He couldn't fully understand what she was doing all the way over there. The entire point of foreplay, as it seemed to him, was that it came before the main event. Meaning that the main event followed the foreplay.
The last time he'd checked, the main event had not consisted of telling Rose where assorted medications were and how to give him a needle. Oh yes, he'd had great fun talking about penetration and injection, but that wasn't what he'd meant. He'd meant the other kind.
And he wasn't supposed to have been on the receiving end of it either way.
Though the part where she'd rubbed the antihistamine gel on his neck had been nice. He'd gotten a bit of a snog out of the deal, at least. She made wonderful noises, his Rose. Startled, but quickly enthused.
He tried to scratch his neck and failed. After some slight improvisation, he'd managed to mostly rub his ear against his shoulder. Not helping. Nearly dislodged his glasses, actually. Attempting to get them back on all the way, he shook his head about a bit, hoping that would solve at least one problem.
He was a pile of discomfort. He couldn't scratch, he couldn't have Rose, and he couldn't move enough to take care of either issue himself. He shifted as best he could, trying to relieve pressure.
"How long have I been sitting here?" he asked, giving only a token attempt at seeming as if he only had a sore bottom from sitting still too long. Which he did.
Sitting on the counter, frustratingly out of his admittedly small reach, Rose checked her watch. "About . . . Almost an hour and a half."
He groaned, dropping his head back against the headrest. Not very restful, though. "Three and a half more hours," he said, resigned.
Rose leaned forward, hopped off of the counter. "Until what?" she asked, as if this were somehow a question with a less-than-obvious answer.
"Until you untie me?" he prompted. "You didn't forget, did you? It's very important, Rose, that you don't forget to untie me. Not fundamentally important to the universe as a whole, per se, but to me, yes, very important."
"Right," Rose answered, considering him in a way that made him feel a touch self-conscious. More than a touch, actually. Great, towering amounts of self-conscious. Not a natural state for any Time Lord, that.
"I'm asexual," he said bluntly.
Rose blinked. "What?"
"Technically asexual," he amended. "Because I'm a Time Lord, you see." He was confusing her or upsetting her – possibly both, by her expression – but it really was bothering him. "We don't- we didn't reproduce that way. I don't think it's actually possible any longer. Not since – since a long, long time ago," he summarized, not wanting to explain the intricacies of Gallifreyan history as his body rebelled very thoroughly against the technicalities of being asexual.
There was something resigned in Rose's eyes, which was strange. The last thing he would have expected from her, actually. Rose was interested in everything. Almost everything. And she wouldn't be bracing herself that strongly if she only thought a simple lecture on Time Lord physiology was ahead. "What're you trying to say?"
"I shouldn't have a libido," he answered simply.
"So the bite was making you fixated and-" Rose looked very determinedly at his face "-and all that, too? That's all?"
There it was. His handy eraser to wipe away everything he'd said and done since being bitten. His way out. His escape route. His "never have to talk about this ever again" pass, his "keep things as they are" pass.
His "never touch Rose again" pass.
"What?" he asked, purposefully looking at her as if she wasn't making any sense. "No. What I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was- What was it? Ah, right. I shouldn't have a libido. Except I do," he babbled, running at the mouth a little too much as said libido continued to make itself noticeable. "Third incarnation to have one."
The play of emotion on Rose's face was torturous, the play of doubt and confusion and – could that be hope? "Third . . . ?"
"Body," he clarified. "Thirty percent of the time, I have a libido. Well, that's not quite right. It's not like I regenerate on an evenly spaced schedule. Be a little awkward, that. Time runs out and whoop! There I go, mid-sentence. Like I said, awkward. And off-topic. And not so much a 'whoop' as . . ." He trailed off, puzzling over it. "I don't think there's actually a sound effect for it. Definitely not a 'foom'. Makes a bit of a cracking noise, but that's probably just the little bones in my ears reforming. Not the best noise for a sound effect, anyway. Normally entertaining things, sound effects. When used in conversation, that is. Not so much in horror movies. Though it does sound a bit horror movie-ish, regeneration. From the inside, at least. I don't actually know what it looks like from the outside, can you image? Generally considered rude, regenerating in public. Not to mention problematic."
The words spilled together and sped up as Rose approached him. Her fingertips brushed against his arm and suddenly nothing he could say would fit the teeth. Her hair spilled down over her face as she struggled with the clasp of the bindings, preventing him from seeing her full expression.
"Rose? Rose, three and a half hours left. It's not- Rose, don't-"
Ignoring him, she pulled the strap fully out of the buckle, freeing his arm. With that done, she leaned across the chair to work on the other one, bending over him in an idiotically defenseless position. Her hips by his freed hand, her chest almost but not quite on a good viewing level, it was astonishingly defenseless. If he wanted to, he could have . . .
He wanted to. Yet he wasn't.
"Oh," the Doctor said, sitting very, very still.
"Oh," Rose mimicked, freeing him completely. "Sounds like you're okay now."
"How . . . ?" he started to ask, only to begin thinking about it. "Ah."
"Ah," Rose agreed, straightening, standing next to him with no fear of sudden molestation.
She was parroting, he realized. This did not bode well.
"Very clever," he told her in the hope that a compliment would make it better. Probably not, but he doubted it would hurt. He took off his glasses, grunting a little from the stiffness in his arms. He was never going to be able to wear these again without feeling like a dirty old man. Instead of dwelling on that, he hung his glasses on his shirt pocket and pushed one sleeve back up to see the small needle mark. "And not bad, for your first time." There he was again, running at the mouth with innuendo. This could become a bad habit.
"I wasn't sure-" Rose started, face red.
"You did well," he interrupted. "I'm- I'm sorry I-"
"S'okay," she hurried to say.
"If you're sure-"
"Yeah," Rose agreed nervously.
He blinked up at her. "Yeah?" She seemed to- He was fairly sure she- Really, it would suggest-
She nodded, a quick and repeated bob of the head. "Yeah."
"Oh," he said, something tightly wound inside of him coming undone, spiraling out to finally, finally relax.
"Oh?" She looked as uncertain as he felt.
"Yes," he answered.
"I thought, y'know, 'cause-"
He shook his head. "No."
She watched him as if he could pull the rug out from under her at any moment, hope and doubt vying in those dark eyes. "Yeah?" she asked, tentative.
"Yeah," he agreed, meaning it.
Rose stood, he sat, and they nodded at each other for a little while, neither of them able to muster up a complete sentence. In the end, it was Rose who offered him her hand. He took it, swung his legs off of the chair. He was a bit stiff and she was a little more helpful in the whole standing up process than he needed her to be.
Need and want were very different things, he knew, but looking at her, he wasn't sure which one applied.
"C'mere," he might have said or he might have simply held his arms out or Rose might have stumbled into him when he tugged on her hand in an attempt for balance. Whichever the case was, he found himself with a loose armful of human. He wanted to crush her to him, to pull her against him. He refrained, relishing instead in his freshly reclaimed ability to reach and touch and hold, hold at a careful distance.
Her fingers twining in his hair, Rose took that remaining distance between them and made it vanish. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, her breasts moved against his chest as she breathed. Her leg brushed his tentatively, as if she knew he might jerk away, the reaction so deeply ingrained as to practically be instinct.
She leaned into him, pressed against him.
"Rose," he breathed, saying her name into her hair, one hand drifting to the small of her back, the other between her shoulder blades. Both hands held her to him, kept her from moving away. He couldn't keep her forever, he knew. But he could keep her for a little while. Just a little. And if only for that little while, he could call her his.
"Yeah?" she asked softly, turning her face upwards, her lips brushing his throat.
"I'm not human," he reminded her, stroked her back when he felt her tense, traced her spine through her top with light fingertips until she sighed into him.
"I know," she told him. "S'okay." A thought seemed to strike her, tension returning to her body. "Isn't it?" She almost pulled back, but he would have none of that. She was perfectly fine there, against him.
He puzzled over word choice, let the sentence form slowly and poorly. It was difficult, trying to explain and trying not to simply rush to the good part and muck up their first time by having it on the very uncomfortable floor. "We don't entirely . . . . Not naturally built for . . . . We won't . . . ."
"Fit?" Rose volunteered, her voice small against his neck, and he knew he was doing this wrong.
"Um," he said, stretching it out before concluding with a "Hm." In the end, his mouth did what it wanted to do. He pressed his lips to her hair and breathed her in, wondering on one level why humans would try to put that many fruit smells into one shampoo. "We wouldn't not fit, as such," he told her and wondered when exactly that had begun to apply to more than sex. "Which isn't to say that we would fit either, you understand."
She didn't seem to, which was in itself an indicator of their non-fittingness. "And that's not a mixed signal," she remarked and he had a strong feeling that sarcasm did not figure heavily into the human sex act.
His hips rocked into her in disagreement and it was possibly the best argument he'd had in centuries. Even if he wasn't exactly in control of it. To be fair, they had gasped in unison. He took that as a good sign. "Not very mixed, I thought."
Her finger touched the bandage patch she'd placed over the fly bite. "You sure you're thinking?" she asked him, but he could hear the giggle about to break through her voice.
"Very sure," he assured her, fighting down the urge to pick her up and simply have this conversation while in transit to the closest bedroom. Having to force himself, he eased her back, keeping a firm grip on her nonetheless. Confidence was supposed to be good, wasn't it? Attractive? Manly? That was definitely a confident grip, not a nervous cling.
She looked up at him and he thought, he was nearly sure, he was almost entirely sure he knew what was in her eyes.
"Rose," he asked, "may I not fit with you?"
She opened her mouth to reply before biting her lip, seeming to puzzle it over. No, not seeming. She was puzzling- She- She needed to think about it. And now she was giggling, giggling at him!
Sort of giggling into him, actually. Which might have been pleasant in any other circumstance. "Rose?"
"If I say 'yes,' am I saying 'no'?" Rose asked him.
Three incarnations with a libido and he'd never before managed to frustrate himself through bad grammar. This was setting new records.
The Doctor grinned anyway. "If you were paying close attention, you might have noticed that there is no wrong way to answer that question."
Rose grinned back at him. "Really?"
"Yeah," he lied, willing to make it up as he went along so long as it continued in this fashion.
"Clever," she complimented, obviously having caught on to his grand plan. She often did, his Rose.
He could live with that. For as long as he could, he would live with that. "I'd thought so. Absolutely no way to fail this course, Miss Tyler."
It turned out that the best answer to the question came in the form of a very thorough snog. As always, Rose passed with flying colors.
Her shoulder hit the doorframe and they staggered together, their foreheads coming close to bashing together. Rose laughed breathlessly, leaning into him before he pressed her against the wall, his fingers tracing lightly over her upper arm where the accidental contact was made. "We'll get better at this," she assured him, the words turning into a sigh as his mouth returned to her neck. She wasn't certain which was best: the ability to say that, to know they would, or the simple act of burying her hands in his hair to hold him right there. "Lots of people can't walk and snog at the same time," she tried to say, not quite managing it.
"I can." The boast was uttered against skin with teasing lips, punctuated with a nip.
"Yeah?" Rose breathed, voice husky. "Prove it."
He chuckled, the sound coming from so deep in his throat as to practically be a growl. He pulled her to him, the challenge evidently enough to distract him from his wall-related plans.
Rose was beginning to realize that the Doctor had done a lot of planning in the last two and a half hours. Very, very good planning. Such nice planning that she'd have to make sure he kept on with that planning. And putting said plans into action.
Bumping together, fumbling, nearly tripping over something she'd left on her floor, they managed to catch themselves before they could tumble onto the bed. They paused before that next plunge, Rose closing her eyes at the brilliant strangeness of it, of the occurring impossibility. He wanted her. He'd chosen her. Her, her, he wanted her. That daft, confusing, alien git.
She felt like she could be giddy for hours, but right now, she had something more important to do.
Or undo. Having tossed his tie over his shoulder, her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, fisted in the fabric as his hand slipped into her back pocket, a very nice place for it, especially when he squeezed. She squeaked; he chuckled. Nipping at his bottom lip in semi-silent retaliation, she trailed her hands down his chest, tantalizing hints of his wiry musculature evident through his rumpled shirt. Dark eyes watched her face, bedroom eyes finally in a bedroom.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, she pulled the cloth up slowly, pulled the shirttails loose from his trousers. Still he watched her, intent, utterly focused. She felt her nipples tighten, wanted him to touch, wanted to touch him.
No reason why not to, she had to remind herself, even now, even here. He wasn't going to pull back or bail out. He wasn't going to pretend this hadn't happened, tell her she'd got the medication mixed up and given him something that had worn off, tell her that he hadn't been in control of himself.
He wasn't going to, but . . . oh god, he could.
His hands on her stilled and Rose tensed further, held onto the sides of his shirt tighter, held onto it instead of to him. "Rose?" he asked, voice husky. "Are you-"
She never let him finish that question, never allowed it to end one way or another. Swallowing up his words, she kissed him, invaded his mouth and attacked his control, urging restraint to snap. At first engaged in a one-sided argument, Rose groped his bum, squeezing and cupping, pulling him to her. The noise the Doctor made was untranslatable and perfectly clear, his hand slipping under her top. Gasping, she arched away from his shockingly cool palm, arched into him, against. Reclaiming her mouth, he turned them around, pulled her forward, stepped backward. His hands slipped to her sides, tugged lightly on the belt loops of her jeans yet held her at a distance.
Gazing up at her, the Doctor sat down on the bed. His fingers toyed with the hem of her top, his dark eyes watching her face. Rose nodded, couldn't stop nodding. Concentration evident on his face, he pulled up her top, a slow drag of cloth up her torso, a careful replication of what she had started with his shirt. She lifted her arms and he divested her of it completely, the cool air hitting her still warmer than his body.
Nervous for far too many reasons, Rose started to shield herself despite still being covered, stopped as he caught her hands, his thumbs stroking her palms as he looked. Taking the next step, he released her hands, reached around her back for the clasp of her bra as she reached for that line of still mostly done buttons. He paused, swallowed, allowed her to do as she liked, play as she liked. Choosing to leave the tie on, at least for a little while longer, she loosened it instead, slipped the collar out from under it. She brushed her knuckles against the soft hair of his chest, leaned down to kiss him when his watching grew too intent, too much like a scientist cataloging the behavior of an unknown specimen. Cool fingers danced along her back, locating her bra clasp and fumbling there in an immensely endearing moment. His arms raised and in the way, she couldn't push his shirt off of his shoulders, off of him. She settled instead for touching without looking, a compromise that was far more than fair. He leaned back, pulled her with him. Catching herself with a knee on the mattress and both hands on his shoulders, Rose found herself nearly crawling on top of him.
He hummed into her mouth in something that might have been victory as the catch came undone. His tongue stroking hers, he slid the straps over her shoulders and let gravity to its work, baring her without watching. The discarded garment fell on his chest when she lifted her arms to take it fully off, and he tossed it off to the side, almost uninterested in her bare breasts. While this would have to be remedied, and soon, there was a more pressing issue at hand. With his back against the bed, there was no way of removing his open shirt without a struggle and he wasn't helping, his interest in taking off his own clothes second in his interest in taking off hers.
His fingers played with the waist of her jeans, tugged her down to him ineffectually. Kneeling over him, she had a position strong enough to resist and resist she did, grinning as a frustrated whine escaped the man under her. Straining, he lifted his head to kiss her and pouted at her continued refusal. Her grin grew wider as she shifted her weight, as she lifted a hand to take the length of his tie, that pout disappearing as quickly as it had come. She'd wanted to play with this forever; by the look on his face, she wasn't alone in that desire. Rose lowered herself to sit on the Doctor's thighs, steadying herself and fondling him at the same time, basking in his rapt attention.
Hand-over-deliberate-hand, she reeled him in and up. He came to her willingly, propping himself up on his elbows. Finally able to push his shirt down and off of his shoulders, she attacked his mouth and called a strategic retreat, pulling back a little and a little and a little, drawing him up with her until she could feel the strain of his arms through his shoulders, his chest. A tug at the offending garment got the point through to him and he shook it down his arms using his entire upper body, the movement bouncing her on his legs and surprising a laugh from her lips. He laughed with her, the throaty chuckle turning into a shuddering moan as she readjusted her position, shimmied fully onto his lap. The sound sent a throb through her, stroked the coiled heat inside of her while winding it tighter.
He was pushing up into her through his trousers, the tiny, jerking motions of his hips hinting at a want he couldn't fully restrain. In a surge of lust and daring, she cupped him through the cloth, felt his shape, his size. Almost helplessly vocal, he cried out, some lovely sound escaping him with each movement of her hand. He clutched at her, gripped her shoulder and upper arm and seemed to forget how to let go. She kept at it, a rush unlike anything else she'd ever felt consuming her. Each hitched breath, each strained groan, each needy whimper; they were all for her. And with this new, untested body of his, they were only for her.
Feeling him, she thought he'd fit. They'd fit. No reason why they couldn't. Because they could, because they were going to do this. It was going to happen. And dragging her fingers across his contained length, taking her time in getting to his zipper, she finally made that control slip. A repeated syllable falling from his lips, he bucked into her, nearly throwing her from her perch. She held on, fell against him, onto him. They collapsed onto the bed, each half off of it.
Yelping, Rose scrambled off of him, stood on legs unfit to hold her up. His chest wasn't much warmer than his hands. Faced by the suddenly very real possibility of cold alien bits, Rose understood the Doctor's involuntary noises. She wanted so much more – she wanted so much more right now. Whatever the temperature, she could handle it, adjust.
"Rose?" the Doctor asked plaintively. Looking as dazed as he sounded, he propped himself up on one arm and reached for her with the other. "Rose, what are you . . . ?"
"You're not naked," she informed him, letting his hand on her hip draw her closer. She reached for his tie once more and he lowered her head, allowing her to remove the still tied loop from around his neck.
"Is that so?" He kept the smile off of his face, but he couldn't keep it out of his voice. "How very rude of me."
"Mmhm," Rose agreed, trailing a fingertip along his fly. His hand left her hip to catch her hand, a swift motion that made her start in surprise.
"You," he said, eyeing her very deliberately, "are also being quite rude."
She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "We match," she said by way of explanation.
A thought striking him, the Doctor sat up and yanked off his trainers. Dropping his socks on top of his discarded footwear, he gave her a speculative look. "No we don't," he contradicted.
Suddenly biting back a smile, Rose sat down next to him and took off her socks and trainers as well. "Yes we do."
About to undo his fly, he paused, watching her, his dark eyes suddenly unfathomable. He leaned in to kiss her, a cool hand cupping her breast. Breath shuddering in a near shiver, she let him take control of the kiss, couldn't help but let him. There was a desperation beneath his tenderness, the Doctor holding her gently while refusing utterly to let go.
Once she'd run out of air, he pulled back slowly and stood, hands hesitating at his waist. He stood with his back to her, tension never clearer in his shoulders. Looking over his shoulder at her, he seemed unable to meet her eyes.
She thought she understood. "Lights to low," Rose told the ceiling.
He relaxed, but not enough. He stayed as he was, stuck, frightened of frightening her.
Rose thought her heart might break from loving him.
"Come here," she said softly, reaching out her hand for his.
He turned, took it. She watched his face, beautiful in shadow yet made strange by it as well. Two steps brought him to her, standing between her legs. Leaning forward, she pressed kisses to the unfamiliar musculature of his chest, stroked her hands over a ribcage that didn't quite feel like a human's. A shuddering sigh escaped him, his fingers playing through her hair. She murmured one word against his cool skin, one word, another. "Please. Doctor."
"Rose, cross-species, it- it's always-"
"Don't care," she told him, pulling back to look up. Her body so close to his, she stood, meeting his dark gaze. "S'long as it's you an' me, I really don't care."
He gaped at her wordlessly, stared at her in a way that made her stomach lurch. She was just as alien to him as he was to her. And he didn't understand.
Or, she amended as he ducked his head to kiss her, maybe he did. Cupping his face in her hands, she tried to convince him even as she tried to come to terms with what he'd shown her in a rare moment of nakedness that had nothing to do with nudity. The Doctor, insecure; it didn't make sense. He couldn't be that oblivious, couldn't have missed how she felt. Maybe that's what he'd meant about not fitting, about the cross-species issue. Part of what he'd meant.
She heard a rustle of cloth, heard something fall, gasped into his mouth as she realized what it was. Stroking his side, her hand found the skin of his hip, felt the bone beneath as he shifted, lifting his feet out from his trousers. He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck as she touched him, a gentle, hesitant brush of the fingers that left him groaning, his grip on her not hesitant at all. She held him the second time, wrapped her hand around him and found him warm enough.
Sighing in something close to relief, she kissed and nibbled at the unbitten side of his neck, rubbing her thumb along his length. Silk soft and smooth and then – not. She rubbed her thumb up: smooth. And down: not. She tried to put a name to the texture, to the sensation under her hand. Not fuzzy but somehow like velvet, like rubbing the fabric in the wrong direction. Like little, tiny bits of skin trying to catch and hold on, only to stroke her palm instead, leaving her hand with a not unpleasant slightly slick, slightly sticking feeling.
Trying to get a full understanding, she let her hand wander, explored with a light touch that had him pressing into her, that had him babbling into her shoulder between licking and sucking. Surprised, Rose pressed back and fought down the inappropriate urge to giggle. Later, not now, but definitely later, she would tease him mercilessly about literally having no balls. Right now, she was a little too busy imagining what the Doctor's – not penis, not cock, maybe phallus – what his member would feel like inside of her. Thrust in, friction out.
It was Rose's turn to whimper, the sound pulled out of her as she pressed her thighs together, needing something more between them. This was going to be amazing. Fantastic. Brilliant.
Her eager fingers worked at her own fly. Rose shimmied, working her jeans down and he held her by the waist, fingertips tapping lightly on flesh still covered by her knickers.
"These," he said into her ear, bravado back in his voice, "will have to go."
"Then take 'em off of me," she answered, trying for sultry and maybe managing it as she kicked her jeans aside.
"Your wish is my command," he replied, an echo of so long ago. "Just be careful what you wish for." He kissed a trail down her chest as he lowered himself to his knees before her, pausing at each breast. His questing tongue laving her, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled, the damp cloth sliding down her thighs. His hair brushing against her stomach proved to be a tickling distraction, Rose giggling uncontrollably right up until the circling pattern of his mouth arrived at her navel, the Doctor's tongue tasting and sampling until Rose's hands on his shoulders were all that kept her upright. Cool fingers traced up the inside of her thigh and she unconsciously spread her legs wider.
The Doctor spoke to her, babbled out a string of words that were part surprise, part wonder and all thrilled curiosity. "You've got curls down here, Rose, you- Oh. Ohhh, you- you're . . . wet and burning and- and, oh. Rose."
Even braced for the chill, Rose nearly yelped at the intimate touch, the duel anticipation twining within her suddenly snapping and breaking apart as reality arrived. Not as good as she'd hoped, not as horrible as she'd feared.
"Rose, am I-"
"More," she breathed, needing him deeper, hotter, thicker. "Like- yeah."
A second finger joined the first, filling and jarring and warming quickly in her heat. She gasped at the cool intrusion, gripped his hair too tightly. Instead of voicing protest, he simply nuzzled her belly, humming in unsatisfied contentment. What must she feel like for him, her body burning against his? A note of worry crossed her mind and then the Doctor's hand twisted inside of her.
Her legs buckled completely, sending her to her knees, driving his hand deeper in until he caught her with his other arm, brought her to him and slipped his fingers out. Distantly aware of having cried out at the pressure and again at the loss of it, Rose shivered, pressed against the Doctor's side. Cold, but not that bad, nowhere near enough to stop her from pressing closer. She felt that edge slipping away from her, the orgasm of the Oncoming Shag falling back to be entirely out of reach.
She'd never felt so empty, inner walls clenching around nothing.
His voice was smug as he murmured into her ear. "I'm going to make a guess and assume I did that right."
Before she could knock that smile off of his face, he looked at his hand with interest, studied the wet sheen on his fingers. A thoughtful expression across his features, he licked one fingertip experimentally. He considered.
He sucked on one digit, on the other, laving the first knuckles. Humming once more, he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet smack before licking the digits clean, sliding his tongue between the two fingers, searching for every last taste.
Leaning against him, Rose watched, barely breathing. Seeming to realize that he'd been ignoring her, the Doctor blinked and looked down at her. "Sorry, that was rude," he decided, wiping his hand off on her carpet. "Where were we?"
"I was about to shag you," she told him, taking him in her hand. There was no question in her mind, no wondering or hesitation. Exploration could wait. She wanted him now. Hard, fast, and now.
His eyes tried to widen and fall shut at the same time, his immensely vocal body becoming immensely vocal. "Yes that's – Yes," he managed. "Let's do that."
They stood together, hand finding hand, each unwilling to relinquish contact. Leaving the carpet for the duvet, they fell into an embrace, bounced lightly, pressing and grinding together. Half on top of her, the Doctor rolled off, looking at her significantly with his back to the mattress.
"And then you'll straddle me?"
Raising herself to all fours, Rose watched his face as she prowled closer, as she planted a hand on the other side of his head. Trying to get the angle right, she eased back, slung a leg over him. She could feel his gaze on her face as his hands stroked her, caressed her.
Dipping her hand between their bodies, she eased herself down, guided him inside of her.
She breathed out a word, a pair of syllables that might have been a prayer or a curse or just his name. Ready for him, there was only the slightest resistance before he entered her fully. A keening cry escaped her. They'd done it. They'd made it this far. They'd made it, and it was fantastic.
He whimpered, hips rocking instead of thrusting up, allowing her to adjust to his size. His hands gripped her hips, her bum, grinding her against him. As soon as her breathing was almost under control, Rose clenched down, tightened around him and squeezed the rest of him with her thighs. His head thrown back, pressed into the duvet, he moaned and babbled at once, words stretching out into meaningless sounds punctuated by gasps and sighs and her name.
Now regretting the removal of his tie, Rose tugged on his arm, shifted her weight. After verbal prompting, he sat up, abdominal muscles flexing beneath her hand. He was so wiry, her Doctor. So lean and spare and – best of all – naked. Naked and fondling and a very good kisser, persistent and playful with his tongue.
Her breasts brushed against his chest as she circled her hips in a repeating figure-eight and he broke the kiss to hold her flush against him. Rose gasped and clutched at him, her nipples tightening and begging for his mouth. His angle inside of her had shifted as he moved, shifted again with their bodies pressed together and oh. Oh. Doctor.
Hands on his shoulders, thighs shaking from the effort, she raised herself up, moaning as the Doctor's second texture came into play. Delicious friction all inside of her, she pulled up until she'd nearly lost the feel of him inside. He yelped and slammed her back down with his hands on her hips, one swift motion burying him to the hilt.
Her body crying out for againagainagainagain, she tried to repeat the motion only to have him pull her back down, hitting hard and deep inside of her. One arm tight around her waist, the other looped under her arm to grip her shoulder, he held her securely, restrained her movements, panting.
"Don't," he gasped into her neck, tightening his arms around her, crushing her to him, his chill almost burned away by her heat. His hearts seemed to shake against her breasts, vibrating instead of pounding. "Stay."
"Stayin'. Right here. Not leavin'," she struggled to say, struggled to resume her efforts. "Never gonna leave you."
He flared inside of her. There was no other word for it, those tiny layers of skin of his phallus fluttering against her sensitized flesh. Rose cried out, hands scrambling at his back for purchase, the Doctor holding her down and preventing her from pulling away from the sudden sensation. Instinct protested, tried to take flight away from the strange and unnatural intrusion. He rocked up into her and instinct promptly forgot what it was going on about.
It was like- it was like- She had no idea what it was like, only that she wanted more of it. Repeatedly.
He was saying something, babbling into her ear with words she didn't, couldn't understand. As she rolled her hips, his voice hit a sudden high note, a squeak followed by a low groan that rumbled through her. Every gyration of her hips, every clench around him drew out gasps and moans from each of them. His grip loosened, hands wandering instead of clutching. Grinding good, thrusting bad, she quickly concluded.
Rose peppered the side of his face with kisses, kept at it insistently until he turned his head, pressed his lips to hers and returned his tongue to its rightful place inside of her mouth. Guiding his hands down to her bum, she leaned back, making needy noises at the change of angle, her eyelids fluttering as he brushed against her right there, all filling friction, all hers.
Neck straining, the Doctor whimpered as the kiss broke, Rose leaning back too far for him to get at her mouth. One hand falling behind her for support, the other buried in his hair, she brought his attention to what was well within his reach. Always the fast learner, his mouth closed around her nipple, tongue teasing, roaming, lapping up sweat.
Rose was the one babbling now, the one crying out and shaking and straining and oh god please, just a little more, just a little more and then, then, just a little more, right there, find it, oh god Doctor please-
She touched herself and his hand followed, cool fingers taking over, pressing and rubbing against her clit as she shook and shattered and that was his name she was yelling, crying, shouting, again and again as he stroked and pressed and touched that sensitive bundle of nerves. Pulling her up, he tore his mouth from her breast to reclaim her lips, hard and possessive, swallowing her muffled cries and shuddering inside of her as she climaxed, inner walls clenching uncontrollably around him. His breath catching, the Doctor tensed, muscles taut.
Hot, oily fluid spilt inside of her and the Doctor sighed, body going slack, his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling. Ghosting her fingertips up his back, Rose watched his face in the near dark, his freckles barely visible, his eyes shut as he breathed, spent.
She kissed him, a languorous play of mouths and tongues, felt the soft smile at the corners of his lips. Humming contentedly, he laid back, pulling her down on top of him, truly horizontal for the first time. He slipped out of her, his slick seed negating the expected friction and Rose sighed with the loss. Raising his hand to her face, he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, a small motion she nuzzled into. He opened his eyes, looked into hers.
"Hello," he said, smiling.
"Hi," she answered, liking very much the picture he made beneath her, hair tussled, eyes dark and shining, mouth well-kissed. He should look like this more often. As often as possible.
He rolled them over and she squeaked, clutching to him before bursting into a giggling fit, sudden and unexpected. She shook with it, euphoric and confusing him utterly. Hooking her leg around his, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his smile back out. She raised her head to kiss his dimple before relaxing back onto the duvet.
"Happy?" he asked, still propping himself up on his elbows, as if he honestly needed to check.
"Does giddy count?" she murmured, pulling him down on top of her before he could cool off. No thrusting and a limited cuddling period aside, she couldn't be happier.
Snuggling into her, he made a considering sound, nuzzling the side of her neck. "Oh, it's certainly passable."
Rose giggled again. "Only passable, Mr. Smith? Think I might need that refresher course after all."
"Oh, I think you've gone beyond needing a simple refresher course, Miss Tyler. In fact," he mused, one second away from snickering madly, "I'd say you're in need of a private tutor."
"And night classes," she added.
"And night classes," he agreed, kissing her shoulder.
Petting his hair, savoring his firm weight, even appreciating – for now – the wet evidence of his pleasure inside of her, Rose wondered if it was possible to die of happiness, to simply become too full and overflow, love and joy bursting the heart they spilled out of. She pressed her head against his, a pressure he returned. "We'll just have to work on that, won't we?"
"Mm, quite," he answered, his grin audible. "Your dedication to your studies is very impressive, if I may say so."
She didn't correct him, didn't shake her head and say, "Dedication to you." Too soon for that, their shared intimacy too new. Instead she played with his hair and allowed with a smile, "You may." He chuckled, the vibrations rumbling down into her, and she relaxed until his blanketed weight, content to hold him for however long he would allow.
They stayed like that for quite a while.
Craning his head for a better look at his neck, the Doctor studied himself in the bathroom mirror, wiping the steam off of it. Turning his head the other way, he watched his own eyebrow rise before glancing back to the subject of his inspection. Subjects, actually. Plural.
A kakothrips cogitatio bite on one side, a hickey on the other; definitely his day of being bitten, today. He snickered to himself a little, feeling unreasonably smug – even for a Time Lord. That had been a disaster well averted.
Very well averted, actually.
He turned as the shower curtain pulled back, positively smirked as Rose climbed out of her second shower of the day. She grinned shyly at him and committed the grave, grave mistake of covering herself up with her towel. To be fair, he'd already made the even worse mistake of getting dressed.
"Something funny?" she asked as little trails of water dripped down her thighs to pool around her feet.
What? Oh, right, snickering to himself. "Nothing," he replied, quite the obvious liar.
Rose shook her head at him, clearly not believing him and yet letting him get away with it. "So," she said, running her fingers through her damp hair and taking a few steps towards him to poke at the mark she hadn't made. "Definitely past the six hour mark by now."
He lifted his hand, toyed with the damp, fluffy cloth of her towel, played with it where she'd tucked it into itself. Her lips parted and he abruptly felt like something edible. Which sounded like a remarkably fun idea, now that it had occurred to him. Though, hm, Rose certainly smelled edible, all . . . Rose-like. Rose-y. Rose-ish. Soap and fruit-scented shampoo. Droplets of water trailed down her neck and disappeared between her breasts.
"What're you thinkin' about?" she asked, grinning like the minx she was, clearly knowing the answer already.
He showed her anyway.