Just forget I said anything. The Doctor wondered if it was possible to be any stupider and say anything more…IDIOTIC than 'forget I said anything.'
And it wasn't like he could storm out of the room and go throw himself out an airlock (after pushing Jack out first, of course), because Rose was standing there, hands pressed against the door, leaning upon the cold metal like it would somehow save her. Those plump little lips of hers were parted, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in disgust, and her clumpy-thick eyelashes beat continually against her cheeks as she blinked rapidly, probably thinking she was trapped in the medical bay with a madman.
Well, she was. And also trapped with an idiot. Had he mentioned how much of an idiot he was?
She licked her lips (oh it was killing him!) and drew in a deep breath, daring to meet his eyes. "So."
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets in an effort to hide his fidgeting. "Yeah."
Her face became unreadable suddenly. He hated that. He was the only one allowed to be mysterious on this ship. "Just forget you said all that stuff." Well, when she said it like that, he had a feeling it would be about as effective as when he told her to forget him, to go home and eat beans on toast and watch television. He saw how THAT suggestion had turned out.
The heel of his shoe began digging into the immaculate white tile floor uncomfortably. "If you would be so kind as to."
Nodding, she smacked her lips together. "Right. Which part of that soliloquy? The part where you want to kill Jack, the part where you want to resurrect your people so that you can kill them again, or the part where you want to, and please stop me if I'm not getting this right, shag me rotten?"
The Doctor wiped a hand over his face, unable to even look at her any longer. "That last bit, if we could." Keeping his eyes clenched shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if there was a way for this to get any worse.
Of course, with him, that was like an open invitation for 'worse' to drop on his doorstep, because a second later, he heard shifting, and then unzipping. Peeking past his fingers, he saw Rose sliding out of her jacket and dropping it neatly onto the floor beside her. "What are you doing?" Please just be too warm in here, he thought desperately.
Unbuckling the belt from her jeans, she pulled it free of the loops and tossed it on top of the ugly red Phish jacket. "I believe Jack calls this the medicinal lay?"
When she began tugging her shirt free from her jeans, he took a step backward. The backs of his legs slammed into the cot and he landed on it with a violent thud. "Rose, I don't think you quite understand…it's not about sex, it's—it's…" Oh great big flying, flaming, shitting bloody hell.
Tugging the shirt above her stomach, she stopped right below her breasts. He wasn't sure if she was pausing in thought, or just to antagonize him. Possibly both. "It's about the biological need to propagate the species. I know, I know. I just want you to promise me one thing." She pulled the shirt over her head, and in a very un-Rose-like act that made him contemplate the need to check for pods, she began folding it. Folding it neatly, like something off of a display in a shop. "When we were sixteen, my mate Angie got….well, knocked up, and Eddie Willard, the slimy little bastard, just disappeared and never took any responsibility."
The bra was bright pink and lacy and… so very Rose. He had to look away. When that wasn't enough, because he could still see it out of the corner of his eye, he clenched them shut again. "Rose, I'd never—ROSE." At first he was appalled that she'd suggest that he'd do such a thing. Then he was appalled that she'd suggest that…well, THEY do such a thing. And thirdly, he was appalled that she seemed so OK with it. "Look, Rose, I appreciate the offer, but… I'll find some way around it. I'll think of something."
A small chuckle erupted from her, and he noted that she was standing so much closer to him now. She rested her bare arm on his shoulder, the back of her fingers affectionately brushing against his neck. "Well, Jack says he refuses to carry your alien baby because the last time he did that for someone it shot his figure straight to hell. So I seem to be the only other available candidate, and the only person named Rose Tyler whom you want to shag rotten on this ship. Convenient, huh?"
Refusing to look didn't do him any good—he was obviously the weak-willed sort because he peaked with one eye and basically got a face full of…funbags. They were round and pert and practically spilling out the top of the bra…like mounds of bread dough he just wanted to…
Practically yelping in alarm, he slid down the cot and away from her, then got up, trying to put distance between them. "Rose, this isn't—I don't want—I mean, I want. What I'm trying to say is….hell. I don't think you should—should do this. Just to…to…"
She was walking towards him again, that grin plastered across her face—that damned evil, EVIL grin and that naughty little vipers tongue tucked between her teeth. "Just to what? Help out my best mate? Take one for the team? It's not like it's going to be a huge burden, so don't get all… quiet and moody about that."
Reaching behind her with both arms, she began tugging on the bra. He held out a hand. "No! Don't!" He wouldn't be able to stand it. Rassilon—now HE was trapped in here with a madwoman. "I—I—I—I…" he sputtered, trying to think of something. Brain no longer functioning, reason centres shutting down. "I don't—not like this. I don't want it to be like this."
He was so proud of himself for working out something mildly logical and moderately coherent. When she dropped her hands from behind her back, he was even happier that it had been effective. Of course, the moment she licked her lips in that slow, seductive way, he was back to being terrified right out of what remained of his tortured mind. "So you wanna do it for me?" Rose's grin made him shiver with anticipation as much as fear, making him back further against the counter, knocking equipment onto the floor with a series of clatters and clangs. "I like that."
With nowhere to go, she pressed her soft, terribly naked stomach against him, hip firmly holding him in place. It was a dream come true and a living nightmare all in one glorious instant, even with their jeans still between them.
He licked his dry lips, leaning back against the counter, trying to put some distance between himself and those—those rising mounds of bread dough that he just wanted to kneed, and kneed… "Ro-Rose."
She took both of his hands, which had been clutching the counter behind him for dear life, and placed them upon her hips, resting them on the bare flesh curving inwards at the top of her jeans. "I think you think too much. And I KNOW you talk too much."
The Doctor tried to pull his hands away, but she was holding them firmly in place. "I can't do this, Rose."
"But you want to do this," she pointed out with a self-assurance that made him feel…used. As used as he was trying to keep her from feeling.
Drawing in a shuddery breath, he tried not to take in the scent of her lip-gloss and soap. "Want has nothing to do with it," he gasped, refusing to look down at her chest. Well, refusing to look down at her, full stop. That particular path lead to madness.
Tongue running across her teeth again, she looked like a wild animal going in for the kill. "Ok. Then. We won't do this."
He let out a sigh of relief.
Her eyebrows arched upward, and he knew he'd been counting his chickens before they were hatched. OH, such a bad phrase for this moment. "If you can tell me you don't care about me. With a straight face. Because I know you want me," her eyes flickered downward, past his belt. "So that isn't in question."
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
And there was no escape. No place to run, no nice way to say this… ok, he'd try to say it anyway. "You—you know I care about you as—as a friend. Right? It's like this--"
There was a knock at the med lab door. Bless Jack Harkness, whom he was going to kiss out of gratitude at the nearest opportunity for providing this distraction. "Everything alright in there?"
"No!" the Doctor yelped, just as Rose was hollering yes.
There was a muffled chuckle on the other side of the door. "Good. So, Rose. On a scale of one to ten…"
Nope. He was back to wanting to kill Jack. Brain him to death with the now-defunct cast-iron kettle, perhaps.
Rose scowled at the still-closed door. "We aren't that far yet!"
"Sorry! Carry on!"
The Doctor used the opportunity to wriggle his hands away from Rose, and went back to gripping the counter as though it were the only life raft on a sinking ship. "You know," he said peevishly, trying to pull himself away from Half-Naked Rose(r) "I don't think I like how this is going. I think you're in on this with Jack."
This whole thing… it was killing him. He wanted to run very far away. He also wanted to grab her arms and spin her around and see just how much she enjoyed being his captive. And there was that whole screaming for God and meaning him thing that he was, quite frankly, overly-obsessed with.
Puffing out her chest (funbags! Damn Jack for getting that word into his head—now he'd never get it out) she reached out and grabbed his jumper, pulling him back towards her. "Now, I think you had something to tell me…" Her hand brushed his stomach and she began pulling the jumper upward. "You know what you can say to make it all stop."
He had no idea what sound that was, when her fingers slid past the waist of his jeans, but he didn't squeal like a little girl. That would be unseemly and unbecoming of a lord of time. He'd go to his death avowing that.
The Doctor stood outside the kitchen, not knowing if he could bring himself to go inside.
Beyond the doorway, he could hear an innocent sucking slurping, and he just knew Rose was eating strawberries. She always managed to make such a mess.
A few dishes clanked and there was the hiss of bacon in a frying pan. "No, Rose. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. A lady's under no such obligations."
Laughing around what the Doctor was sure was a mouth full of strawberries, he heard her slurp again. "You're killing me," she mumbled past the food, then swallowed. "You always have to have an answer for everything, don't you!"
The pan hissed again and the smell of fresh fried pig fat wafted past him, antagonizing his nose and stomach. "Yup. That's me. So."
Rose groaned and shifted, he could hear fabric sliding against the wooden chair she had claimed as her favorite. "To answer your questions: yes, yes, no, and yes. Twelve out of ten—he got the two bonus questions right, and yes."
Did he even want to know?
Metal scraped against the iron pan and the hissing stopped. "Ahh. It warms this former Time Agent's sad, jaded heart. And you have a plan in place?"
"I'm just thinking of you, sweetheart. I don't want to have to go through this all over again if he didn't hit the jackpot first time around."
Rose started laughing. "Jackpot? Isn't that a nice word for it! And when we hit the 'jackpot,' he can be the one to tell my mum. Oh that'd be lovely." She made a slapping sound, hand against some exposed piece of flesh. Great. Jackie Tyler. Something else he hadn't thought of when he was busy being lead around by certain parts of his anatomy last night. "It'll be like that. Only he might be beheaded from the force of it all."
Both occupants of the kitchen laughed uncontrollably.
The Doctor had been prepared to come into the kitchen and inform them that the ship had finally decided to drop out of the Vortex, right into feudal Japan, just like he'd promised. Instead, he began beating his head repeatedly against the metal wall.