AN: A while ago, I wrote "Advanced Education", an alternate scene for my fic "An Education". Not a missing scene, an alternate scene - a way I could have taken things but didn't.
Lots of people said nice things, but zazie11 over at LJ was very keen for me to write the scene again but from Nine!Smith's POV. So I did. Now we have an alternate alternate scene. A few more rounds of this and we're going to invert the space-time continuum.
What you should know: In "An Education" I mentioned several times that Rose was holding back from teaching Nine!John more "modern" sexual stuff (essentially, anything oral). But that sometimes she really wanted to, and at the end, Nine told her John would have loved it if she had. But would things really have gone smoothly? Here's what could have happened, had I decided to take that left turn (at Albuquerque).
The gift of another night together.
John was losing himself in his new favorite activity: filling his senses with Rose Tyler.
She lay in his bed, panting as he dragged his open lips softly over her skin: fragrant, cool and clammy as her sweat tried to soothe the heat underneath. He could actually see the throb of her heart, faintly but visibly pulsing against the skin of her chest, its gentle-looking thump belying the frenzy it would have to attain for it to appear. Compulsively he laved it with his tongue, fancying he could taste the life there. His erection throbbed with a beautiful pain-her body was on fire, all because of him.
There wasn't an inch of her skin he didn't want to kiss, caress, cover with goosebumps. But the real thrill was in moving his fingers between the lips of her sex, touching her in ways that made her shiver and moan, clutch at him and call for him—causing her so much pleasure that she lost all sense in his arms, did so for his eyes only, fell apart and trusted only him to care for the pieces.
John would never have believed being with a woman could be like this. Granted, it had never exactly been a chore previously (if he recalled correctly; when he searched his memories he found his past had abruptly become rather fuzzy) but he'd never met a woman with Rose's enthusiasm for it, or her enthusiasm for him and his body and the things he did. He'd never met a woman who wanted to touch and explore him as much as he did her, who seemed so comfortable with his body and knew how to give it pleasure, or was as comfortable sharing her own. He'd never met a woman who reached a climax like he did—for clearly, that was what she did—much less one open enough to teach him how to do it for her.
And none of it made any sense.
It was easy to use the ecstasy of their coupling or the quiet joy of her presence to push down this knowledge, but those things never erased it. A mere girl with this kind of self-awareness, this kind of...what had to be experience...well, it would be remarkable in a woman half again her age. In her it was nearly alarming, an anomaly with no explanation.
And he could also no more resist it than he could live without a heartbeat.
She always challenged him, and when she did so in bed it excited him fiercely, riveted his imagination. Every new touch she suggested, every new want she expressed was a chance for him to explore uncharted sides of not only her but himself. The tightrope walk of her desires and where they led was a powerfully addictive thrill. He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath.
As he continued his erotic assault on her body John began to sense something: Rose seemed frustrated. The idea that he was failing her sent a skittery, unpleasant adrenaline through him but he tried to ignore it. Something was thwarting her pleasure, which meant he had to know what it was.
"John, I need something," Rose pleaded. "I want something, so much…"
He pulled back, grinning that he'd got his wish so quickly and that a new desire was to be revealed. "Tell me," he urged.
Her eyes, uncharacteristically, wouldn't meet his. "I don't know what you'll think of it."
John smirked gently at her sudden shyness. "One way to find out." He slowed his fingers' movements to keep her on the edge. Sometimes when he did that she would drift off as she talked, unable to keep her thoughts straight with the tide of pleasure threatening to carry her away. He loved watching it.
Rose finally looked him in the eye. "I don't know what you'll think of me."
Her suddenly vulnerability pretty much ensured he would agree to whatever she asked. "I'll think what I always do," he told her, leaning toward her lips, "that you're beautiful, and that I dearly love pleasing you." His lips touched hers softly, giving him a quiet rush of comfort. "Tell me what you want."
Rose sat up. John watched as she appeared to puzzle something out. He watched until the answer apparently came to her and caused a sinful, crooked smile to tilt her lips.
"I think the best way for you to understand would be for me to show you first," she said.
John was mildly puzzled but reserved judgment as her small hands pushed him to lie down. He watched her eyes drink him in for a long moment and felt a now-familiar amazement; he'd never know what she saw in him than put such a look in her eye. He was just grateful she saw something, that she miraculously wanted him as much as he did her.
His thoughts occupied him long enough that he missed a few seconds of what she'd been doing. He found her straddling his knees and leaning downward so that her breasts dangled in a fascinating way. They took his gaze hostage before he even realized it; he caught Rose smiling at his reaction.
Rose's smile was lowering further, along with the rest of Rose. What was she about? She was looking at his bobbing erection, inexplicably bringing her mouth toward...
Rose's lips sealed around him and she slid them tightly all the way down his shaft. Her hollowed cheeks provided pressure and her tongue friction till he was buried in her mouth nearly to the hilt.
The feeling and the sight caused the fiercest pleasure he'd ever felt in his life.
A shocked yell was on its way to escaping when at the last minute he choked it back, muffling it to the mangled, helpless noise of a man having his mind shattered with sensation and surprise. He had only just got himself under control when she reversed direction and dragged back up, her tongue swishing along the underside of him in a way that filled his lungs with another shout, again caught just in time.
He compulsively sputtered her name. She began to bob up and down smoothly and quickly, her tongue and puckered mouth working him. He couldn't stop moaning. The euphoria siphoned brain power away from wondering how in God's name she knew about this.
After several glorious minutes, cool air hit his wet cock and he realized with a gasp that she'd released him. He lay there with his mind protesting her stopping, his body tingling, lungs laboring.
"Like that, do you?" came Rose's voice, soft and smug.
John's brain had become as agitated as his body, whirling with the usual questions, only louder: Who is this person to whom I've already given my entire heart? What isn't she telling me? What unknown fate might befall me if I don't find out?"How…" John gasped. "…where did you…"
When Rose's voice sounded again it had dropped to a near-whisper. "Just…enjoy it, all right?"
John pushed up to look at her. He couldn't hold his questions back forever and in fact didn't want to…but then, as always, he saw her face.
It held the same things that always kept him from asking about her past: fear, a strange shame, skittish anxiety, a sense that she'd bolt if he did do. Once again he wasn't brave enough to chance it. He flopped back down on the pillow and chose just to let his mind and body reel from what he'd felt. "I'd heard talk of something like that, usually mentioning the French," he covered, since he had done, after all. Some of his colleagues were none too discreet with tales of their supposed conquests, and the stories got especially colorful when they returned from trips abroad. Though truth be told, not all his colleagues were impressed, when the storytellers left the room. "…sometimes thought of as a perversion…" he added.
"What do you think now?" she asked tensely.
His honest, unguarded answer absolved her of everything. "If it is one, I don't care!"
Rose's laughter burst out and tumbled over him. He rolled his head so he could see her covering her mouth with her hands, child-like, finally dropping them to beam at him. She looked utterly relieved, and John marveled at how many aspects could exist in her at once.
Then he remembered the request that had begun this exercise, and the pure lightness of the moment dwindled. "You want me to do something like that to you?"
Her focus sharpened instantly, and his stomach flipped as she squirmed where she sat. "Yes, please," she begged softly.
It would surely only lead to more unanswered questions, more discomfort from hiding his misgivings. But oh, to do something to her she was that eager for. Then the physicality of what she was suggesting hit him and he found his body going to her as though it had decided without him. "You want me to see your…your femininity that closely…taste it?" When she nodded he felt instantly feral, as though he was being asked to know her and claim her in a very elemental way. It felt like something that wouldn't be asked of or allowed of anyone but her undisputed mate.
"That you would ask me for something so…intimate…" he nearly growled.
"I trust you. More than anyone," Rose said, and that was the affirmation that sealed it.
Between her knees now, spreading her thighs proprietarily—the scent that often lingered on his fingers now struck him and between that and the wetness he could see trickling from her, he knew she was as aroused as he'd ever known her to be. Down on his elbows and stomach to inspect this new frontier. Absently he breathed out onto her and she shivered; his own excitement became momentary torture. Her vivid reaction to that one tiny touch made him imagine her probable reactions to even more contact. He suddenly couldn't remember what his hesitation toward doing this was about.
He became absorbed, skating his fingers lightly over the skin, the fluted lips inside. "So delicate…" he pronounced softly. This was the seat of so much of his pleasure, directly and indirectly, and here in this position he was able to partake of it as intensely as he ever had. "This may be my favorite place on Earth," he summed up, a little wickedly. A glance up her body found Rose just staring at him, pupils huge.
He kept stroking her carefully, using his fingers to find the places that had become familiar to his touch, letting his fingers teach his eyes. He spread some of her moisture over the fragile pink skin and felt her jump and whimper. He couldn't wait to start anymore, and clearly neither could she. "What do I do?"
"All the things you do with your fingers…" she panted, unable to keep still. "All the places you rub and touch me…do the same with your tongue."
That seemed simple enough.
He often began by stroking her in a very general way, so he translated that to a long, slow lick, bottom to top. Her body jolted hard. "Oh, God, John!"
"Like that, do you?" he smirked. He took her inability to answer as a very gratifying yes.
He turned back to his new task, closed his eyes and took in the strange new flavor and the slippery feel under his tongue. This was still quite an anti-intuitive thing to do, really, but she'd been very smart, letting him experience it first. Now he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end, it was worth any adjustment period to give her the same feeling, to be the man who pleased her like no one else. The change of angle made it a bit harder to find what he was looking for, but once he did he zeroed in on it and licked and sucked and worried that place in every way he could think of. And the reactions she was having as a result...he had no means to express the feelings they gave him.
Soon she'd begun bucking, grinding herself against his lips and chin. His determination to make her insensible with pleasure had doubled, even though his tongue and jaw were becoming exhausted (he'd have to devise some techniques to keep from tiring out, in future). She was reaching her climax and he was at its epicenter and it was arousing beyond belief. He added the movement of his head and she broke, moaning ecstatic nonsense. He could never go without those sounds and the experience of causing her to make them after this, nothing and no one else would ever be good enough.
The instant she started to calm he was atop her, hand fumbling to guide himself to her now-sopping opening...till suddenly he found himself pushed up and then down, his back hitting the mattress and Rose's warm mouth clamping over him yet again.
Immediately he was drowning in exquisite sensation, the sweet slick slide of her cheeks and tongue, the whole act seeming so utterly forbidden and sinful, which had to be why it was so so good. Looking down his body she was just an arched back, a lovely behind thrust upward and a bowed head of wild blonde hair. His fingers slipped into that hair, enticed by yet another part of her that was untamed.
This wasn't the teasing demonstration of before - this time she sucked hard and moved fast and his climax was speeding to the fore. She'd had her peak in his mouth, was he-he moaned instantly at the very idea-was he going to have his in hers? Dear lord, he couldn't think of a more illicit thrill, couldn't keep his hips from thrusting...except it ought to be her choice, he should...he could hardly talk...
"Rose, I'm going to–I'm close–you should–" She didn't slow down. She heard him, he knew, but she wasn't slowing down. In fact he was sure his warning had made her work harder which meant she would deliberately let him spend in her mouth and that was the END of him the minute he thought it. "Oh, oh, OH–"
Spasm after delicious spasm shot hot liquid out of him and into her. Her lips stayed tight around him and dragged up carefully - none of it left her mouth. John nearly swooned again watching her.
"Astonishing…" he gasped.
She fell bonelessly onto her back, looking just as sated as he, and his head rolled to face her. He had no words to tell her how fantastic she'd just made him feel...which may have been why other words in his head left him utterly without warning or conscious thought: "How could any of this possibly be part of your past experience?"
He watched Rose go pale and horrified, knew it would happen and determined they would get through it. The huge relief he felt at having finally voiced his thoughts told him he'd done the right thing.
"I shouldn't have brought it up," she was whispering, heading for the edge of the bed. He reached out and caught her wrist.
"Rose, please…I'm not judging you, sincerely. You know this." And she did know—she had to do. He didn't know exactly why, but the typical male predjudices of the period meant nothing to him. He wanted nothing less than Rose as a partner in intimacy, for them both to share whatever it was they really were and really wanted. "I've already told you–and shown you," he emphasized, "you don't need to play the virgin for me."
He felt Rose relax, his words apparently sinking in. But now he'd finally brought up the subject he had to keep going.
"But do credit me with having eyes, and a brain attached to them," he continued carefully. She kept her face turned away, and he tried not to panic that she'd run and never return. "It's not just this, Rose, I've…I've tried not to intrude with questions about your home or your past, since you're usually reluctant to talk about it but sometimes, like tonight…the things you do belie the things you've said."
Rose seemed even more unnerved somehow. What could her past be that it scared her so to tell him? It couldn't be that she'd had to live on the street, sell herself...a girl like that could never have retained the radiance, sweetness and empathy she carried, her capacity to...love, he thought, aching. She didn't seem damaged, just...mysteriously hiding something she clearly felt she had to carry alone.
"You're just…so young," he continued, almost compulsively, "and yet sometimes it's like you've lived some whole other life I've never heard of." Rose snuffed quietly, a cynical little noise. There was an entire story in that puff of air and John ardently wanted to know it. He waited to see if it meant she was on the verge of unburdening herself, but a few moments later it was clear she wasn't and John's heart sank in frustration. He cast his eyes about the room as he considered what to say next. Maybe the other lover she'd mentioned was the key. "Who was this…man of yours?" he asked. He was surprised to find he felt so proprietary now, after a mere few nights being her lover himself, that the mention of another man made his throat constrict unpleasantly.
Rose looked weary and persecuted. "No one special," she sighed. He was trying to open her up, chisel the right crack in her protective dam to let the flood waters burst through, but it seemed nothing he said made her feel she could share her burden.
After a moment John decided he couldn't push anymore just then. He didn't want to be holding her wrist any longer, testament to how she'd been fleeing — he wanted her securely in his bed and his embrace where she belonged. "Come to bed. I couldn't bear it if you left," he confessed.
Rose finally turned her face to him, the fondness in her gaze making him feel lighter. "I only suggested those things because I thought you wouldn't mind," she said meekly.
John barked out a laugh at what her statement suggested: that he was put out by blinding pleasure and actions on her part that aroused him beyond measure. "I beg your pardon, did I give you any indication that I minded those activities?" Rose giggled, and John relaxed immensely. Impulsively he grabbed her and pulled her to the bed, rolling over to wrap himself around her. "I thought I'd made it abundantly clear I was in favor of all the proceedings," he continued. She hid her face and giggled into his chest, and he closed his eyes and smiled.
He settled them facing each other. "How could I ever mind you making us both feel like that, or showing me new ways to be intimate with you?" She smiled at him gratefully, and he cursed his unsettled feeling as it returned. "You do understand, though, don't you?" he felt impelled to say. "You've told me so little, I can't help but have questions."
"I promise someday, there'll be answers." Rose swore quietly.
It was as close as he'd come to her confiding in him and suddenly his urge to know flared. "But why not now?" he pressed impulsively. "You said you trusted me more than anyone."
"I do, I meant it," she swore, hands stroking his cheeks.
Suddenly he had to make her understand. "You're all I think about, Rose," he told her, caressing her face, his heart spilling out of him and into the sweet, soft devotion he saw in her eyes. "I just want as much of you as there is to have."
She embraced him suddenly and tightly; he closed his eyes and clutched her. "Someday, I'll let you ask me anything you want to, and I'll answer," she said, voice unsteady. "And if you'll still have me afterward, I'll still be yours."
His heart clenched to hear her say such a thing. He rubbed her back. "Oh, Rose…"
In a way it didn't matter what her secret was. He already knew he was too fiercely in love not to follow her through anything, as long as she'd let him.