Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC's Doctor Who.
AN: Just a short 10/Rose story, it's going to probably be 3 parts. Haven't written anything in a while, so I hope it's okay.
Part 1: Waking Up
He wakes up first, of course he does, he' a Time Lord, he has the 'superior biology' or whatever slogan is on his egotistical manifesto he's flashing around these days.
It's still taken a fair time for his body to metabolise the sedative efficiently, to clear its effects on his biological pathways, and he still feels a little groggy as he comes to, taking in the surroundings as he does.
As it happens though, he doesn't really get the chance to take in his surroundings, since the first thing he notices is the fact that he is tied up with Rose.
Well, okay, to be pedantically accurate, his wrists are tied together, which are behind Rose's back, and Rose's wrists are also tied together, which are behind his back, and they are face to face.
The proximity is strangely disconcerting, and he wonders briefly how they are being kept in such a position, upright, and somewhere in his brain he works out that there is a sort of force-field around them, but most of his brain is focused on the shallow rise and fall of Rose's chest, and the thrum of her heartbeat against his.
It's just like a hug, he tells himself.
They hug all the time really. That's what best friends do though, isn't it? There's the 'oh-goody-new-marmalade-for-breakfast' hug, more often than not a 'thank-you- for-such-great-tea' hug, and sometimes even a 'hug-in-celebration-of-the-team-work-in-washing-up' hug, and okay, maybe these all occur before 11am, but it was still an understandable amount of hugging.
He couldn't fathom why anyone would not want to hug Rose Tyler as much as possible, even if it did give a burn of jealousy at just thinking that anyone else would dare hold his Rose in such a way.
There's that glorious sensation of intimacy, her addictive warmth enveloping him, her scent overwhelming him, and her soft skin so touchably close underneath his fingertips.
She's unconscious now, as unaware as he is of his tied hands rubbing soothingly on her back, of his nuzzling closer into the crook of her neck, seeking comfort only she can give him.
(These natives are friendly, he said, but that still led to them being tied up and awaiting ominous trial).
He thinks hugs should last longer, now, as he lets his eyes close, having ascertained the lack of immediate danger, and simply enjoys Rose.
He thinks he should tell her again how brilliant she is, when she wakes up. He should tell her all the time, because she really is.
It's then she moves, just slightly, snuggling just that bit closer to him, hips nudging his.
He stills, and holds his breath, and she's really rather close to him now, and he really rather likes it.
It takes a few moments for him to realise that the force field has closed in on them, and he's still frowning with the thought when Rose murmurs.
Oh. Oh. He almost gasps at the rush of heat that surges through him at the slight breathiness of her tone, at the positively needy way she pronounces his name.
It would be so easy to indulge that curiosity, press his forehead to hers, but there's a tortuous balance between how terrified he is of his body's current reactions, and how terrified he is of what he will feel if he knows what she is thinking about.
He's read enough books on humans to know that what he is feeling right now is close as damn to want.
(He's really not sure on the extent of such feelings, beyond what dry knowledge he has from his reading. He's really not sure how in all of Time and Space that Rose can somehow make him feel these things, but she can, and she has been doing so ever since he met her, and his copy of 'Understanding Humans: Volume 947', is looking rather well worn these days).
"Oh Rose," he whispers, biting his lip. "You should really wake up now…"
She doesn't, she stays stubbornly asleep, and his breathing is laboured, despite his respiratory bypass system, as he concentrates all his effort on diverting his flow of blood away from a certain appendage.
He fails all at once, when she speaks again, more urgently this time, the tone even more seductive.
"Oh yes. Doctor."
And oh god she feels so good pressed against him, he finds himself pushing gently with his hips, only to curse out loud at how the forcefield closes back around him, and he's so deliciously ground against her, and yet so inappropriately responding rapidly to such contact.
(He's got all the parts, barely used. He's sure that they'll work just as well in conjunction with Rose's parts, as they do on their own, and that thought alone is enough for them to work on their own).
He tries to think of anything else, everything else, but every thought in his repertoire has been replaced with thoughts of Rose and oh Rose.
He wets his dry lips with his tongue, and he has a sudden urge to taste Rose, a sudden chastising himself that why oh why hasn't he tasted Rose before? He just has to lick everything else.
The thoughts of tasting Rose, of his wet tongue running over her creamy silken skin do nothing to help his little problem. Or rather, his rapidly growing problem.
He's never felt quite so hot.
She stirs, and he groans out loud.
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