As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. This month's May Challenges have been added because... well, I had a reason and I'm sure it was a good one. The new challenges will run through the end of May. If you'd prefer to do April's, feel free. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review. Stories are linked on my LJ.
This fic was written back in February for the birthday of our brilliant Cordelia_Lear. First time posting to FFnet.
The Doctor snatched Rose into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, her warmth, her life. She had been dead, dead, and it was all his fault and that Dalek, his suicidal mortal enemy had been right. She was the woman he loved, loved irrationally, loved with every fiber of his being, loved in spite of how much it would hurt, how long it would ache, loved in absolute defiance of everything he had ever known or been taught.
She, Rose Tyler, was miraculously alive, and he loved her, and even this crazy, desperate hug couldn't bring her close enough. He needed to not just believe she was alive, but know it as concrete fact, to feel with every inch of his skin every inch of hers. He turned his head, his lips finding the place where her pulse throbbed in her throat, her life beating beneath his mouth and then his tongue. Her only response to this was a low, soft moan, and then her hips were pushing against his, trying to get closer, trying as desperately as he was.
They weren't going to make it back to the TARDIS. They weren't even going to make it out of this corridor. This was too urgent, entirely too now now now essential. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the sonic screwdriver, and sent up a signal that shorted out every CCTV camera in the room. Possibly he'd hit it harder than he meant and possibly it had wiped out every camera in a ten mile radius. He couldn't have cared less if he actually tried to do.
That little nuisance handled, he let his lips trail up her neck and then across her jaw. She tilted her head and met him half way, and then his lips were covering hers, his fierce and hungry, hers soft and wet and inviting.
He plundered her mouth, seeking every secret treasure, and she met his kiss with teeth and tongue and fire. He could sink into her and drown and maybe he would, but that would be fantastic. When he pulled away from her, he studied her eyes for some sign that she didn't want this, for any sign of fear or reluctance. He would stop if she needed him to do, really he would. He really really hoped she didn't need him to do. "Rose, is this all right?"
"It's perfect, Doctor," she replied, her small hands under his jacket, tugging at his jumper.
"I just want to be sure you're..."
"Just shut up," she interrupted insistently, her hands almost burning his cool skin as she rubbed them up his chest under the jumper. "Just... just, please, now. We can talk next time, yeah?"
"Fantastic," the Doctor decided, and pulled away from Rose to drop his jacket on the floor.
She dropped her jeans and her knickers with them. Well, no one could say Rose Tyler didn't act on something once she'd made up her mind, could they. She kicked the jeans out of the way, then attacked his belt buckle with one hand, the other still questing under his jumper.
Meanwhile, the Doctor guided her against the nearest wall, while his fingers traced light circles over one nipple through her shirt. Rose arched her back, her breasts jutting proudly toward him and he lowered his mouth to tease the one he wasn't already fondling.
Her hands found the button fly of his jeans, and he grinned as she traced his length through the denim. The Doctor felt like he was dying, like he was going to regenerate on this very spot if he wasn't allowed to bury himself within her wet heat. Rose smelled like rain and he needed her like a desert. Respiratory bypass or no, he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Her breath was coming in short, sharp pants and, as he groaned, long and low, it quickened further.
The Doctor pushed himself against her, hips grinding into hers. Seizing her lips in a kiss, he reached behind her and managed to work open the catch of her bra, pulling away from her mouth only to shove it and her shirt up over her head. Rose was naked before him, every inch of her skin visible to his hungry eyes, but it still wasn't enough.
He kept her hands above her head with one hand, tore open the fly of his jeans with the other. She bucked her hips toward him. "Doctor, Doctor... please, let me touch you. Doctor?"
He watched her writhe, his captured prize, fascinated with how even his desperate, pleading gaze seemed to bring her to higher arousal. Rose wriggled and squirmed and tried to escape the hand holding onto hers, not to get away from him, but just to touch him. "You're so beautiful," he told her. "So warm and sexy and sweet. I can't tell you. It's been so hard not to touch you."
"So do it," she shot at him. "Right here, right now. That's what you said."
The Doctor grinned a little whimsically at the memory. "So I did," he admitted. He released her hands.
Rose immediately shoved his jeans out of the way and seized his throbbing shaft. Her hands were so hot, and she was alive, alive, and touching him, stroking him like he'd only dared to imagine deep in the nights when she slept. He jerked back from her, seized her leg and hauled it up over his hip.
Rose was alive, Rose hadn't been killed, she was alive and his and he loved her. The Doctor positioned himself carefully, wanting to slow himself down just a little, just enough to be sure that she felt only pleasure.
She wasn't interested in going slow, though. Wriggling her back against the wall to gain purchase, tightening her leg around him, she arched sharply toward him. "Doctor, inside me, now!" Rose insisted.
And he could never have refused her anything. He caught her hip and her leg in his hands, then arched sharply to thrust himself inside her. Rose cried out, her internal muscles clenching tight. "Fuck," the Doctor moaned as her body accommodated his girth. She was so wet, unbelievably slick, but so tight, too. The heat, her human body temperature higher than his own, was like a volcano loosed in his blood. He had never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted this, wanted her, and now he had her and he was never, NEVER going to let her go.
A little frantic fumbling and Rose brought one arm up to hook around the Doctor's neck. The other hand she lowered beneath his, and rested it firmly on his bum. He couldn't catch his breath to say a word, respiratory bypass be damned, he was groaning and grunting and - yes, yes, yes - fucking her like he'd always wanted, celebrating their survival in the most primitive, definitive way. The Doctor caught Rose's other leg and dragged it up around his waist, pressing her harder into the wall with his pelvis, angling his thrusts to be certain he was grinding against that little button that he knew required stimulation for her release.
There was an explosion building inside the Doctor, and he was going to take Rose with him when he went.
Unless she went first. Rose was muttering and screaming in alternating breaths, urging him on with beautiful, wanton words, with the way she bounced and rubbed herself against him. And then she froze, every muscle in her body tightening, her nails digging into his bum and the back of his hair. She shook and clenched at him, inside and out, and the Doctor tried to keep steady while she shouted her release and called him her god.
The tightness, the frantic clenching of her internal muscles, the strength of her orgasm as it pulsed around him, pulled him over the precipice with her. Instantly, he was coming, flashes of light and fire exploding behind his eyes as he buried himself to the hilt and groaned her name.
Stillness fell over them in the aftermath of their personal storm. The Doctor held her tight, his precious, living, breathing Rose, and wept into her hair as she gentled him. Gradually, the trembling passed and they slowly disentangled themselves. He chuckled lightly when her knees buckled, and caught her arm to hold her up while she grinned proudly at him. They dressed much more slowly than they'd managed to get as undressed as they did, laughing at each other's unsteadiness and stopping every button or so to trade soft, intimate kisses.
"Take me home," Rose told him, when she finally slid into her shoe. (It was halfway down the corridor, somehow.) "Take me back to the stars."
The Doctor knew he looked like an idiot, grinning like that, but he didn't care. She was alive and he was alive, and they were here to share that with each other. A wicked thought passed over him. "How 'bout I see how many stars I can take you under?" he questioned.
Rose shivered. "Sounds like a plan."
When they got back to the museum and found the TARDIS waiting for them, that little idiot Adam was there, frantically telling them that the bunker was about to be buried in concrete and they really needed to leave. "You'd probably better run, then," Rose said and stepped into the TARDIS.
"What are you doing with that box?" Adam wondered.
"You remember the window Van Statten thought we came through?" the Doctor said.
"This is it." He patted the side of his marvelous ship. "Window to every world there is."
"Bye, Adam," Rose called.
The Doctor grinned and shut the doors behind them.