Author's Note: Hey there! This is the missing bit between the Doctor and Rose that takes place in the middle of Chapter 11 in "Words of the Mind". You don't necessarily have to read it, but I would recommend it. Enjoy!

Summary: A closer look to what happened between the Doctor and Rose at the end of "Words of the Mind".



He just stands there and smiles. Smiles because it feels so bloody good to let those muscles flex themselves for once, and not force them into action.

It hasn't been much more than two hours since he threw open the door and found them there- found his Rose and his son, his brilliant son. His eight year old son that has already had eight years of life that he'll never know about, and yet, despite all that, he already feels as if he knows so much about this child. This little boy- his son.

He already knows that his son is a ball of energy, one that can be hurled about, focused with precision accuracy at one point or let loose to bounce off every surface it can find. He expends every breath of air spurting out insights and questions, letting his intellect and curiosity go mad manipulating a language not complex enough for his thoughts with stunning perfection.

He feels her presence, her soft footsteps and the stir in the air behind him. He loves the feel of her arms wrapping around his waist and her forehead nudging his back. He smiles, even wider than he already has been, before regretfully moving her hands away and pulling her around to stand next to him. She's smiling at their son- their son… he still can't believe he has a son- even as she leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "You've raised a great kid."

"Your genes helped a lot."

"Must have been hard- raising an alien baby on your own."


"I'm sorry. I've missed you so much." She reaches up to kiss his neck and he can't help but feel his chest lighten at the familiarity of the action. "Do you think he'd be upset if I asked Donna to give him the grand tour?"

"If I didn't know better, Doctor; I'd say that you're trying to get me alone with you."

"No, hardly. I just don't want Jon to see what I want to do with you. Or Donna for that matter."

She smirks, but even as amusement quirks her brows, her pupils darken with desire. "I don't think Jon'll mind us ditching him, but Donna might."

"Nah… you think? Hey, Donna?"


"Do you think you could show Jon around?"

"I thought you'd want-" She looks over at them as she speaks and a soft, knowing smile covers her face when she sees them standing, his arm around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder. "Right. Hey, Jon? You want to see the rest of the TARDIS?"

"Yeah!" Jon's hopping up and rushing for the door, already having to stop and wait for Donna to catch up with him, before he notices that they're not moving. "Mum, Dad, you coming?"

"We'll catch up with you in a bit."

"Okay," he barely shrugs in response before he's off again.

Donna follows him but pauses in the doorway, leaning back to look over at them. "You owe me," she says to the Doctor and the two of them laugh, amusement tumbling off their lips.

As soon as they're alone, Rose turns out of his arms to be facing him. He watches the tips of her fingers brush over the soft silk of his tie, tugging at it, playing with it like she hadn't done for such a long time.

"I've missed doing this." Her voice is glowing when she finds his eyes. All he can do is study her face- study this face that he's missed for so long, the one he's seen in his dreams, the one that has been denied him for so long. She seems to be doing the same- studying this tenth face of his, remembering every detail she can find with her eyes. Soft, delicate fingers brush back hair from his eyes and slowly trail down his cheek. "Missing something," she mutters. His brows scrunch and she smiles, leaving him in wonder even as her fingers dig their way through his pockets. He smiles when he sees his glasses pinched between her fingers. She unfolds them and he holds still as she puts them on him. "Much better."

He brushes a few stray locks behind her ear, his hand cupping her cheek as he leans in, lips finding hers in a soft, sweet kiss. "I've really missed you," he says against her lips, forehead resting against hers.

"I know. Me too."

He's not prepared for her to take his face between her hands and pull him to her. Her kiss is deep and rushed- tongue and teeth clashing against each other- and quickly he catches up. And when they finally are able to break away from each other, even he is struggling to catch his breath, but she's not ready to stop. Her hands are moving into his hair and her lips are against his again. He matches her motions, tongue against tongue, his hands trailing down her back, holding her tighter, pulling her to him.

His hands find her hips, pushing away the fabric, desperate to find skin. Hers do the same, running over his chest and under his jacket lapels.

His lips are on her jaw, trailing wet, burning kisses down her neck, nipping at the base of her neck. His hands are brushing over skin, trailing over her back, and suddenly she whimpers and grabs his hands.

He stops kissing her, too confused in his heat of passion to do anything more than look at her. She kisses him, kisses away the fear of rejection, just before bringing his hands to her forehead. He doesn't have to pause to consider her request; he simply beams at her and eases himself into her mind. It's been a while for her, long enough for the sensation to become uncomfortable, but he doesn't see that in her face. He sees only the delight that his presence has brought her in the way her eyes fall closed and her lips part in a gasp.

He kisses her open lips and inches his tongue inside her mouth while his hand massages her neck and his other finds skin beneath her shirt. He sucks at her neck again and she's moaning into his ear, overwhelmed by him.

"We should probably move this to your room."

"Right. Yeah… Where is it?"

She laughs and pushes him teasingly. Her fingers brush over his, lacing them together, before pulling him along. It's hard- almost painful- for him not to touch her as they walk. His skin is burning, burning with the need and desire to touch her, to hold her.

Lips meet ever so soft lips, carefully one set parts the other, gaining access to suck and bite gently. But then, too quickly, they break away and she whimpers at the loss. He smirks first against her cheek and then against her jaw. He loves the soft noises she makes- when she moans hungrily, when she whimpers in frustration, when she gasps in pleasure, when she sighs in contentment. He loves more knowing that he's the one who causes those noises to escape her.

Her neck is undoubtedly his most favourite spot to taunt and tease and taste and anything else starting with a 't'. And, certainly, it's one of her most reactive spots- because now, as his lips suck on the sensitive skin, her eyes are becoming hooded, and as his teeth bare down her mouth falls into an 'o' and air rushes out in a gasp; when he lets his warm breath tickle the spot before his tongue replaces his lips her eyes fall shut and her moan echoes in his ear.

His hands don't even hesitate, they act on some secret order that his brain sent to them while he was busy focusing on her neck to notice that they're working their way under her shirt, taking in every inch of her warm skin, gliding over her delicate curves, feeling their way up to their ultimate goal before descending back down. It's right about then, when they've balled up the hem of her shirt and are staring to pull it steadily upwards that he realizes how useful his brain was being.

She doesn't need any prompting; she just holds his gaze, trusting him completely to take care of her, as her shirt is pulled over her head and almost immediately forgotten about, left to drift onto the floor.

And then he kisses her, not on the lips, but everywhere, because he can and because he wants to and because he wants to find the spots that make her sigh and make her eyes roll back and her lips part. And that's exactly what he does.

He starts back up at her neck, kissing his way from her jugular to the base of her neck and sucking his way over her clavicle. His lips stall right there- positioned right over her chest. He's just gazing at her gorgeous breasts, wanting so badly to touch and kiss and knead them, but he doesn't, not just yet.

Instead, he lowers himself to his knees. And now he's at the perfect height for his nose to tickle her belly and for his lips to graze over skin, finding where they want to explore. They stop, a little off to his right, where his tongue darts out to taste the area and his lips close around it, sucking and softly biting. And there it is- the sudden gasp that tells him her eyes have rolled back. So he does it again. And a third time. And then a fourth, just to ensure that he's left her marked, before his lips move on with their exploration.

First his tongue leads the way, licking and tasting its way back up, back towards where it'd very much like to be, before his lips take command and trail slow, soft kisses back down. They keep moving down, down and down following the path of freckles until there is no more path to follow.

That's when his hands return. Confident fingers push the button from its restraint and zip by zip more is exposed to willing lips and hands. And even more- so much more- inches into sight as his hands slowly strip her jeans from her body. Her legs are exposed to him and his hands can't resist running up them, and then back down them, before helping her step out of her jeans.

For a moment he just sits back on his feet as his lips consider their options. So much to explore, so much that interests them, and finally they settle on her right thigh. Lips and teeth and tongue share the discovery of her inner thigh, slowly biting and sucking their way up, closer and closer to her centre. It's right there, so close. He can smell how ready she is for him. And yet his lips move on, once again taking turns to journey down her other thigh, mapping their way to her knee. She whimpers, frustration clear in the breath that passes her lips, and once again he just smirks against her gorgeously bare skin.

And then he's standing, his lips back on her neck. His hands are running up her back, holding her closer to him, fingers working the clasp on her bra, desperate to remove it and rediscover the hidden territory. As soon as the material leaves her skin, it's forgotten and his hands are on her. Her lips part to gasp and he captures them, inhaling her moan as his much colder hands startle her nipples into pleasure.

It just doesn't seem right to keep her waiting any longer, leaving her to arch her back and bring exactly where she wants him to kiss even closer.

His lips latch onto the delicate skin and his tongue swirls around her erect nipple and the way her strangled gasp leaves her parted lips steals away one more tiny string from his hold on sanity.

He's incredibly unfocused, except when he's focused, one of those rare moments in his day when he devotes all of his energies into one objective- and there are certain qualities about Rose that he loves to focus on. One just happens to be her breasts. He could stay there for hours, sucking and tasting the sensitive flesh, scraping his teeth over her erect buds before his tongue valiantly soothes the flesh, listening for the hushed pants and soft moans that make him burn for her.

As much as he knows she's enjoying this, he knows it's driving her mad with need, growing desperate for him to touch her, to bring her to release.

The moment his mouth has left her breasts, her eyes crawl open and a soft complaint passes her lips. But he just smirks, thinking, calculating his next move, because- in truth- he has no idea where to go next. Until he remembers another point of interest that often holds his attention- the freckle on her belly.

She's smirking at him absently as he kisses his way through the valley between her breasts and down the smooth, flawless skin of her belly, stopping only once he's able to kiss her freckle. But kissing it's not enough- no, it needs to be kisses and bitten and sucked on until she's marked, until he's shown the world- but mostly just them- that she's his.

He doesn't know why he feels compelled to say something- maybe it's just because it's quiet and they're usually giggling and commenting. Which is why he smiles up at her from his squatting position at her hips, "I think your freckle needs a friend." She laughs at that and just her smiling, her eyes lighting up with laughter makes him smile and want her so much more.

And that's why he can't wait any more, as he had planned on doing. His hands trail down her sides, snagging her knickers as they travel lower and lower, moving down her legs. His hands let them fall to the ground, giving her the freedom to push them aside, leaving her gloriously naked in front of him.

"You're beautiful," he says softly, but he doubts that she heard him because his nose is buried in her curls and he kisses them after he speaks.

He's come to yet another moment when he has no idea how to proceed. He hadn't really thought through the logistics of this but he wants to taste her and so he tried one slow, soft experimental lick. Her knees tremble and her hands clamp down on his shoulders. So he does it again, once and then twice and then a third before he decides to stop and stand up. She's too disoriented with need that she doesn't complain, just lets him move her to his whim. In three motions his shirt is stripped off and thrown somewhere, he's standing behind her, and his arms are around her. His left hand plays with her breast, taunting her nipple to an even harder peak. At the same time, his right trails lower, desperate and aching to touch her, but moving slowly, wanting to trace her skin and leave a line of fire in its wake. And his lips, never ones to be idle, have latched onto her ear, encouraged by every moan and sigh and whimper and arch of her back; they share with his teeth and tongue, alternating between sucking and biting and licking until they leave her ear raw and her body panting.

And finally, finally his fingers have reached their destination. Finally he can feel how wet he's made her, how ready she is for him. One lone finger slides over her folds and she arches her body into the contact. Her head falls onto his shoulder and he kisses her neck just as that finger slips into her.

Her breath rushes out of her and her body rocks into his hand, but he doesn't leave his finger in there for long. He pulls out, running it up and down along her folds, searching for that spot- the one he can never find, but he's determined. And then her breath hitches and he knows he's got it. His middle finger circles the bud and suddenly her breathing has no rhythm at all- and it's absolutely intoxicating. He lets his eyes fall closed and he focuses on only two things: her erratic breathing and soft moans that are filling his ears and the sensation of her wet, warm centre beneath his fingers.

His finger plunges back inside of her- pushing as deep as it can reach, finding that spot that catches her breath. It slides back down, running along another spot of infinite interest, one that makes her body jerk into his finger. And then it pushes back up, deep inside her.

He should just let her come, he should be nice, because he can hear the plea in her shaky gasps, but he wants to make it last. It's been so long since the last time he's touched her like this; he never wants it to end. She's squirming in his grasp, arching into his hand and leaning back into him for support. Her hands are reaching behind her, grasping his hips hard enough that he's pretty sure she'll leave bruises.

Two fingers slip inside her tight warmth, plunging deep and kneading any spot they can find.

Then she surprises him. Her hand grasps his, forcing it to stop. She doesn't give him time to ask or keep pushing her towards the edge, she just spins in his arms and pushes him onto the bed and he pulls her down with him. "I need you in me. Please." He can feel it falling off her- the need and the desire and the desperation to feel him, to feel the most unbelievable connection of her life that she's been waiting for all these years.

It's been so long and the simple feel of her hot flesh against his makes him realize just how much he needs her. He plunges deep within her, breathless already from the intensity of that single action. Her nails are digging into his back and her breathing is wild against his neck.

He flares inside of her and it takes his breath away how her face slacks and her mouth falls open to draw in breath and every ounce of love and desire and heartbreak she feels for him erupts within his mind and heart. She's gorgeous.

He's rocking into her, pushing deeper and harder and faster, pushing her breaths faster and making her body tense and relax until spasming against him. And it feels so good- so wonderfully good- when suddenly her hands are gripping him so tightly and her body has completely tensed and her lips let out one more moan. It's the last thing holding his grip on sanity and he explodes, his mind and thoughts and emotions filling her body just as thoroughly as his seed.

Slowly he slides out of her, pulling her even closer to him, wrapping his arm around her. Softly into her hair, he sighs, "I love you."

He can feel her smile against his neck as she whispers back, "As I love you."