"I really wouldn't drink that."
One last warning as Rose brings the glass to her lips and swallows it down. The bartender smiling, perhaps a little too much.
Within minutes she's wandering around the bar, laughing and dancing and seemingly having a great time. From his seat at the bar the Doctor watches her, keeping an eye on the men who seem to be standing in line for a dance, each one a little closer, and little slower, a little more fondling. Wait a minute, what?
There, across the small pub, is a man with his hands all over Rose Tyler. All over. And she- She's smiling? Enjoying it? Rubbing back against him? That's when he spins back around and takes a whiff of her empty glass. Clotenberry; a powerful aphrodesiac. He should have known when the gruff man behind the bar offered her the house specialty. He should have been paying more attention. This planet was known for it's abnormally high birth rate after all.
Right then. Grab Rose, bring her back to the TARDIS. Which would be easier if she wasn't leaning against him so closely, her hands sliding around him, trying to get under his clothes. He tries to tell her to stop but she just smiles, tongue caught between her teeth, and takes his hand, running towards the blue box called home.
Inside, he gives her a shove towards the doorway and tells her to go cool off. He's got no way of analyzing the mixture she'd drunken, but with any luck it will wear off in an hour or two. Even faster if she gets herself off, which he really shouldn't be thinking about, so he points to the door and tells her again to go.
Unfortunately Rose has other plans. She stands in front of him and suddenly her tongue is on his neck and he can't help shuddering at the contact. Her hands slide under his jacket and along his back, her finger nails grazing lightly in downward strokes. He swallows hard when she presses her hips to him, because he really can't prevent a physical reaction to that and he can see in her eyes that she feels him, hand and swollen, pressing against his zipper. She reaches down to lower the zip and Rasillon he wants it, but he catches her hands with his, and holds her away from him.
They're both panting and he nearly lets her come back to him, but instead spins her around and walks her down the halls to her room. Just drop her off inside and close the door. That's the plan at least but she's won't allow that. She's all smiles, telling him that she knows he wants her, guiding him to her bed and sitting him down.
It really shouldn't be like this and he knows it, but how can he turn away when she's right there in front of him. Seating herself on his lap. Tearing her shirt off and going at him again. Teeth sinking into his neck. Her tongue following. She's rocking against him now and damn that feels good. She pulls her face around to look at him. Those eyes, usually so wide and innocent. They've gone dark, heavy lidded. A woman who knows what she wants and is intent on getting it.
His mind is still trying to convince himself to protest and come up with some way of doing it without embarrassing her when it suddenly registers that his trousers are around his ankles and is that her mouth? Oh what a mouth. And her tongue... He flinches when she lets her teeth graze with expert precision, just enough to give him a rush. Her hand grips firmly around him, pumping up and down while she's keeping her mouth on him, wet and warm. Hot is more like it. Burning around him. Up. Down. A little added pressure. A twirl of the tongue.
His mind goes blank for a moment, or it could have been a lifetime. For all he knows it's a week later that she's standing up in front of him, removing the rest of her clothes. She doesn't take her time with it. No small smiles. No coquettish tease. Just clothes on the floor and her on top of him.
She's straddling him now, rubbing against him enough that he can feel the heat and wetness coming out of her. His jacket comes off, along with his shirt. He's still telling himself that this is all wrong as he kicks off his trainers and pushes his trousers past his feet to the floor.
His hands come up to grab her waist, because if she wants to do this, it's gonna be done right. She leans forward to kiss him, a first kiss long after it was due. He tries to give as much as he takes but she's overpowering him. Hunger and desperation all leaking out in the contact of two pairs of lips. He wants her to slow down. Take her time. Give themselves at least a minute to enjoy things, but she's not having it. His hands, fingers splayed on her hips, try to redirect her but she knows exactly what she's doing and he can already feel himself sliding into her.
She stops then. Eyes making contact as he fills her to the hilt. She looks like she's about to cry so reaches up to cup her cheek. She stops him before his hand makes it, kisses his palm, and begins to move.
There are sparks in front of his eyes, and a humming noise in the back of his mind, blocking out the few coherent thoughts left telling him to stop or at least take control of things and bring it back to what this kind of physical contact is supposed to mean.
He's thrusting up into her now and he can feel her walls closing down on him hard. She's got her eyes closed, head thrown back, her lips just slightly parted. His eyes follow her breasts as the move with her, every rise and fall accentuated by gentle mounds of flesh. He gets the sudden urge to take hold of them. To feel them in his hands. To taste her nipples in his mouth. But his body is frozen there on the mattress, pinned down by her body and her desire. She's surrounding him. Consuming him. For a moment he wants nothing more than to take comfort and pleasure in her touch.
He hears a strange sound and it registers that it's Rose, moaning, screaming, crying out. Faster. Harder. More.
He can feel her clamp down, muscles tensing and twitching. He thrusts up into her as hard as he can manage. She presses her hands down on his chest with a little too much force but he bears the pain until she's finished.
As soon as he feels her coming down, he slides out of her, not wanting or willing to see things through to the end on his side. She looks at him with concern for the first time and he knows what's happening. The effect's worn off and now she doesn't know what to do. Fear. Shame. Embarrassment. They all flash behind her eyes and now she really is going to cry, isn't she?
He reaches for her as fast as he can. He lets his hand caress her cheek and uses his lips to reassure her. Soft, gentle kisses until she can't help but smile a little. He smiles back at her, as large as he can manage, even if it means a tiny bit of it is forced. He can't have this now. Won't allow her to feel guilt. Not with something like this. Something they both knew was bound to happen eventually, so why not here and now?
He wraps his arms around her and lays back, holding her to his chest. He can feel the cool dampness of the few tears she couldn't fight off, but other than that she seems alright, and for that he's grateful. Within a few minutes her breathing has slowed and she's drifted off to sleep.
It's his first instinct to shift out from underneath her, tuck her in and go, but he decides against that. He'll stay and lie with her until she wakes, presumably hours later. And he'll smile and tell her everything's okay. That's they're okay, or even better. If he's still feeling like he is now, he'll kiss her and hold her to him while they talk. Someone's got to tease her about the danger of accepting drinks from strangers after all.