Knowing he shouldn't, he opens the door and steps inside. Knowing even better that he should absolutely go back to his own room and just take a cold shower, he sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the person sleeping in it. The duvet covers almost all of her – pulled up to her chin. Just a sleepy face and some blonde hair and a hand with knuckles against her cheek.

He tries not to breathe and wake her up. That would be bad. So bad.

What is he doing?

So he's feeling lonely. So he's had a nightmare.

So he dreamed she was eaten by a seven-foot fire hydrant with feet (then again, the Xarterians never did appreciate it when he'd called them that) right in front of him.

No excuse to intrude on her when she's sleeping, no excuse to sit there and impose on her privacy, no need to be so close to The Line...

He lies down beside her and thanks the TARDIS for equipping this room with a large bed. A whisper escapes his mouth before he knows it or can stop himself: "Rose..."


"Rose," she hears someone say. She cracks a bleary eye to inspect the intruder and closes it when no one's there. Must've imagined it.

Then something touches her hair and she knows this can't be just part of her dreams, because she was dreaming about running from seven-foot fire hydrants with teeth and they didn't seem keen on stroking her hair and stopping there.

She opens both eyes now, surprised that she still can't see the culprit.

When she turns her face, she realises that she couldn't see the mystery visitor because he is lying down and not sitting up and that it is the Doctor and he is looking both horrified – probably at waking her up – and miserable.

Instead of saying anything, she sleepily uncurls the blanket from around herself and slides to fall back asleep on his chest. Too late – or early – for questions, but they'll both sleep better this way.


He'll definitely sleep better this way, if he manages to fall asleep again. Right now he wants to know how or what he's done to deserve this. To deserve Rose. This young, silly, innocent, lovely, beautiful, brilliant, brave, loyal, sleepy person who didn't say anything when she found him in her bed, and did nothing but mould herself at his side to comfort him.

He should leave now, now that he's assured she's alive and uneaten. Maybe if he's lucky she won't remember him visiting her tonight...

But that would mean moving and surely then he'd wake her up anyway, so it's better for both of them if he stayed, isn't it? Yeah.

He loves her.


She loves him, and he's here and she's pretending to be asleep but really she doesn't think she'll be able to close her thoughts anytime soon.

If she falls asleep he'll leave eventually and she'll wake up alone and they'll spend tomorrow pretending everything's as usual but really being awkward because usual would mean they didn't end up in a bed together.

But she can't really do anything anyway. Can't just wake up and shag him or wake up and kiss him and shag him or even really just tell him she loves him, and then maybe shag him.

She screws her eyes tightly shut and thinks of the fire hydrants to chase the images of a second ago out of her mind. If there is a hell, she's at the top of the admissions list.


If there is a hell, he's going straight there, he decides, shaking his head slightly.

This girl is in his care and she's not even twenty and he's supposed to keep her safe and take care of her; he promised her mum.

Well, not promised, but he knows Jackie will kill him all the same.

She's not even awake and possibly not even aware that he's there and all he can think about is how she would feel pressed against him, if they were wearing less clothes... or no clothes...

He shuts his eyes. Honestly, Doctor. That cold shower might do you good now.

He ends up imagining her in the shower.


In a shower, or against a wall somewhere in the TARDIS, against the console or on the floor, in the library, the wardrobe, maybe even a bed...

Straight to hell, Rose Tyler.

Then she feels him squeeze just a little where his hand is resting and she doubles over, and her head lands very near his abdomen and she raises it back up quickly. When she turns to look at him she notices she's very close to The Line now, so she breaks the silence. "Sorry. Ticklish. Don't squeeze."

And she plans to lie back down when he doesn't say anything in response but he's looking at her like that, and she can't.

Late-night staring contest, okay, that's all it is. Not wet or hot or naked images, none at all...

When a vision only desperate measures can chase away floats to the front of her mind she impulsively plunges in and kisses him.


She kisses him, and he kisses back because he can't not, and then, between the wrestling of their arms and tongues and lips, he somehow he ends up on top of her. He tears his lips off hers when he gets a rare clear-headed moment and tries to think as she replaces hers on his skin and starts setting fire to his jawline and neck.

This is Rose.

Yes, this is Rose and he loves her and she's cooperating, hell, she started this and she's alive and hasn't been eaten by aliens and damn it.

"Rose," he successfully grunts after a minute of trying.

She makes a throaty sound in response – "Hmm?" – without even taking her mouth of his earlobe, and that makes it even worse.


She knows perfectly well that she should have just answered instead of moaning like that. That's not going to get them anywhere.

Well, actually, stopping wouldn't get them anywhere and this will, so she ignores his following attempts at rationality. "Don't spoil it," she whispers into his ear and trails back to his mouth, where his lips respond as if he's just been waiting to reclaim hers.

Funny how she's in control and he's on top, trying to be all Time-Lord-like, unsuccessfully. He seems to obey.

His jumper is off after a moment of fumbling but they find each other again and work the buttons on her shirt, panicked like the universe will implode if there isn't more skin to touch soon. She runs a hand over his smooth chest – how long has she wondered what that would feel like?

He lets her finish unfastening the buttons after undoing the top half, apparently not very patient and he dips his head to trail a few wet kisses between her breasts before moving to take one in his mouth, between his teeth, where his tongue is just so good and she can't think anymore...


He knows that exact moment when she loses control because she stops breathing evenly and actually rips off the last button before wrestling off the piece of cloth, moaning and arching her back and runs her hands over his head and shoulders as he runs one of his up the inside of her thigh.

Then she reaches down to the front of his trousers and a tad unskilfully unfastens buttons and zippers and whatever else is down there making it difficult - it's a relief because they were becoming a somewhat confining...

He kisses his way back up, pausing on her collarbone and her pulse and then her lips are so passionate and full under his.

And when he glides carefully into her she breathes his name against his lips and pushes up to meet his rhythm and cries when he does just what she wants. Moans when he returns his attention to her nipple and then to her shoulder and leaves every nerve ending tingling with electricity.

And when she cries his name one last time and he moans hers, he relaxes against her and kisses her soundly before sliding to lie down next to her.


It takes her a minute before all the white lights and fireworks he's just made her see and feel recede into the background. Then she opens her eyes.

Can't quite believe this just happened, even as she pushes all the stray clothing – sloppily pulled off in frantic need for touch – off the bed.

He looks so unreadable when she looks over that for a second she's afraid he's going to apologise of do something equally horrible, but instead he asks, "You all right?"

"Yeah," she says, breaking into a smile, realising she hasn't caught her breath yet. "Love you," she dares to add.

She knows she's not sorry when his face breaks into a grin and he nuzzles her neck. "Love you too."


He should hate himself for what he's just done. He should bring her back to Jackie and turn himself in to the Earth police for being a paedophile or kidnapper or something – though if he's sentenced to a few hundred years, as criminals sometimes are on that small planet, they'll be quite surprised to see him complete his sentence – or at least resolve never to do this again, but he can't bring himself to do any of that.

"I had a nightmare," he finally remembers and supplies an explanation so she doesn't carry on thinking he came in here tonight in hopes of shagging her.

"Isn't that the sort of thing you say before we do this?" she asks, teasing.

"Well, hardly could, once you were occupying my mouth..."

"Uh huh."

She goes back to occupying his mouth.


If hell is like this, they should definitely do this more often.