Disclaimer: I own nothing, BBC owns all.

As ever, thanks to Bonnie for beta reading!


The Doctor had always been a bit tactile. He always reached for her hand, and hugged her rather more often than she would expect even someone of his apparent physical age to do – let alone his actual age. She liked it about him quite honestly; they had always fit together in a way she had never dared to name, and the fact that he was as fond of demonstrative affection as she was had become a rather large part of what she loved about him.

Since leaving the fifty-first century, the Doctor apparently had decided that the above was still true; he hugged her with regularity and rarely were they standing together without their arms or fingers interlocked. More than that however, there was also the rather startling and sudden addition of frequent and entirely enthusiastic kisses to the list of things he might do at any moment.

Rose was rapidly getting annoyed with it.

Not that being kissed by the Doctor was a bad thing – she couldn't imagine anyone minding that particular experience – but he had, not surprisingly, absolutely atrocious timing. Such as publicly snogging her on a planet that banned all physical contact due to an extreme, planet-wide case of germophobia, which lead to them both running for their lives – as per usual. They had been rather lucky in that she had had a slight cold at the time and managed to stave them off by coughing in their direction.

Or when she was covered in a particularly vile-smelling slime and he had once again magically remained perfectly clean…though she had quite enjoyed that experience if for no other reason than her ability to pass on the mess. He had insisted then that she was responsible for cleaning his favourite jumper, but when she proposed adding it to the 'laundry to do at Mum's' pile, he quickly lost interest in the game. Rose chose not to ponder the meaning behind that.

The worst part was that his timing, awful thing that it was, meant that she never expected it. Which in turn meant that she never had time to recover from her surprise and properly participate, at least not before he had jumped away, dragging her to their next Exciting and Wonderful Adventure.

It was, in every sense of the word, frustrating.

She didn't like worrying over what a bloke was thinking – the sheer predictability had been part of what she loved so much about Mickey. She knew exactly what to expect; and after her experiences with Jimmy Stone, she'd desperately needed to know what to expect.

Not, she reminded herself firmly, that the Doctor was remotely like Jimmy Stone. She screwed up her mouth distastefully at the thought and let out a grunt of disgust. The Doctor glanced across the kitchen table, eyebrow quirked.

"Problems, Rose?" he held a spanner aloft like a weapon as he fiddled with his latest project. He had spent much of the morning amusing himself by completely disassembling the toaster, convection oven and microwave, and seemed to be attempting to build a Bigger, Better Appliance that combined all three.

"Just wondering if she's likely to bring back the door anytime soon," Rose answered, waving toward the wall which would have typically held a door, which would have typically led to the rest of the ship.

"Unlikely," he turned a decidedly non-sonic screwdriver to the interior of his new contraption. The sonic version, as they were both well aware, was in his jacket pocket, which was tossed over the captain's chair, in the console room; where Rose was absolutely certain there were still doors. "Once she gets a plan in motion, 's hard to talk her out of it."

"This was a plan?" Rose frowned at the walls. "Great. Got any idea the next step, then?"

He made a sour face. "Talking, most like. She's a bit fond of a good story."

"So, we share some deep dark secrets and she lets us out?"

"Maybe."

"Lots of confidence there?"

"Possibly."

Rose sighed and leaned back in her chair. "That's rubbish."

"Pretty much," he shot her a quick grin and then began to rap his spanner against the contraption. "You can start," he added, smirking slightly into the great electronic maw.

"Thanks," Rose rolled her eyes. "Fine. Truth or dare?"

He looked up, startled. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You're serious?" there was a long pause as he gauged exactly how serious she was. "Truth, then," he said finally.

"Hmm…" she bit her lip thoughtfully. "What's your favourite alien planet?"

He grinned broadly. "Earth!"

"Oi, that's cheatin'!"

"Alien to me," he pointed out, just a bit smugly. "Besides, you lot've got no end of amusement. 'Course, you don't change much so pretty much any human-populated planet comes out 'bout the same, but it's the most fun on Earth. Your century too, mind. It all turns a bit dull once you get a proper meet with other life forms, and going earlier always seems to end up with someone tryin' to take my head off. And don't say that's an improvement!"

Rose bit her tongue, grinning at him. "Wouldn't dare," her tongue curled around her teeth cheekily. "Besides, I rather like your head. Not sure I'd care for the next off – I've seen pictures of early models."

"Gettin' a bit better at pickin' 'em, eh?" he folded his arms and leaned back, setting down the tools and regarding her mischievously. "Alright then, Rose Tyler, truth or dare?"

"Dare," she met his eyes boldly.

He grinned, just a bit wickedly. "I'd like to see your tattoo."

Rose gaped at him with eyes wide as saucers. "How d'you know about that?"

"You've got the volume control of a hyperactive four year old," he said dryly. "You were tellin' Shareen, I overheard."

She pouted but stood and shrugged off her dark red hoodie, revealing a simple black-and-white outline of a wolf's head, mid-howl, on her left shoulder. The Doctor took in a sharp breath, hissing slightly as he reached out and traced the ink. "Bad wolf," he read, fingers ghosting over the words above.

Her skin tightened under the gentle caress, making her arch ever-so-slightly away from his touch. "Yeah," she nodded, biting her lower lip. "It's…well, you know."

"Yeah," he pulled his hand away as if burned and returned his attention to the MicroConvectionToaster – MCT – as if were the most singularly fascinating thing in the universe.

"Your turn," Rose said quietly, zipping up the jacket once again. "Truth or dare?"

"Might as well mix it up a bit," he nodded, adjusting something unseen in his contraption. "Dare."

She paused, tilted her head, and grinned slowly; she leaned toward the wall and whispered something – a moment later a door appeared. He jumped to his feet but she held up a finger warningly. "It's just my bathroom; she's not letting us out."

He frowned as she vanished into the room, and his concern deepened as she reappeared a few moments later, brandishing a small cloth bag. "What's that?"

"Doctor," Rose grinned. "I dare you to let me put makeup on you."

"Rose!" he looked offended. "That's a rubbish dare, I haven't got to do anything!"

"You've got to hold still while I do it," she pointed out, a wicked smile on her face. He sighed, but shifted until there was room beside him on the bench. She bounded toward him placing her supplies on the table and shoving his project away as if it were garbage – not that either of them was likely to deny that it would inevitably end up in the bins, replaced by models that better fit the TARDIS's next renovation.

Rose positioned the Doctor carefully, twisting him so that one leg rested on the bench - which she promptly straddled, manoeuvring herself to get the best possible angle for her art. She did her very best to pretend that the position was as innocent as the game – and might have succeeded if he had not chosen to rest his hands quite calmly and firmly at her waist. She flushed darkly, taking a deep breath as she dug into the bag and pulled out the first instrument her fingers closed around – an eyeliner pencil. She grinned just a bit nervously and told him to close his eyes.

He frowned a little, but acquiesced. "I'd like to be able to see at the end of this, remember," he pointed out. "Put as much mascara on me as you do on yourself and my eyes'll be sealed shut."

"This is eyeliner," Rose pointed out, leaning forward and beginning to run the charcoal-coloured pencil along his lash line. "Save your complainin' until I actually get to mascara."

"Oh, I'll have a whole new set of complaints by then," he grinned, crinkling his eyes and very nearly smudging her work. She rapped her knuckles lightly against his forehead, chiding him.

"You'll mess it up, hold still!" she smudged the line with a brush from her bag and nodded to herself. "Open your eyes and look up," she instructed quietly. He blinked, focusing intently on her for just a beat longer than necessary – before he raised his eyes to the ceiling. She took a deep, fortifying breath, trying desperately to ignore the Doctor's fingers tracing faint patterns over the thin fabric at her waist, and leaned close again to quickly finish darkening his eyes. Very carefully she ran her thumb along the line to soften it.

"Don't move," she told him sternly. She brandished a mascara wand in front of him, smiling slightly. "Don't worry, I'll go light. You couldn't pull off my look – you haven't got the features."

The Doctor, wisely, did not reply to this comment. "I believe it's your turn, Rose Tyler," he said instead, toying lightly with the hem of her camisole. "Truth or dare?"

"Bit busy for a dare," she replied, her face slightly screwed with concentration – as if she expected to be judged on her work.

"Truth it is then," his fingers tightened over her skin. "Tell me about the scar?"

She paused, tense. "What scar?" her voice was light, but the brush in her hand wavered.

"The one you covered up with a tattoo," he said.

"Didn't think you noticed that," she half-smiled.

"Perceptive, me," he thoughtfully ignored the snort of amusement from his companion. He raised an eyebrow, watching her as she finished with the mascara and set it aside.

Rose chewed her lip and picked up a small pot of dark grey shadow. "Close your eyes," she instructed again, dipping a finger lightly into the powder. A moment later she leaned forward and began to dab it onto his lids, smoothing gently over the silky skin. "Dated this bloke couple years back," she began softly. "Moved in with him, dropped outta school, all that. Then his band stopped gettin' gigs an' more an' more of his money was goin' to the pub," she sighed, picking up a lighter shade of grey and blending it along the edge of the first. "He got mean; blamed me for a lot o' stuff that was his own fault – but he just shouted mostly. One day he shoved me; I caught my shoulder on some rusty, rubbish bicycle part he had layin' around an' ended up in hospital. Mum took me straight home," she grinned faintly. "I broke his nose when he came 'round tryin' to apologize," she shrugged and sat back, smiling slightly at her work. "Anyway, that's where I got the scar. Used to be so self-conscious of it, wouldn't wear anything that showed it."

"I'm sorry," his hands tightened possessively at her hips.

"Done with that bit," she said quietly, setting aside the pot of eye colour. Slowly his eyes opened, his clear blue irises locking tight on her murky hazel. "Still got the rest of your face, yeah?" she looked away, reaching for the makeup kit again.

"I could put in a call to UNIT, have him fed to the Loch Ness monster," the Doctor suggested, half seriously.

"No need," Rose shrugged, digging in her bag. "It was years back, Doctor. I hate that I let myself get pulled into that bloody stereotype more than anything that he did to me. An' Jimmy ended up in prison for somethin' else anyhow so it don't really matter."

She placed her bag back on the table and leaned forward again, grinning a bit wickedly. She held aloft a tube of lipstick like a prize.

"Oi, that's just bein' silly," he objected, tacitly agreeing with the change of topic.

"Nope, part of the deal. Last bit, promise. Just…" she hesitated and blushed slightly. "Just relax your mouth."

He had to fight to relax the smirk that twitched at his lips. Her face flamed red despite her best intentions as she oh-so-carefully painted the colour along his lower lip. He very obediently didn't move as she moved, dragging the tube gently across his upper. She leaned back; very aware of the difference that his eyes on her made – how much more difficult it was to maintain the game.

"That it?" he smiled slightly. "Camp enough for you?"

Rose took a deep breath and shook her head. "One last step, you've gotta do this," she extended her index finger and put it in her mouth, dragging it out smoothly. "Keeps from gettin' any lipstick on your teeth," she wiggled the digit in front of him. "Most important part of bein' done up."

He nodded and removed a hand from its secure position at her hip; she mourned the cool touch for half a second before he wrapped his elegant fingers around her hand and slowly, deliberately, pulled the finger which had so recently been in her mouth into his. His eyes locked intently on hers as she gasped at the surprising warmth.

"You're – you're supposed to use your own finger," Rose objected faintly. In response, he swirled his tongue gently around the digit as it was slowly drawn from his mouth.

"Like to buck tradition, me," he responded, not releasing her hand from his.

"Yeah?" Rose was aware that her voice sounded breathless and a bit weak, but couldn't quite gather enough oxygen to rectify it.

"Oh, yeah," he grinned – it should be illegal, Rose decided, to grin like that at a girl.

Something, possibly her sense of self-preservation, snapped. She grabbed the front of his jumper and hauled him closer, pressing her lips against him fiercely. There was a moment of surprise on his end, before the arm about her waist tightened and dragged her closer.

She felt his tongue lightly against her lips, but denied him entrance – she had decided at long last to take control, and by god she would not relinquish it. She battled his tongue with her own as she pressed forward, determined to discover the uncharted territory that was his mouth. Her hands snaked up to his hair, running through strands that had still not been trimmed since his stint in a time that lacked electric razors.

She broke away suddenly, the need to breathe becoming just a bit more essential than her need for skin-to-skin contact. She blinked. The door had reappeared; a grin fought its way across her face as a wicked plan entered her mind. She pushed herself off the bench, crossing to the door. She paused, shooting the rather pitifully confused Doctor a brilliant smile.

"I guess the lipstick proved its mettle," she said cheerfully. "It's always good to test these 'kiss proof' brands. See you later then, Doctor!"

Turnabout, she decided as she left the kitchen, was absolutely fair play.