(yes, shameless…smut/fluff. I don't know what to call it. D: project avalanche died, but there's still going to be a sequel, don't worry. I wasn't satisfied with the plot I had laid out for PA, because Ten/Rose have some problems that I feel like are just too… permanent? I don't know, it just didn't feel right. If you want to know what was GOING to happen, personal message me. And I'll tell you. Meanwhile, a much prettier sequel is coming. I'm assuming since reviews are in short order that everyone's as busy as me, so I won't feel too bad about the wait then. Enjoy this while you're waiting, assuming you are. ThatKid 3 )
He pushed her back against the counter, their kisses now more like just collisions of open, panting mouths. He gave into a burning temptation and shoved his hands up beneath her blouse, finding that the slightest caress of his thumbs across her cleavage drew a moan from her lips. Her skin was warm and soft, her lips yielding to his nips and insistent plundering, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.
Rose was really having trouble understanding their situation. Whether from lack of air or because all of her blood was rushing determinedly away from her head, she was quite confused. That didn't stop her from kissing him back, letting her body take over, and concentrating on his gloriously long, solid body pressed against her, pinning her to the kitchen counter in more ways than one.
His walls, the ones he'd had up for as long as he could remember, were crumbling. He knew they would- everything did, after all- but he had expected to be able to rebuild them. That was proving impossible, especially since his regeneration. This body was much harder to control. He was more physically attracted to Rose than a Timelord was ever supposed to be to anyone, and he couldn't say why. No, that's not true. It was because she was beautiful, brilliant, and just too easy to love. Love. Yes, he loved her. It was true. No denying it anymore. That simple fact crumbled his walls even further.
She felt as if something had snapped in him. She could see now that they were heading for this all along, and she wasn't scared, though she was sure he was trying to scare her off. Truth be told, the growl that vibrated through him as she tore off his suit jacket was anything but scary. It sent a shiver up and down her spine, but it was a thrill. He wasn't going to get rid of her that easily.
He wasn't entirely sure he could stop even if she asked him to. His shirt was taking far too long to remove, so he tore at it desperately, buttons twanging off, as Rose undid his tie almost agonizingly slowly. He rubbed his hands up her arms to her shoulders, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin from his touch, and their eyes met. Hers were dark and almost seemed to plead with him. He leaned forward and kissed her, framing her face with his hands, taking his time, memorizing the taste of her.
She was trying to bake. It wasn't working out well. Granted, learning from Jackie, that was to be expected. But surely biscuits weren't supposed to be that black on the bottoms? She frowned, shoved her hands in the apron pockets and absent-mindedly licked the leftover dough off the spoon she had used to shape the biscuits before they'd gone in the oven. Somehow, she could feel his precencse, and she turned to see him in the doorway, wearing a look that at once scared and excited her.
She would never forget it, that look.
She twined her fingers in his hair, just barely scraping his scalp with her fingernails, drawing an almost feral sound from him that she felt vibrate against her neck as their lips pulled apart. He had one arm braced around her waist now, the other out to steady them against the counter. She was sitting entirely up on it, now, and he was tall enough that she was just about at his waist if she scooted close enough. She did so and wrapped a leg around him, drawing him closer, grinning wickedly.
His eyes shot open, dark velvet, and the hand that had been grasping her waist moved to completely remove her top, tickling at her ribcage. She gave a small squeal and moved to avoid his fingers, but he flattened his palm between her shoulders and closed the distance between them again, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her jawline, her neck, and her throbbing pulse point, feeling that her heartbeat was just as fast as his. He unclipped her bra and pulled away to let it fall off of her.
He wasn't sure exactly what it was about the sight of her in an apron that set him over the edge. Maybe it was the bit of dough at the corner of her mouth, maybe it was the shock in her honey-brown eyes, and maybe it was just Rose herself, but regardless, he rushed to her, unable to control himself any longer, and their lips met in a desperate crash, need pouring from him to her and back as she responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck, not even questioning what had happened as he lifted her up.
He let out a long, shuddering breath, taking the sight of her in. She almost blushed, but there was barely enough time to before she had made up her mind and reached out to him, tracing the contours of his face with a feather-light touch. He was honestly the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen, and he was only half naked. He leaned into her touch and tilted his head to catch her fingers with his lips. She avoided his attempts to capture her digits and instead cupped the back of his neck with her hand, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear.
"It really feels as though we're both wearing too many clothes," she whispered.
He shuddered. Her breath was hot and moist and she was so close to him, so close, but barely touching him. The only parts of them touching was where her hand touched his neck. He turned his head to gaze at her, both of them falling silent for what felt like an eternity, in which he easily could have drowned in the affection and desire that warmed her gaze. He managed to reply, "We'll have to fix that, won't we, then?" and pulled away.
They busied themselves with their respective pants- his trousers, her jeans, his boxers, her knickers- and when they faced each other again, she had both feet on the cool tile floor and they froze.
He was the first to speak. "Rassilon," he breathed, feeling his hearts flutter in his chest, "You are beautiful." She blushed and looked down at her feet, and so was taken by surprise when he wrapped his arms around her waist and closed the space between them, breathing harshly, one hand trailing down her thigh, the other tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck.
There had been many times Rose Tyler had been struck breathless, thoughtless, speechless by the Doctor. The first few times it was those cold blue eyes, endless, holding all sorts of things she imagined she might one day understand. Then it was the gaze that he gave her- the kind of look that seemed to assure her that she was the most wonderful, utterly perfect thing that had ever happened to him. When he regenerated, she fancied she could read some of the things she found in those deep brown eyes. Time and Space, loneliness, pain, hope, anguish, and sometimes, a glimpse of something that was at least akin to love. She would memorize his face, that perfect smile, the dimples that accompanied it, the many freckles, the crinkled brow. She didn't want to forget, and, somehow, their differences in species faded until it was a vague blur of memory that meant nothing more to her than skinned knees, flat concrete playgrounds, shouted arguments. It meant nothing. The looks he gave her meant everything, and the only word she remembered was his name.
She closed her eyes and let her body sink into his, loving the smoothness of his skin against hers, the double-thump of his hearts. They stayed like that for a moment, locked together, neither wanting to move, and then she kissed him. His response lightened as he lifted her again, this time allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist and stay there. She shouldn't have been surprised to find that he was hard- she was aroused, too- but she was, and had to shift to be more comfortably resting against him.
"Why did I wait so long to do this?" he wondered out loud, holding her tightly, leaning her against the counter as he had before so that his hands could roam. Her legs remained around his waist. She shook her head at him, as if to say, 'I don't know', and reached out to take him in hand.
Shocks of pleasure rippled through him at her touch and his eyes squeezed shut as he let her explore, feeling for all the world that he was about to burst at the seams. She was being too gentle; the pressure on his member was hardly decreasing. He was, in fact, more aroused than he had thought possible. He opened his eyes to see her concentrating, and reached down to take her hands gently in his own, stopping her mid-stroke. She looked up at him as if confused.
She wasn't sure why he'd stopped her until he reached out and cupped one breast, rubbed the pad of his thumb over the nipple, causing a spasm to shoot right through her, the throb between her thighs growing more and more unbearable. The message was clear- it's my turn.
It was remarkably hard to ignore her, to be honest. Not her as a companion, but that nagging voice in the back of his head kept on suggesting things they could be doing instead of running, safe in the dark rooms of the TARDIS. He couldn't be sure, even, if it was the TARDIS herself suggesting those things. His ship, after all, did act like a link to his subconscious, and when he started fantasizing, well, it was hard to deny. At certain times it was harder than ever to control the impulse to do something stupid. Like if she gave him one of those pouty smiles, he had to refrain from kissing her, running his tongue over those perfect lips. And when she dropped her gaze to her feet, letting her hair fall in front of his face, he used all of his willpower not to reach out and brush those strands of hair away, because he feared any touch would destroy him completely.
He drank in every moan and purr of approval she made as he explored both breasts, finding the spots that seemed to be the most pleasurable, with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, whatever did the trick. He waited until she was practically begging him for release, and then, wrapping one arm around her, the let his other hand wander between her legs, finding her eager and ready for him.
The moment he thrust into her, she was lost to everything. He was talented with those fingers- he pounded deep into her, as deep as he could go, and twisted at just the right time, hitting a pleasure point, sending her into sweet oblivion. She was sure she was babbling incoherently, but she couldn't concentrate, and besides, all she wanted to thing about was the Doctor, in her, around her, with her in the most intimate way they'd ever been. She nearly screamed when his thumb grazed her clit, her hands having found his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin. She rocked against him, needing him further inside her, harder, just there, and he moved with her, breathing with her, the two of them completely in sync.
She came, tumbling into dark explosions of pleasure, her head tossed back, crying his name, clenching around him. He moved slower, and, when she had finished, pulled out of her.
When she had recovered completely, she opened her eyes to see him stroking himself, an anguished look on his face. She stopped his hands and shooed him away, meeting his gaze, and he understood.
She had all of time and space to explore with him, beside him, but all she really wanted to do was explore him. His mind, his memories, his feelings, his body. She wanted to know every inch and fiber of him, her Doctor, so that she could feel as if she understood. Even if she knew, deep down, she never would. And he loved her for that, for wanting to share that burden, for wanting to be there for him, even if it was more impossible than it seemed.
Then again, nothing is impossible.
Shifting slightly, they positioned themselves better, and then he entered her, eyes closing in bliss. She was tight and smooth around him as they moved together again, her pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to his neck, his jaw, giving sharp little tugs on his ear with her teeth, smoothing her hands on his back. Her name dripped from his lips- a prayer, a warning, a beginning, a promise- he wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but she seemed to understand. Their foreheads pressed together, she rested her fingertips just in the hollows on either side of his head. Though she wasn't a telepathic creature, and there was no way she knew what that was going to do to him, he had the same physical reaction as if she were of his own species. He gripped her shoulders and kissed her, taking his time, feeling himself at the edge, and then he came with a sound he would always deny, that Rose insisted sounded something like 'mgurph'(he liked to think he was more poetic than that, even when she was stripping all power of speech from him).
She clung to him as he emptied himself inside her, running her hands once again through his hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, his freckled nose. He let out one final, ragged breath, and opened his eyes.
"I love you," he breathed, tangling his fingers in her hair as her hands fell to his shoulders. She smiled at him, that contagious, beautiful smile he liked to think she saved just for him.
"I love you, too," she murmured, and kissed him again.
That night they lay curled close together in his bed, his chest to her back, she wearing her ruined dress shirt and her knickers, and him wearing just his boxers. They didn't need to speak; all that needed to be said had been said. Instead they relaxed to the sound of their combined heartbeats combining in a strange, unpredictable staccato, which lulled Rose to sleep. As he stroked her hair and listened to her breathe, the Doctor, too, finally slept.
Satisfied, the TARDIS hummed to herself and twirled gently through Time like an interstellar carousel, keeping them safe and sound inside her protecting walls.