Chapter Twelve: Passion

By Rhondda Lake

Rose was rather put out as she could not find her room. It wasn't that she was lost. She knew her was from the arboretum to her room by heart. No, her room wasn't where it was supposed to be. There was a broom closet there instead.

It was quite obvious that the TARDIS was playing tricks. And she knew why the moment she turned around and headed back the way she had come. There was the Doctor, leaning against the wall besides a door. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You know very well what's wrong. Where's my room?"

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere. Maybe you took a wrong turn." He offered, all innocence.

"This isn't funny." She protested.

"Not supposed to be." He reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face up and a second later his mouth was covering hers.

What was a slow and gentle kiss quickly became something deep, heated and passionate. His arms wrapped around her, closing the slight gap between them, and the feeling of his body pressed against hers was raw and compelling. Their mouths fused together, tongues speaking volumes without a single word. The kiss was as mind numbingly carnal as anything she had ever experiences. She was almost ashamed of the small whimper it elicited from her.

The kiss broke and she clung to him, not entirely sure her knees were in proper working order at the moment.

"My rooms right here. I wouldn't mind lending it out, since you're so tired and all." She was a bit gratified to notice he seemed a little out of breath. And as she was so intimately pressed against him, that wasn't the only evidence that he was as affected as she was.

"Yes, well, I really think I should get to bed." She traced her lips along his jaw, tasting the salt-honey of his skin. She followed the line to his ear, where she drew the lobe into her mouth and gently bit down as she sucked on it. The moan she received in response made her feel powerful as well made the heat pool low in her belly.

She heard the door open, and was vaguely aware of her legs moving, of her fingers working against clothing, of feeling flesh against flesh. Both of them were eagerly peeling cloth away from themselves, from each other, until in their frenzied rush they got tangled together and fell, briefly brushing a bed before landing on the floor. Rose knew her hip and elbow might be sore in the morning, but she couldn't help laughing. The laughter was contagious. It was part relief, part nerves and no little because they had to work themselves out of the gordeon knot of clothing they had made. Rose vowed to pay more attention next time, to avoid the accidental bondage.

They were both still chuckling when they managed to kick free of the last of their clothing., then the laughter disappeared.

"Is this real?" Rose reached out to run tentative fingers down the smooth, swimmers build of the Doctor's chest.

"As real as anything I've ever known." The Doctor cupped her chin and drew her in for another kiss. This one burned and devoured, searing itself into her soul. It turned to bones to molten jelly and seemed to reach right into her mind. To touch and stroke her soul.

His hands traced down her arms, fingertips stroking, then the back of those fingers running back up as that wonderful mouth moved from her mouth to her neck.

Never one to be passive while another did all the work, she drew her nails lightly down his sides, over his ribs, his hip bones. He groaned against her throat as his teeth grazed the tendons of her neck. Not biting, but sensitizing even as he made his mark, branding her as his.

Then the carpet was at her back as clever fingers traced unknown patterns on her skin, finding sensitive places she never knew were there, a fiery mouth following the path blazed. Her hands could only clutch and grasp at his back. She cried out and grasped at the back of his head at his brilliant mouth found and teased one begging nipple. By then there were no coherent thoughts at all. Only a primitive drive to give and take, a drive not only for passion, but to mate.

She wrapped her knees around him and twisted, bringing herself to the top, reluctantly pulling her breast from his mouth. Then it was her mouth and hands working magic on him, as he moaned and arched beneath her.

This was a time for scent, heartbeat, feel, flesh.

It was a mutual give and take, a fire that blazed out of control. By the time he sheathed himself in her she was vaguely aware of a shoe under the small of her back, and she was fairly certain it was his crumpled leather jacket under her head, adding the earthy scent of leather to the musk of sex and sweat and them.

And she was full, so full, and he touched and reached places no one ever had before. Not in the flesh, but in her heart, her mind and her soul. She was overflowing with him. They were truly one in some incomprehensible way. They were moving. Him. Her. This was the culmination of something elemental. This was meant to be.

Their movements slowed from frantic to languorous. Gliding, brushing, dancing until every molecule of flesh sang.

And then he showed her another universe of stars and she both scattered to the ether and collapsed within herself at once. She wasn't falling, she was floating, and he was there, with her, in her, supporting and loving.

It was some time later, when breath was regained and the utter satiation that left her limp and unmovable had eased just a bit that she finally reached under her and pulled his shoe from its uncomfortable place. She lifted it up and they both laughed again. The little tremors and vibrations of that laughter playing havoc on nerve endings still to raw and attuned.

"I never did get to bed." She curled on her side, into him.

"Nope, seemed to have missed it by inches." He looked up at the edge of the furnishing in question.

"It's kinda far away, isn't it?" She pouted. Nope, she didn't want to move.

"Yep. Comfortable here," he answered, pulling her to him, still slicked with sweat and heat.

"Think we'll ever make it?" She asked into his shoulder.

"Oh, yes. Again, and again, and again." She could feel his grin and she slapped ineffectually at his shoulder for his cheek.

She felt his fingers tracing circles on her back. "Rose?"

"Yeah?" She tilted her head up to look into his brilliant blue eyes.

"You don't need any perfume. You smell fantastic, all the time." He smiles softly.

"Smooth talker, you. So tell me about this Orb." She muttered sleepily.

She never did hear the answer.

The End…