Disclaimer: Not mine.
Silence is a rare thing for the Doctor. Enjoyable silence, that is. He'd had plenty of non-enjoyable silences, the kind that happens when you just can't make your mouth say what your head, or hearts, seem to be screaming. Or the kind that lingers, blocking your thoughts and making you feel hopeless. He'd had quite enough of those to last him, thank you very much.
This, though, this was nice. All worlds and peoples were safe and sound for this one pocketful of a moment. There were no screams and no running-for-lives. There were no puzzles or hard decisions beyond what socks to wear. (He'd finally chosen the star-patterned ones, after much deliberation.) It was just him and a book no one had cared to read for a very long time, lazing about.
Yup, he muses to himself, silence is a good thing… So, naturally, it has to come to a rather abrupt end.
"Oi, Doctor! Where'd you run off to?" The words bombard him, shattering his focus and blowing his cool. His book skitters out of his hand and he shoots to his feet, smoothing a hand across the back of his neck. Rose rambles in then, her usual grin slapped across her face, holding a steaming mug of something. She plops down beside him, sloshing her mug so that a tiny drop of the mystery liquid splatters onto her arm. She winces for a tiny moment, more out of shock than any real pain.
"Are you alright?" He asks, eyes trained on the slightly red spot as she traces a finger around it, swiping up the stuff and slurping it off. He pretends not to notice when she swirls her tongue around her fingers. She pretends not to notice him not noticing. Neither of their efforts fool the other.
She waves off his worried eyes with a different sort of grin and a wink, focusing on the frothy mixture in front of her. She takes a cautious sip; barely letting the liquid touch her lips, making sure it's not too hot. Satisfied, she chugs it in. She darts out her tongue to collect the foam that sits on her upper lip and he tries in vain to focus on the words scattered across the page of the book that suddenly don't seem as interesting as before. She wiggles around, still tracing the outline of her lips with her tongue, and her eyes dart back and forth between him, his book, and her mug.
"What're you looking at?" He mumbles, one hand pushed against his mouth and propping his head up, arm on the side of the couch. She rolls her eyes, but looks away, shifting slightly closer to him and leaning forward, tucking one foot underneath her. His perfect silence is back now, and he's fairly certain it's just a little bit more golden than before. Rose laps up her caffeine concoction and he finally makes a tiny, little bit of progress with his book. He's sure he's read at least a full page since she's joined him on the couch. At this moment, that seems like an incomprehensible amount.
She runs her foot back and forth across the carpet after placing her mug down, her fuzzy socks attracting static electricity like pink, heart covered magnets. He starts slightly was her foot brushes the leg of his trousers and the air crackles between them. He can't help but notice that not all of the energy is from the charged up socks. Once again, his book plummets to the floor. He doesn't notice.
She fidgets and shimmies, making rustling noises and ruffling up her hair where it rests against the back of the couch. She's stomping all over his already shattered concentration, grinding it into dust. She thrusts her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes out, and then curling them under. He begins to wonder what color, if any, her toes are painted under those hideous socks. This new mystery consumes him, intriguing him further than that now tedious seeming book ever had.
Next, she kicks one foot out, then flicks the other one after it. She switches it, back and forth, creating a pattern that stirs the air and makes tiny "whoosh"-ing noises that about drive him barking mad. "Can't you ever just sit still?" He fires off the words, the smile not all the way hidden behind his hand, and more than evident in his sparkling eyes, takes the sting out of his words. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth for a few more minutes, seeing how far she can push him before he snaps.
She grows bored before she can get a reaction out of him. "Is it just me, or is this couch really uncomfortable today?" She slaps it with her hands, and the leather makes an echoing smack! sound with every tap of her hand. He looks at her questioningly, bouncing softly up and down on the cushions, testing them.
"It seems fine to me. Perfectly couch-y couch." He ruffles her hair playfully and laughs, louder than loud per his usual style, as she immediately reaches to smooth it down.
"Maybe it's just my side. I'm sure yours is just peachy." She grumbles, snarky looks sneaking their way from her eyes over to him. He notices those looks and they're a catalyst, furthering his already good mood.
"I wonder who thought up that expression. Peachy? What makes a peach better than any other fruit? What makes it special? Why not say "apple-ly", oh, that does sound rather weird, doesn't it? But, how 'bout "limey" or," his eyes light up with excitement and she lets out a small giggle. "How 'bout "banana-ish?" That just rolls off the tongue!" As if to prove his point, he whispers the word and slides his tongue out, then he blathers on, oblivious to her exasperated looks. "But, back to my original point. Finally. You can have my side, it you're so sure it's so much better." He leans his head towards her, half grinning, but making no move to get up. "Come on over, Rose, over to the good side of the couch.
She's not quite sure if he's teasing or not, but she rolls to her feet anyway, wiggling a hand in front of his face to help him up. He grabs it, but he pulls before she can, and then she's landing tight on his lap, staring straight into his dancing brown eyes and feeling his cool breath on her face. She has the desire to inhale, so she ducks her head down, resting it on his shoulder. Her heart is racing and she's embarrassingly sure he can feel it. Her embarrassment fades away as quickly as it popped up when she notices that his are beating just as fast. She glances up at him, emboldened, and presses a gentle kiss to the spot where his jaw and neck meet. A soft groan reaches her ears, and it fills her with wonder.
How did this normal day turn into this? She doesn't have time to answer as his hands reach for her, pulling her up until he can once again see her face. His breath is dragging, in and out in a pattern that drives them both crazy, and she leans towards him. He grips her upper arm with one hand while the other touches and traces its way to the back of her neck. He holds her steady and the next thing she knows his mouth is on hers and her head is whirling.
He slides a leg over her and, as its passing, he feels a delicious sort of friction and lingers, just a bit, until Rose's breathing slows down that little bit that he can't stand. Then, he's hovering over her, letting every part of his body touch every part of hers that it can. He won't deny it that. Not anymore. He hadn't meant for the afternoon to get away from him like it had, but he couldn't deny that he liked the direction it was heading. Couldn't say he hadn't imagined lying like this with her. He'd imagined this countless times, playing it and replaying it over and over in the privacy of his own head. His well-thought fantasies didn't hold a candle to this spur of the moment piece of perfection.
Now she's stretched out over the couch, legs wrapped up in his. He licks and nibbles and she's never thought his tongue would feel that good. After a fair amount of time, he pulls back, a glittering fire in his eyes that makes her stomach quiver. "Now what do you think? Does this side of the couch suit you?" He kisses her again, and it's several more minutes until she can answer.
"This side is definitely more comfortable than mine. Makes you wonder though, how much more comfortable is your bed than mine?" She means it as a joke. Proving to herself, and to him, that she was handling this, but a devious smile curls his lips. He wonders just how much more she could handle and it sets his mind beating down a different track. He leans more of his weight on her and she writhes underneath him in a way that he's sure will be his undoing. He's up and off the couch in the next second, pulling her at a run behind him. She has a feeling that he's about to show her just how comfortable his bed can be.
Hours later, as she's heading toward the kitchen to pour out her mug that's long since gone cold, he picks up his abandoned book. With a slightly guilty glance at its cover, he props it back into its place on the bookshelf. He's found far better ways to fill his free time.