt instead of pants, heels instead of boots. Her hair is in a bun and there are curls that keep hitting her cheeks in a way that make him want to push them behind her ear like some sap in a movie.
“It's a long story. Not a particularly good one. Do you want to hear it?” Basically it took a lot of Googling and calling in favors and walking around just to find out that Torchwood was based in bloody Canary Wharf, and not fifteen minutes after finding out he was across the street from the building. Staring at the woman called Rose, scratching her ankle and hailing a cab at the same time.
He had not looked at her cleavage for longer than it took him to cross the street.
“You've been stalking me?”
“Stalking? Stalking?” He scoffs, tilts his head, scratches the back of his neck. “Well, maybe. But there are a lot of Roses in this town and you didn't make finding you any easier by not giving me your last name and do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?”
She's staring at him, but there's a curve to the side of her, rather beautiful, mouth that wasn't there before. “Coffee?”
“Or tea. Or a beer. Or maybe a nice roast dinner?”
She bites her lip and looks down the street, probably praying for a cab to appear, and he can't stop himself when she turns and there's another piece of hair in her eyes. He reaches over and slides it behind her ear with two fingers, grazing her cheek on the way.
Rose doesn't flinch, or push him away. She just stops, clutching at her bag and staring at him some more like if she keeps it up he'll suddenly make some sort of sense.
“I'm sorry, I just.” He grins. “You're bloody gorgeous, you know that?”
Her cheeks darken, and she grins back, touching her cheek and shaking her head. “You are the exact type of person I should stay away from.”
“So that's a yes, then?”
A cab pulls up to the curb and she waves at it. He can't help but notice her long legs as she climbs into the backseat. There's a run in her stocking from where she scratched her leg.
“I have to be somewhere.” She leaves the door open, and looks forward like the answer to everything is just down at the stop light.
“I'll be here tomorrow at the same time. When you see me you can yell my name. It's Peter.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Right. So that's a yes?”
She grins and shuts the door. The cab drives on and this time she turns left at the intersection.
- -
“You look like someone I know.”
She's wearing blue today. A blue blouse, but her skirt is still black. If he didn't know better, which he doesn't really, he'd say she was in mourning.
When he'd met her outside Torchwood he'd had the odd urge to take her hand.
“Oh, is he terribly attractive as well?” He keeps popping peanuts like pills. Partly because chewing on something calms his nerves and partly because they keep his mouth busy and distract him from thinking about how much he wants to kiss her.
He really hopes she isn't allergic to peanuts.
She grins and takes another drink of her beer. “He'd like to think so.” She licks her lips and he crunches down violently on another nut.
“So, where is this handsome devil?”
The lighting in the pub is too dark, he can't read her eyes and then it doesn't matter because whatever was there is gone as quick as it came.
“Why are we here?”
He swallows a dry lump of chewed peanuts down his throat. “What do you mean? Enjoying the atmosphere.” There's a man at the front of the pub who keeps screaming at the television and pounding his fists on the bar.
She shakes her head and tries to hold back a grin. “No, why did you insist on breaking several laws that you definitely know just to have a beer with me?”
“I have a thing for mysterious woman who show up out of no where and tell me what to do.”
“So you want to shag me?”
He coughs, and that's the end of the nuts. He takes a swig of his beer and tries to push away the sudden thought of how many hands were in that little wooden bowl before him.
She grins again and it's the brightest thing in the room. “So that's a yes.”
He coughs again and clears his throat. “No. I mean, well. But no. That's not...entirely it.”
“Right.”
He leans forward against the table and looks at her quietly for a second, collecting his thoughts. “I'm new in town. I don't know a soul, really. Just the blokes from work and they're not exactly the kind of people you go out for a drink with. They're beautiful, of course, but definitely not as beautiful as you.”
She rolls her eyes but she's smiling.
“You look like you're new in town as well. Actually, I take that back. You seem to know your way around very well. You look like you know exactly what you're doing and I like that. But, I don't know. There's something about you that makes me think you don't really belong here. Like you're somewhere else at the same time.” He shrugs and rests back in his chair. “I've always felt like that. Like there's somewhere else I'd rather be. Somewhere better. Someone I should be with.”
She's quiet. Too quiet. He feels like he probably hit a nerve he shouldn't have.
“And I'd really like to shag you. But that's beside the point.”
It makes her laugh. There's something different about this laugh. Something that makes it more genuine than the others.
“Well, Peter. You're very perceptive.” There's a spark in her eyes that wasn't there before as she leans forward. “Can you tell me what I'm thinking about now?”
He can pretend she's thinking the same as him but he doubts it. She doesn't seem like that much of a deviant.
“I'm hoping it concerns ordering another round?”
There's a promise in her smile. “Definitely.”
- -
“That's an alien.”
She nods. “That's an alien.”
He stares at the creature swimming around in the tank in front of him. It could be the lager, but he swears it waves one of it's little fins at him. “And you work with aliens?”
“Well.” She giggles and leans against him for support. “Not exactly. It's... it's complicated.”
Peter waves back to the thing just to be polite. “This place is mad.”
“Yep.” She's still pressed against him and he doesn't move just so he can keep that feeling for another moment. When she walks away he follows.
“So, where to next? Got any little green men hiding around here?”
“We shouldn't even be here. I don't know why I brought you here. Too many beers.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. He squeezes back.
“Oh, what's on the top floor? I bet it's something good.” He goes for the elevator but she pulls him back.
“I never go up there.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “I don't ever need to go up there so I don't.”
He smiles and tugs at her hand. “Come on, I bet this place has a great view!”
When they reach the upper floor Peter steps out and looks around. He frowns at the desks and chairs like they've disappointed him on purpose. “Not much of a floor. I can see why you never come up here. Rose?”
Rose is standing in the middle of the room staring at the far wall. It's huge, and blank, just a white wall that makes the room seem almost infinite. It's unsettling, and it makes him want to leave. Something as plain as a wall shouldn't make him feel this way.
“Rose, are you alright?” He touches her hand and she jumps a little, looking at him as if he hasn't been here the whole time. “What's wrong?”
“Do you know my friend? The one you look like?” He can see tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to fall over onto her cheeks. “This is where I lost him.” She looks towards the wall again but he can tell it's not what she's really seeing.
He opens his mouth to ask what happened but he knows she won't say. He grips her hand harder and watches as one tear slides down the curve of her cheek.
She takes a breath and then she's kissing him. She kisses him like she hasn't seen him in years. Her lips taste like salt, wet from tears already drying and her hands search him out and find the back of his head to bring him closer.
His hands are at her waist pulling her against him and she moans into his mouth. The sound is soft and deep and it seems to echo in the vastness of the room. He doesn't know what happened here but he knows it's left a scar on her. Knows there's someone else in the room with them, someone she's kissing instead.
Her hands pull and tug like she's afraid he'll disappear at any moment and suddenly he's pressing her against the wall. Her hands work at his belt buckle until it's hanging open and she's undone his zip, finding him hot and hard. He's sliding his hand along her bare thigh and he doesn't have to wrap her leg around his waist, she does it for him.
She gasps when he slides inside, and wraps her other leg around him locking her ankles at the small of his back.
“Please.” She whispers, but he doesn't know what she's asking for. He grips her bottom and pushes deeper, burying his face in her neck and losing himself in the soft, wet pull.
Rose lets her head rest on the wall and closes her eyes as he leaves bite marks on her neck. One of her arms wraps around his shoulders and the other falls to her side, hand pressed against the cool plaster. She works her hips the best she can in the position, quicker and harder, breathing deep with each thrust of his hips.
“Rose.” When he says her name she whimpers and pleads for more from him.
After that it's fast and intense. Sweat builds on his back and makes his work shirt stick to his skin. She kisses him like she needs the air instead his lungs to breath and when she comes she shuts her eyes tight. She looks like she's a whole other world away.
There's a burn in his spine that tells him he's close and then he's there. Limbs shaking, wrists hurting with the strain of holding her up, he swears against her throat and her legs drop down around him.
There's a moment of nothing but breathing and clutching at each other before she pulls away and he's left awkwardly pulling up his trousers. When he turns she's the picture of innocence, the only visible sign of what happened the way her hair keeps falling into her face.
Peter sighs and pushes his belt into the last loop. He runs a hand through his hair. He asks. “What happened here?”
Rose looks at him, looks past him. There was never going to be an answer to that question.
“We should go.”
Outside, it's dark already. She's waiting for a cab and it seems daft to ask her for her number.
“You're right, Peter.” Her lips curve up into a small smile and she pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. She looks impossibly young all of a sudden. “I don't belong here. I should be somewhere else. Can I tell you a secret? I wasn't even born on this planet.”
He grins, considering the confession. “I knew you were out of this world.”
“Awful, just awful.” But she's laughing. A taxi pulls up and she kisses him soft, on the side of his mouth.
Before she can get into the car he pulls her back and kisses her properly, breathing her in and holding her close. He doesn't want to let her leave, doesn't want to give her up but something tells him he never had a chance of having her in the first place. When he pulls back he rests his forehead against hers. “Ya know I said no more women when I came to London.”
“Yeah? Sounds a bit extreme.”
“I never was one for following rules.” He squeezes her hand one last time and lets her get into the taxi.
“I hope you find your way back to your home planet.”
She grins and the night doesn't seem so dark anymore. The car starts towards the light and he doesn't stick around to see which way it turns.
--