It's that time again! The April Support Stacie Author Auction is coming up this weekend. Admittedly, that's March, but time's in flux... Hey, it's a reason! *smiles* Buy me. You can get a thousand words for $20 bucks, if you're one of the first five! Or you can get 5000 words for the winning bid. Information can be found on my LJ, which has a link on my profile. If you need more, feel free to PM or send a message on my LJ. Come on, you know you want me to write your prompt! Others of your favorite authors for sale include KathrynShadow, Tardisistheonlywaytotravel, and Olfactory_Ventriloquism. Even more at the Auction site.

This fic was written as a birthday prezzie, but it's just a great thing for us girls. And it's hot! Hope you like it! First time posting on FFnet.

Girls Night In

Maybe it was because she missed Shireen today. Maybe it was because she couldn't tell Keisha or Suki anything about what was really going on in her life. Maybe it was because Mum still might bring tea and sympathy, but not before she also brought twenty tons of guilt and stress.

Maybe it was because Mickey would never speak to her again, or because Jack was out making a pull, or because the Doctor was too busy tinkering with the TARDIS to even notice her mood.

Whatever it was, Rose Tyler found herself in jim-jams and blankie, curled up on a plushy sofa, with a box of tissues, a warm mug of cocoa, and a cold pint of ice cream. "We'll have a girls' night in, just you and me," she told the TARDIS. A light panel near the door flashed warmly. Rose grinned.

The TARDIS was the very best sort of person to have with you on a girls' night in, really. She had the ability to keep cocoa warm, ice cream cold, and popcorn fresh, all at once. She rarely argued with you when you waxed philosophical, and never laughed at you when you started sobbing over something cheesy. As far as Rose knew - and she was certain she'd know if it were otherwise - the TARDIS never spilled secrets you confided to her, or even things you let slip after one to many glasses of wine. She never monopolized the conversation and usually only changed the subject when you were in danger of making yourself well and truly depressed. She had ways and ways and ways of cheering someone up.

Granted, she seemed to have multiple personalities and the one that ran the actual business of being a time machine appeared to ignore Rose, the Doctor, and even Jack. All the same, everything else about her was as warm, friendly, and welcoming as a grandmother who wanted to see more of her family.

All in all, the sentient time machine was probably one of the best friends Rose had ever had, and it was a really good night for an old movie and a good friend. "What do you think?" Rose asked. "Something romantic and beautiful and a bit old to me, what do you say?"

Star Wars started playing and Rose laughed aloud. "You've been around him too long," she announced. "This isn't romantic." Then she giggled harder. "Or are you talking about the romantic story of Han Solo and his one true love, the Millennium Falcon?"

The TARDIS made a thoroughly annoyed noise at her and chimed in disgust.

"Wrong tape?" Rose asked sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease. One of these days, you're gonna throw something at me."

The chiming twinkled an agreement at that, along with a rather detailed list of ways in which inanimate objects were too good for "organics", as she called both Rose and the Doctor. As nearly as Rose could tell, the TARDIS considered just about everyone "organic", although Rose had gotten to rather suspecting that the sentient machine might be harboring a crush on Jack.

Rose could sympathize. She knew the ex-Time Agent was hot enough to scorch, but she would only ever love him in a way that didn't involve sleeping with him. She wasn't stupid, no matter what the Doctor thought, and she knew a tom cat when she saw one. Still, the TARDIS was a big girl, too. They could, both of them, take care of themselves.

The TARDIS agreed with that, and there was the oddly tinted thought that organics and their reproductive practices were ridiculous, anyway. The TARDIS rather seemed to think that to refuse to indulge in an activity that was good for the health in many different ways was a stupidity of the sort only organics could possibly invent. Rose only survived being thought that sort of stupid because the TARDIS also thought the Doctor was that sort of stupid, and he was a lot older, more experienced, and more impressive.

Well, Rose assumed he was impressive, which technically opened a whole other kettle of fish. Laughing at herself, much to the ship's amusement, she settled back on the comfy sofa and waited to see what film they would watch.

What came on was American and classic and suited Rose's mood perfectly. Before the opening monologue was even finished, the young blonde was firmly ensconced, a spoonful of ice cream already half-way to her lips.

She sang along because the music was as familiar as the movie. She could have, technically, quoted it line for line. She told the TARDIS little snippets about things she remembered from different times that she had watched it with other friends. She got the impression that the ship found these stories completely delightful, in an 'organics are so silly' sort of way. When she mentioned that there'd been a time or two when she and Shireen had tried to dance like the movie, the chiming, jingling laughter from overhead was enough to warm Rose's heart completely through.

Go on, try it, the ship seemed to dare. The room cleared of furniture, the floor became soft. Rose hesitated. You're very good at it, the TARDIS reminded her, and Rose could see herself as she'd been, younger but determined to get the steps just right.

"All right, already," Rose agreed with a laugh. She bounced to her feet and the divan disappeared as well. "And don't you dare tell anyone when I fall on my arse!"

The film paused; the soundtrack switched on. Rose closed her eyes, fell into the motion and the music, and danced.

The film was about dancing like sensuality, moving so close and so intense and beautiful that it looked like erotic art as much as music interpretation. Her hips loose and swaying, her arms moving just so for balance and for sinuousness, Rose glided around the room. Her imaginary partners held her attention and just as quickly lost it, and all the while she wished for one man with all her heart.

She knew the TARDIS had the soundtrack looping by this point, but she let herself fall into the music. The words suited her too well - finally found someone to stand by me... you're the one thing I can't get enough of... It was just true, that was all. There was one person, and all his nine hundred years of baggage, and she couldn't get enough of his life, or of him.

He could dance like this, she knew it, could just tell by the way he moved every day, by the way he'd held her that one time he'd twirled her around his ship. Their bodies would fit together like two halves of a larger whole, his larger form framing her smaller one perfectly.

He would slip in behind her, just like this, and fit into the rhythm of the dance, one large, cool hand on her hip, the other encircling her... waist. What?

Rose nearly fell from the shock of the sudden embrace. She brought her elbow up to drive it back into Jack's solar plexus, not because she minded dancing with him, but because he had no business interrupting her when she was busy fantasizing about the Doctor - at least not without warning.

But the voice that spoke, low and compelling, against her ear, the one that stopped her in her tracks before she could decide to defend herself - that wasn't Jack. "Keep dancing, or I stop."

Rose's knees went weak at that dark sound, enough to keep her moving while she tried to figure out what the hell was going on. "St-stop what?" she gasped out.

There was a nearly-sinister sounding chuckle. "Good question." The hand at Rose's waist splayed wide, the size of it nearly enough to cover her belly entirely. She followed the suggested motion, a rocking of her hips, a dipping of her knees. Her dance partner copied her perfectly.

They fit exactly like they did in her fantasies, her body easily enfolded in his long, lean embrace. To the rhythm of the music, and maybe something more, they swayed and twisted, getting used to the motion, the alignment of their bodies.

Rose reached behind her, hands on the Doctor's hips, tracing up to his waist... to find only wool beneath her fingertips. She turned abruptly, shocked beyond words. "I'm dreaming, aren't I," she decided. Even though she'd phrased it as a question, it really wasn't meant to be one. She knew she had to be dreaming to have a jacketless, dancing Doctor in her arms.

His hands fell to her hips, pulled her close to him without missing a step. Rose fell into the rhythm again, matching him move for move, letting him lead, letting her hands wander. "That's what I thought," the Doctor said. "When I came in to find you dancin' like that... it was like all of my favorite fantasies, really, and then you said my name."

Rose blushed. She knew she'd been thinking about him nearly obsessively as the music rolled around her. She didn't realize she'd actually spoken aloud. However, whether this was her dream or his, or some impossible combination of both, she wasn't going to let the surreal chance get by her. "I was thinking about you," she admitted.

She let her hands go to his hips, and splayed one on his bum. The other, she glided back up until it was resting in the middle of his chest. The Doctor grinned his most predatory grin, but with something new in it this time, that look she sometimes saw out the corner of her eyes, the one she'd have sworn she imagined. Obviously not.

The music changed, the beat subtly increasing, growing deeper, coming to match Rose's heartbeats. The song playing with it thickened, became laced with tones that sounded like metaphors. The Doctor's hand glided slow torture along Rose's body, guiding her movements, supporting her when the occasion required. She rolled her pelvis as he moved, all lithe grace in his movements, all dark intentions in his eyes.

She would not break eye contact and neither would he. This dance was a club dance, maybe, but it was a lovers' dance, too. They moved as if they had always done this, as if they had never had any purpose in either of their lives except to step and flow and grind together.

Her hands moved in the forms of the dance, tracing his body, touching more familiarly than she had ever been allowed. She curved away from him suggestively, her back arched, her breasts jutting toward him, proud peaks capped with tiny pearls. He supported her movement without hesitation, one large hand splayed, a star across the small of her bare back, the other firmly on her bum, lowering, lowering, then lifting.

Her leg came up with his guiding pressure, wrapped briefly around his hip, then lowered again, a slow, inviting trace down the entire length of his oh so long leg as she returned both feet to the ground. He brought her up, lowered his head, looked for a moment as if he would kiss her mouth, then tilted her farther, as if he would bestow those kisses upon her breasts instead.

Her nipples ached. The emptiness between her thighs ached. Rose ground her hips into him and the Doctor... the Doctor danced.

Their dance gradually shifted from sensual to wholly erotic, their hands more busy than their feet, their clothes an utter nuisance. Rose was so aroused her body tingled with his every movement. Her clothes were damp from the sweat of her exertion, her knickers from the effect he had on her.

It was ethereal and surreal, twisting and grinding in the shadowed room, the flickering light of the ignored movie the only hint that these two people had begun with any other purpose. He didn't move as if he was merely dancing, he moved and stepped and held her as if he was making love to her, right here, in his ship, oblivious to the fact that they weren't lovers when this started.

When the Doctor cupped her cheek in his hand, Rose melted into this touch, too, tilting her face up for him to easily reach her. He dropped the very lightest of kisses on her lips, like a dusting of snowflakes in early winter. "This all right?" he asked, his voice as soft and gentle as his kiss.

In answer, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down again, her lips crashing into his. She wanted to devour him wholly, take him inside her and taste him in every possible way. He returned her kiss with equal ferocity, dueling tongues sliding and taunting and tormenting together, making Rose whimper and, when he broke the kiss, mewl soft protest at the loss. "I want... oh god, I want," Rose said softly, knew she was pleading, didn't care.

"I know, love, I know," the Doctor answered her, shifting his grip on her, bringing one of her thighs up around his hip.

She ground hard against the firm erection that had been pressing into her all this time, hoping to get to do more than rub at it very soon. "I'd make a wisecrack about the sonic screwdriver," she said, breathlessly, "but that is obviously no screwdriver."

The Doctor's grin was so sinful it came with its own set of commandments. (Thou shalt not let anyone else see that look, ever; thou shalt not waste time teasing the man wearing that look; thou shalt...) He kissed her firmly and fiercely, possessively, his mouth conquering hers. Rose was so distracted by the kiss, she hardly noticed that she was wrapped around him fully, or that they were moving. When the Doctor lowered her to the edge of the reappeared divan, Rose immediately pounced on him, kissing his jaw, his ear, his neck, letting her tongue trail into that constantly taunting point where his jumper began. She'd wanted to lick there nearly every time she thought of him; it was almost a relief to finally get to do it.

Of course, that led to thinking of other things she'd always wanted to do, which led to the need to have fewer restrictions between them. The Doctor's fingers at her nipples were making her cute flannel top feel like sack cloth and her sleep shorts were sticking to her in ways they shouldn't be. Rose pushed the Doctor back gently, and he rocked back on his heels, then got to his feet, holding out a hand.

Rose took that hand, as she did so many times, and let him pull her close. He popped open the top couple of buttons on her sleep top, kissing the skin he revealed, making soft noises of approval as she gasped at the contact. Again, she pushed him away, this time by tugging at his jumper. He smirked at her, then stepped back to tug if off over his head.

Rose was absolutely fascinated by his bare skin, and had to feel him against her own skin. She pulled the pajama top off over her head, leaving most of the buttons still done up, and her bare to the waist to his burning blue eyes. "This is too good for a dream," Rose decided, reaching out to play with one of the Doctor's taut nipples. She was delighted with the noise he made in apparent approval, and let her other hand trail up to the other nipple.

"I think so, too," the Doctor said. His eyes batted closed, his face still and concentrated on what she was doing. After a long moment where Rose simply indulged her fingers' curiosity about the Doctor's lightly tanned, rangy body, he opened his eyes again and stilled her hands, putting his over them and bringing them to his lips to kiss the knuckles. With their hands entwined between them, resting between his hearts, he explained, "We don't need to... you know, go through with this. Unless you're ready."

Rose was at a loss for words for several long moments but, as they usually did, the right words came to her, finally. They had needed to be said for a long time, now, so she wasn't saying them just for the moment. It was just, this was finally the time and the place. "I think the fact that you're even asking is proving we're ready," she said, smiling. "I'm not scared, not of you and not of us. I know we might not even be here tomorrow, the way we live, so I think we've probably wasted enough time dancing around each other, instead of together." She eyed his trousers speculatively. "But if there's anything I need to know about that's not in the Millennium edition of The Joy of Sex, you might better warn me."

The Doctor laughed lightly, taking her in his arms and hugging her like they'd just learned another new alien word. "There's one thing that better not be in that book." He looked into her eyes, his own hesitant and rare, full of wonder and eternity. "I love you, Rose Tyler."

"Oh," Rose said, feeling suddenly flooded with hope and tears, "oh, me too." She chewed her lip. "That's ok, isn't it?"

The Doctor shook his head. "That's better than ok," he promised. "That's fantastic."

Their clothes, which had before been a mere nuisance, suddenly became a prison. Small tentative kisses and a leisurely teasing at garments soon became a frantic, desperate race to get undressed. They came together like two atoms that had drifted through the vacuum of space, uncontrollably drawn to each other across vast differences, the pull growing stronger and stronger until the inevitable collision was merging explosively.

Rose let her kisses land where they would, feeling free to touch him where she wanted, anywhere she wanted. If the sounds of approval were anything to go by, he enjoyed her touch just about everywhere. He was so beautiful, she couldn't resist. When her teeth grazed his nipple, the Doctor growled low in his throat and pushed her back onto the divan, a possessive strength in the tension of his arms as he held himself above her, hemming her in. His gaze raked down her naked form, fierce joy dancing in his eyes.

Finally, finally, Rose thought, her nerves and her heart singing with relief and need at once. She curled one leg up around his, grinning brilliantly at his look of surprise when she traced the back of his thigh with her toes. The Doctor fit like he belonged there, pressing hard against her, his arms shaking, his lips moving in a silent litany.

Rose was unable to resist rocking against him, rubbing against his shaft in a heated precursor to the fulfillment of this act. Her slickness no restriction as his cock stimulated her exactly how she needed. Rose was getting close and getting there fast, and that was just from foreplay. "Doctor, I want…"

"I know," he breathed. "Shh, I know." The Doctor lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again, making love to her mouth like she wanted him to do to her body. She arched her hips, whimpered, clutched at his shoulders.

The Doctor raised himself away from her slightly, just to rest his forehead on hers. "Open your eyes, Rose. I want to watch."

She hadn't realized she'd closed them. God, his voice, like that, was not making control any easier. Forcing herself to concentrate, she pushed her eyes open, peering up at the Doctor as he drew back to look into her face. "Beautiful," he pronounced, and then he shifted his hips so that he pressed against her entrance.

They moved together to bring him inside her, her hips rising in perfect timing to his lowering. He still fit like designed, his large cock stretching her, but not in a way that was painful. Rose felt more aroused than ever, wanting to move, wanting to feel more, and more and more, wanting to come, wanting to make him come.

The Doctor moved so very slowly, at first, his entrances tentative and shallow, a certain glazed look in his eyes as he watched her face. Every thrust was faster, surer, deeper, and every movement rubbed against her clit. It felt like it had never felt before, like there was absolutely no comparison at all. Rose's body burned.

It was becoming all she could think about, how their sweat-damp skin slid and pressed together, how their bodies writhed together in rhythmic precision, how they whispered and grunted and cried out praise and pleas at once. Time and space narrowed down, spiraling ever tighter to focus on the aching place where they were joined.

She just needed this to go on, maybe to go on forever, though she had to come soon or she was going to explode. Her orgasm became the impending center of the Universe, her orgasm and her Doctor, and how very much she needed both of them, the orgasm soon, the Doctor forever.

The shuddering tightness built and built, until the gravity of her lover's touch was all that was left, until, drowned in widening waves of pleasure, Rose came screaming for the Doctor. He followed her, her name a strangled hallelujah whispered through swollen lips.

"Rosie," said a soft voice from somewhere in the vicinity of her doorway.

Rose let her eyes stagger open, and blinked blearily at her room. It was her room, too, she could tell by the smell, but she couldn't remember getting here. "Jack," she answered the voice in the doorway. A thought staggered into her brain and got her attention by causing an explosion in her frontal lobe. "Don't turn on the light," Rose pleaded.

"Rough night?" Jack asked softly. "Need me to kiss it better?"

"Sorry mate, even you don't know where it's been," she said grumpily. She'd been in the movie room, she remembered that. She'd been watching a movie with the TARDIS.

"I do too know," said Jack. "I think Johnny Cash said it best."

Rose would have snickered if her brain wouldn't have escaped with the air if she did. Why was her head pounding? She had not been drinking. Eating ice cream, yes. Indulging in a good cry, a bit of that. And… dancing.

Oh, hell.

"'I've been everywhere, man'?" she quoted at Jack.

Jack chuckled. "I was going for 'I'm an easy rider, I can't stay in one place,' but that'll work too, I s'pose."

"Good night, Jack," Rose said.

"Yeah, sorry," Jack apologized. "Didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to tell you I'm back. You don't know where the Doc's got off to?"

"No idea," Rose said blandly. The pounding in her head decreased rapidly as consciousness increased, but: Was it all a dream? How had she gotten to her room? Naked to her room, she might add, with her genitals feeling rather well used and her thighs still sticky? How?

"Well, you should have seen this bloke, tonight, he was…"

"In the morning, Jack," Rose said.

"You didn't stay alone did you?" Jack asked.

"The TARDIS and I had a girls' night in. It was fun." Rose blinked in the darkness and realized she was in an odd position on her bed. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" she added.

"Sorry to wake you," Jack said sheepishly. "Sleep well, Rosie."

"Night, Jack." There was a soft snick, the sound of her door securing itself again.

"Didn't want the Captain ta know I'm here?" the Doctor asked softly.

Rose squeaked in surprise, her hand flying to her chest in that unexplained gesture that seemed to be to try and keep her heart inside. She wondered if the Doctor could explain where humans got that reflex, because it wasn't half weird. "I honestly didn't know you were," she said at last, softly apologetic. "I thought…"

"What?" the Doctor asked, sounding quite offended in the darkness. "That I'd just left you?"

"No." Rose sighed. "I thought…" She chewed her lip, and felt him, at last, moving in the darkness, his hand reaching, tentatively, to touch her. "It was wonderful. I thought I might've dreamed it."

"You said it was better than a dream," the Doctor pointed out, and he sounded both smug and injured at once. Rose had to stifle a giggle from trying to imagine that expression. "Wasn't it?"

Rose took a deep breath. She wasn't about to let him get his pride wounded over this, both because she loved him, and maybe there'd be no repeat. God, she was never prepared for that – he'd spoiled her. "Well, yeah," she agreed. "But even my dreams of you are better than dreams. Just waking up like this, I thought I might've managed a mumph…" The rest of her sentence, and the rest of her thought process, was cut off by Time Lord lips over hers, and a sudden lack of desire to think.

Before she'd kissed the Doctor anywhere nearly as long as she wanted to do, her door clicked open again. "Oh, Rose, about the…"

"Go to bed, Jack," Rose ordered, knowing she would sound completely breathless, but unable to do anything about it.

"What are you up to in here?" Jack asked. Rose could tell from the sound of his voice that his eyes were twinkling and he was grinning like a lunatic.

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off. "Good night, Captain." The Doctor sounded both amused and exasperated and, as all Rose could see of his face in the darkness was his grinning profile, she had to assume she'd called that one right.

"Good night, Doc," said Jack. He sounded delighted, not astonished. Rose didn't know what to make of that. "You kids have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Is that even possible?" the Doctor demanded.

"Good point," said Jack, and Rose laughed as she finally heard the door close behind him.

The Doctor stopped her laughter the same way he'd stopped her earlier explanation. It worked just as well, this time, and with fewer interruptions.