The silence that fell over them as they walked down the hall was not an uncomfortable one, although perhaps it should have been with all the years and experiences and unspoken words between them. Rose could feel the Doctor's mind just on the outskirts of hers, whirling with a myriad of thousands of thoughts and she imagined hers was much the same (although perhaps not quite so complex). His hand in hers was cool and sure and she clung to it, that familiar contact serving as a balancing point in their newly developed, yet fundamentally same, relationship. Whatever they were about to discover was going to change things, certainly, but no matter what, they were together now and nothing was ever going to come between them again. She wouldn't let it and, she was sure, neither would he.

Her breath caught as they entered the library, the achingly familiar room looking just as it did in all her memories. Their favourite couch was pulled close to the fire, the picture Jackie had taken of the two of them in Christmas crowns was still on the mantle and sitting on the well-worn coffee table was heaping tray of tea and biscuits. Rose had the fleeting thought that there should be a nice, fluffy rug in front of the fire, too; she could almost picture it there already. Anyway, a nice, soft rug would come in handy for some of the plans she had for this particular room later. The Doctor made an odd choking sound to her left and she turned a sly smile on him, giggling as she saw him staring hotly at that same spot on the floor before his darkened gaze snapped back to hers. Apparently he agreed about the rug-concept, then.

The two of them walked over and settled on the couch together, the Doctor removing his suit jacket and placing it and the book gently on the cushion beside him before turning to face Rose, his thumb stroking hers gently and his other hand running along the soft leather of the couch. She knew he was probably positively itching to get reading that book, but they needed a bit more time confirming this new-found reality of a future (and a past) together. His deep brown eyes regarded her with a look so tender, Rose felt tears threatening the corners of her eyes, tears she didn't bother holding back. "I...I missed you. So much," she finally stuttered, breaking the silence and clenching the hand in hers tightly. "I didn't really get to talk about it much with the others - well, with you, before. You wouldn't have understood back then, I don't think, and it was such a miracle just to have found you again, whatever forms you were in, but everything was hard over there, Doctor. I had Mum and Pete and Mickey, so I shouldn't complain, I suppose but...I wanted you. I missed you," she repeated, letting him see how much she meant that.

The Doctor moved forward to envelop her tightly, albeit a bit awkwardly, on the couch. "I know," he breathed into her hair. "Me too, Rose. It too," he whispered. His mind brushed against hers, returning the desperate, overwhelming loss he'd felt as keenly as her and once again, she also felt that small but terrifying tinge of madness that lurked in the depths of darkness that existed when he was on his own. Ignoring that for now, Rose focused back on the physical sensation of him, felt him pressing light kisses into her hair, his arms clutched around her still. Finally, he took a shuddering breath and pulled back, one hand remaining on her shoulder across the back of the couch and the other re-claiming hers.

"I missed the TARDIS, too, of course," Rose said, smiling at him and then at the ceiling, shaking off her tears and feeling the warm, happy pulse of the TARDIS in her mind. She needed to pull them back from the pain of their remembered separation. There would be plenty of time later to talk about what had happened to them while apart. "My perfect mattress, never running out of hot water, the jacuzzi, the toaster room…" she trailed off and grinned at him. "But I missed this room most of all, I think," Rose said softly. They had spent so many hours holed up in here, reading, dozing, chatting and simply enjoying each other's presence. It had become their safe zone, their retreat from the harsh and sometimes violent world that existed outside the weathered blue doors of their home, a place just for them.

The TARDIS had first led her here early in her travels with him one day when she was bored and seeking entertainment while he did some 'important and necessary repair-work' (which she had translated from years of knowing a mechanic, albeit not an alien one, to 'irrelevant and needless tinkering'). He'd grunted at her to shove off because she was being 'distracting' somehow and she'd left in a bit of a huff at him. But the TARDIS had engaged her in merry game of 'What's behind the door?' and she had been most delighted with the library, perusing the shelves for hours, amused to see books of Earth (tomes she recognized, from Shakespeare to Harry Potter) chaotically interspersed with everything from what appeared to be stereo manuals to alien medical texts to something called 'Vogon poetry', in a variety of sizes, colours and languages. She had picked a few titles at random and settled near the fire on the floor, thumbing through the pages and sipping at some perfect TARDIS-provided tea.

The Doctor had appeared a few hours later, looking gruffly surprised to see her (although she would later suspect he'd gone looking for her - and been right). He had also seemed grudgingly surprised by the 'new' sole seating option the TARDIS had offered by the fireside in the form of this very couch, although they had wasted little time settling onto it, nervously eyeing one another. He'd read her Dickens and they'd both pretended that the occasional brush of a booted foot against a trainer-ed one, or the incidental glance of arm against arm from opposite sides of the couch was accidental, a game they would continue for the next several years, even if leather traded out for wool, boots became plimsoles and a passing bump morphed into something dangerously like cuddling.

She now knew, of course, that this very couch had been in the library before that fateful day, in both his Eighth and Ninth lives, at least during her time with him, he just didn't remember it. She also knew that the clever TARDIS seemed to have based it on the couch from her flat in the parallel world where the two of them had settled for the first time to explore the depths of her telepathy. Of course, she had bought that couch because it reminded her of the couch on the TARDIS, this couch. Rose shook her head, marveling again at the odd, wonderful circles Time took in her life, delightfully complicated as it was by her Time Lord and his magnificent ship.

The Doctor was looking around them contemplatively, his eyes sweeping the room as though seeing it for the first time as he relived that memory and so many subsequent ones in this cherished place, echoing Rose's thoughts. "The library hasn't looked liked this in a long time, Rose," he said, taking in the roaring fire and soft, loving light the TARDIS was exuding. "This couch, the fireplace, the pictures…any...any of it." He trailed off then, apparently lost in a deep, painful place and Rose watched as the darkened stripes in his mind seemed to gain prominence. She squeezed his hand gently, sending him a few tentative waves of comfort and assurance, which seemed to draw him back to her, the navy receding a bit.

He had that look on his face again, the one that seemed to barely be able to comprehend her and then he took a deep breath and Rose felt him reach forward across their partial bond. Tentative images flickered through his mind to her, a clip of memory featuring a smaller, cooler, much less welcoming hearth and two rather uncomfortable-looking armchairs, one housing a pale, sad-eyed, blue-suited Doctor and the other an attractive young woman in a red leather jacket studying a book of some kind. "That's Martha," he said, quietly. "She had the misfortune of knowing me right after I lost you. I was a mess then and I didn't treat her very well. She left after only a little while, really. She deserved better than me, anyway."

Rose took in that sliver of information, filing away the name and details to piece together into the tapestry of his life since they'd been separated. She wasn't sure how long it would take him to open up to her about it, but anything he offered her, she would take right now. They both had wounds to heal and only Time and one another would be able to do it.

The image shifted then, the fireplace becoming slightly larger again, the Doctor's chair remaining the same, the Doctor in it still pale and haggard, looking harder and older somehow, but the other chair, now filled with a no-nonsense redhead reading a rag, looked much more fluffier than the last. "Donna demanded a more comfortable chair," he commented, smiling softly. "I couldn't have stopped her even if I'd wanted to. She's a force, Donna is. The TARDIS is in cahoots with her most of the time, I think. I suppose I'll have to get used to that...all three of you are going to be ganging up on me now."

"She sounds brilliant," Rose answered, smiling at him.

"She is," he smiled back. "I owe her so, so much." He paused a moment, the depth of his gaze making her wonder what exactly he meant by that. "She gave me something, the most precious gift I've ever received and I will never be able to thank her enough for it. Even if she called me a lot of names along the way."

"What'd she give you?" Rose asked, although she had an idea. If she was right, she owed the woman more than she could ever possibly repay as well.

"First she gave me back my hope," he said, moving forward to rest his forehead against hers. "And then she gave me back you," the Doctor finished, pressing his lips to hers lightly, this kiss radiating his devotion and cherishment. He pulled back a moment later, lingering lovingly and simply breathing in and out with her.

"How long has it been for you?" Rose asked, tentatively, torn between dreading the knowledge and wanting to chase away the somber darkness that clung to him.

"Five Earth years," he replied, his voice breaking a bit, moving the hand not clasped with hers up to stroke her cheek. "Although one of them doesn't really count, I suppose," the Doctor continued, his thumb stalling and his eyes closing tightly. Rose gasped at the dark wave of anguish and grief that shot through him as he remembered the time to which that confusing sentence apparently referred. His eyes snapped open at the sound of sympathy she made and she felt him pull further back from the provisional bond, unwilling to share whatever horror that had been yet. "And you?"

She knew he had a vague idea of the passage of time for her from his memories of their time together in the parallel world but this acknowledgment of it felt necessary. "It had been three years, two months and four days for me, from that awful day at Canary Wharf to the afternoon I knocked Mr. Darcy-you on your bum. After that, I'm not sure. Time with you in the TARDIS is a bit..." she trailed off, unsure what to say next.

"Wibbly-wobbly?" he asked with a small smile.

"Exactly," she replied, grinning back at him.

"I knew you'd get it," the Doctor answered, softly, drawing her into his embrace again. There were so, so many times over the past few years he'd wished to have her by his side, so many times he'd turned to tell her something, to make her laugh, to hold her and attempt to absolve his sins. But she was here now and he was never, ever letting her go.

Rose felt his lips flutter against her neck, gently moving up to caress behind her ear and along her jawline, making her shudder under his loving, tentative kisses. He pulled back minutely to lay a kiss on each cheek, on her nose, on each eyelid and brow, worshiping her reverently and taking in every millimeter of her presence. When his lips finally met hers, they moved together, shifting so both his hands held her face and she mirrored him. The kiss was sweet and tender and both Rose and the Doctor were hit with the memory of the kiss they'd first shared in Rose's flat, a first kiss in so many ways for them both. With that also came the memory of its immediate escalation and by an unspoken agreement, they both shifted again so Rose was once again straddling his lap, her hands moving to sink into his gorgeous hair and his moving down her back to her bum, pulling her against him in a rhythm now familiar to them both.

Rose swiveled her hips in a surprising and very clever fashion and the Doctor responded first with a whimper and then with shoving his tongue into her mouth. It was Rose's turn to make a sound of deep appreciation then, but the Doctor was too distracted with his new pastime to gloat over it. The flavour of her exploded in his mouth, this tongue that had always been so desperate to taste her, to savour the sweetness he'd always fancied he could almost remember, it was so vivid in his imagination. The taste of her mouth, however, was not enough and he was very quickly being consumed with a few long favoured fantasies of tasting her elsewhere.

He heard a thump as Rose's knee knocked against the book he'd placed on the couch, making it fall to the floor, but he was really too mesmerized by the feeling of her moving against him to care. He shuddered as his first ripple went through him, making him strain even further against his already-tight trousers (why did he have to wear such tight trousers, again?). Taking in a deep breath, he smelled Rose's arousal surrounding him, the memories of all the times they'd been intertwined and moving against each other for completion fighting for precedence in his mind. Her smell and taste mingled together with the feeling of her suddenly crying out his name in his mind across their link brought forth the memory of teaching her to first communicate like that, of her mouth on him for the very first time and then he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.

The book and the bond could wait.

She had two up on him, after all.

First he moved his hands up from her arse to tug the jumper over her head, pausing only a moment to marvel at her pert, perfect breasts encased in tantalizing black lace and then he summoned all his strength to push up off the couch, Rose still attached to him to then drop her surprised form back to the cushion, kneeling between her knees in front of her. His mouth immediately went to her breasts, teeth and tongue caressing the creamy skin displayed and making the fabric damp. Instead of working them free, however, he continued down her torso, tongue swirling into her navel as he remembered her doing that first time in her bed. He was equally sure that his smug expression mirrored the one she had worn back then as Rose's breath quickened under his ministrations.

Keeping his mouth on her stomach, he made quick work of her trainers and then moved his hands up to the button of her trousers, grinning against her skin as Rose raised up her hips to help him shimmy her jeans and knickers off. As his tongue traced Gallifreyan symbols on her hipbone, he really couldn't help but release the catch on his own trousers and moved his pants aside, letting out a sigh of relief as his straining, rippling erection was freed to lay heavy against his heaving stomach. Rose made another very appreciative, needy sound above him and he glanced up at her. He was nearly blown away with the glassy-eyed, tousled, aroused look of heat Rose was sending down his way.

He moved once again so his hands drew lazy patterns over her hips. "Rose Tyler," he said, his voice a low, sensual growl against her, his tongue tracing a wandering, teasing path over her stomach. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?"

"No," she gasped in his mind and he chuckled against her skin. She was right. Why waste a perfectly good moment by speaking out loud when he could be devouring her with his mouth? "How long?"

"In the current Timeline? Since 'Run!' My last body wanted you so badly. And this body...this body was born wanting you, Rose. I just didn't understand the impulses. Didn't allow myself to carry through those impulses with you. Had to siphon them off in other, creative ways on my own," his mind murmured in hers, moving back a fraction and picking up one foot then the other, pressing feather light kisses on the inside of each ankle, moving away from where he knew she wanted him.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, trying to grasp some semblance of coherent thought as his tongue moved on, tracing upward and then back down over and over again. It seemed to her like this conversation was familiar somehow but then she was infinitely distracted by that clever, clever mouth of his and really, who could blame her?

"Oh yes," he finished, his projected voice far sexier than should ever be allowed especially when his tongue was doing...oh. Just that...tracing the sensitive inside of her leg and then starting in on an increasingly diminishing circle, honing in toward the spot she wanted him to be and, unless she was completely underestimating his oral fixation, where he wanted to be.

"My Eighth body wished for better taste buds, did you know that, Rose?" he said languidly, purposely transferring his mouth to the neglected thigh without ever touching the temptingly delicious feast in front of him, ignoring her whimper. "Didn't get them the next time 'round...probably for the best, anyway. Poor confused, frustrated Ninth me was already driven to distraction around you nearly all the time. I could smell you, Rose - good nose on me back then. And I wanted you so bad. And this body? Born for you. Born of everything I wanted for you and for me. And I wanted to taste this, taste you, all of you. Taste the want, the need, the exquisite torture that is your arousal, Rose."

He surprised her then, sucking at the spot he'd been licking, moaning with her out loud before transferring his teeth there, biting and then repeating the action on the other side. Her hips rose sharply off the couch, almost forcing his mouth on her and he groaned, using one hand to push them back down as the other moved to give his aching cock a few good hard tugs, letting a few shuddering ripples of pleasure pass through his body before letting go again. Distracting little minx. This was about her. And about a long, long ago created fantasy of his, favored by his very fluent imagination and his equally clever right hand.

"Fantasy?" she questioned, having received that thought from the myriad of overwhelming sensual overloads she getting across their link. He really was mesmerized by the taste of her skin on his tongue.

"Oh yes, Rose. Don't pretend like those short skirts and tight vest tops weren't meant to conjure up that sort of thing. And on Ogranix where we stopped for didn't wear any knickers," he chastised, nipping his brand again in mock retaliation, rewarded with another push of her hips against him.

"Didn't think you noticed," Rose groaned to him.

"Oh, I noticed," he replied, darkly. "So did our waiter. Why d'you think I made us skip dessert? Had to keep myself from killin' him with me bare hands an' shaggin' you in the middle of the restaurant." His internal voice slipped back into a Northern drawl for a moment, pulled there by the force of that memory and Rose made another delicious sound of encouragement.

He sat up a little farther, moving back up her body, placing feather-light, wet kisses all along her hips and coming to rest at her navel, swirling around it once again in a fashion that reminded her of the first time she went down on him, back when he had long hair and no idea what he was doing. She sent him a flash of that memory, of helping him first discover the wonders of oral sex, and he groaned just as she remembered him doing back then.

Raising his head from her stomach he chastised out loud, "Quit trying to distract me, Rose Tyler. I believe I was just about to relay a fantasy to you, yeah?" He was looking up at her with his chin resting on her thigh, his hair deliciously tousled by her and his eyes shining.

"Fine, fine," she said, laughing lightly in his head. "Just get back to doing what you were doing a minute ago." The delighted, impish grin he gave her before diving back down to settle between her knees sent another surge of love and affection to him across the link.

"Your wish is my command, milady," he said, transferring his mouth to her hip bone and sucking lightly there at first, adding more pressure, branding her there too as he mentally spoke. "A little background first, perhaps? Ninth me, poor bloke. All those stored away memories of making love to you rattling about and a half-formed mating bond? I never stood a chance at resisting you and your luscious bottom lip and your wicked tongue in that basement and then later wrestling that arm off you in your mum's flat, feeling you pressed up against me like that? First hard-on (so I thought) in that body and of course it was for you. Except then it kept happening. I ignored it at first, assumed my body's reactions were just some odd, temporary response to the difficult regeneration. Not the most stable body I've ever had."

"But gorgeous," Rose sighed, dreamily, her hands moving from their location locked in his fabulous hair to caress his (decidedly smaller) ears.

"Oi! No fantasizing about past bodies in bed," he responded playfully, nipping at her hip then soothing it with his tongue before starting a slow descent down one thigh toward her knee again.

"Then, just when I had convinced myself that it was all flawed biology, you came out in that bloody Cardiff dress and I was so aroused all I wanted to do was throw you down on that grating and have my way with you right then. Hadn't even known you forty-eight hours. Took me by surprise, to say the least. I'd never felt that way before, at least not that I could remember. I had to scramble to cover it up. 'For a human', honestly," he said, rolling his eyes. He felt Rose's amusement in his head as he focused on tracing Gallifreyan symbols on her kneecap.

"Oooo...throwing down on the grating. Can we do that sometime?" she asked, giggling, both at the idea and as his tongue found a particularly ticklish spot by her knee.

"We can do any location you want, Rose," the Doctor growled, focusing on turning that giggle into a groan. Not too hard with Rose's body keyed up as high it was now. But it was not enough. He was going to have her quivering with need before he gave in and tasted her where he (and she) most wanted. "And we will," he promised. "I've got a list, Rose Tyler. A loooong list. Starting with that service lift in Henrik's."

"So, long story short, Ninth me eventually started getting a lot of mileage out of his right hand. Started taking a lot more showers. Apparently learned a lot from Eighth me and his 'golden goddess'," he thought to her, smirking. He'd have to explain that last bit to her but for now, Rose simply gasped as he sent her his fantasies from both bodies, image after graphic image from nearly every location they'd ever been (planets, space stations and, of course, a good many prisons) and every room on the TARDIS she had ever seen. And a grand number of those she hadn't. Why the hell did they have a snooker room? Then she gasped again as his hands eased her legs further apart and he began to run his tongue up and down the insides of her thighs, tracing the motion with his long, nimble fingers.

"The Toaster room, really?" she panted, trying to control the upward thrust of her hips, grabbing at the last fantasy to flash by. The sight of his wild brown hair moving up and down between her thighs was even more erotic than this sight of his really great hair was normally, which was saying a lot. She needed to grasp some semblance of control or this was going to be over embarrassingly quick and he was going to be absolutely insufferable. He smirked at her as he caught that thought and then responded, turning his head to nuzzle her thigh.

"Really," he affirmed, stopping a second to dwell on that particular, inebriated fantasy. "And I fully intend to make that one happen. That's been a favourite of mine for years."

"So, skipping ahead past the immense amount of torture you put my poor leather-coated soul through, post-Bad Wolf, new, new, virgin-y Doctor body, fresh from a sword fight in my jimjams, determined to do better and not subject one wonderful Rose Tyler to being the object of an ancient alien's filthy fantasies," he continued, delighted with all the alliteration. He certainly was good with language this go 'round, "I valiantly decided I would give it up and not do it anymore." Which had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't entirely sure that she would even agree to travel with him when he had up and changed bodies without telling her, much less gave him any reason to even dream of scenarios like that with her anymore. Or the fact that he had experienced what it was like to have to live without her (even if it had only been a blessedly short separation) and he wasn't sure how he was ever going to be able to let her go. He'd thought maybe it would be easier just to push her away before it got any further...and yet had known in his hearts that he would never be able to let her go, that she simply belonged with him, that she always had and that she always would.

Shaking off those dark memories of doubts and troubles, he refocused on the quivering, wanton Rose in front of him. His fingers reached forward and ran lightly over the outer edges of her sex, delighting in the wetness they found there and in her squirming. "Wasn't easy. As I said before, this body was born to be with you, Rose. Born to touch you, to fit you, to want you in every way possible. These fingers were born to caress you, he murmured as they did just that. This tongue was born to taste you, he continued, drawing his fingers back to his mouth and sucking on them, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. Managed to make it through the first chaste night but that was mostly because I was unconscious at the time. And because your mother was right outside the door. Which brings us to the second night. New suit, you smiling at me, Christmas dinner, taking my hand outside. I thought I could make it through all of that...even when you put your hand on my knee and squeezed my thigh during dessert and I had to sit at the dinner table with a napkin in my lap for the next half an hour listening to Mr. Mickey rattle on about Chelsea because I was half-hard and that wasn't even the first time."

He was a lot more than half-hard now. He was fully, almost painfully, wonderfully aroused and rippling heavily already from the waves of arousal reflecting off Rose into him. Rassilon praise this handy oral fixation of his. This time he joined Rose in moaning as he moved forward between her legs, pulling her to the very edge of the couch and nudged her with his nose, spreading her wide with his fingers, breathing in her beautiful scent.

Drawing back just slightly he made her curse him darkly (curses she had learned from Ninth him, no doubt) as he blew cool air gently on her, a curse that quickly turned into a prolonged groan. "I stayed as long as I could that night, watching those claymation films with you, just hoping you'd let me hold you like you used to, settling for taking your hand, blanket on my lap, fighting my arousal. Then it was time for me go back to the TARDIS for the night. Your mother insisted that you stay in your old room for the night and you didn't argue. Had me worried, that did," he paused and looked up her body to lock eyes. Rose felt his wave of uncertainty from back then and his desperate worry from back then that she might not come with him, that she might stay and leave him behind. She combed her hands gently through his hair and he relaxed, letting her push those memories away. He accepted her comfort and then moved back to the gorgeous task he had at hand. "You walked me to the door. And do you remember what happened then, Rose? Hmm? Do you?" he prodded out loud, his breath ghosting over her as she didn't answer, instead moaning as he moved his fingers from her curls to plunge inside her then drawing them out and licking them clean slowly, knowing she was watching him closely.

"Mistletoe," she gasped out, watching his long, nimble fingers, shining with her wetness, disappearing into that clever mouth of his.

"That's right," he responded in her mind again, surprising and rewarding her with a long slow lick that immediately made her hands fly to the back of his head, scraping his scalp and combing through his really great hair, holding him to her.

"You kissed me, Rose Tyler, under that mistletoe. Just a little kiss. Just off my mouth. Just enough for me to get a taste of you on my lips, which became a taste of you on my tongue. This long, agile, glorious tongue," he continued, emphasizing each word with swirls and thrusts, writing his name and hers in Gallifreyan, searching deep for the source of her sweetness and lapping up everything she offered him.

Rose was a completely lost in his wonderful ministrations and his confession of fantasies. Oh, God. How many times had she fantasized about him using that errant tongue for this purpose as well? In response to that thought, he doubled his efforts and she barely had a chance for a coherent thought for the next few minutes. Sensing her impending orgasm, the Doctor pulled back slightly, suddenly ignoring the sensitive bundle of nerves he had been working on so diligently, bringing her back down.

She cried out in frustration and tried to remember what they'd been talking about. He wasn't ready to let her crest yet, easing up and pushing her mentally back to their conversation. She should have known that sex with this Doctor would be all about talking. He withdrew his tongue and looked as mock-offended as he could manage with his mouth all wet and shiny and nipped her thigh in reprimand to that thought and she laughed, followed by his laughing happy noise as well.

Christmas. Mistletoe. She hadn't meant to kiss him on the lips. After her mum had badgered them, blushing furiously, into kissing, she'd leaned up to kiss his cheek and he'd turned his head at the last second and their lips had briefly, so briefly, touched. That kiss had turned into a flurry of frantic motions as she blushed and stammered and he became a whirlwind of pinstripes out the door. She'd been mortified both of "betraying" his past self and frightened that his quick exit had meant he would leave her behind over an errant brush of her mouth.

His mind reached out and caressed hers in a more gentle fashion, not lust and arousal filled as it had been, like running a light hand over her cheek and he rested his chin on her hip a moment, looking up at her with big, brown eyes. "Never, Rose. I never would have left you like that. I will never leave you like that," he said, both touched by her loyalty to his previous self and sorry he had caused her that strife.

She gave him a small, tentative smile and, satisfied, he focused once again back on her. "I had to hurry out because I suddenly had an extremely large, very, er, hard problem. All my noble, chaste intentions, chucked right out the window with just one teeny-tiny taste of the majesty of my Rose," he hummed against her, thrusting his tongue back in deeply, mimicking the motion of thrusting with his body and eliciting gorgeous, throaty noises from her. "Didn't even make it out of the console room," he admitted, increasing both his tempo and ferocity, adding his fingers with his tongue. "Brand new trousers and there they went, right on the floor. Had my cock out by the time I reached the jump seat," he continued, watching carefully for the flare of arousal at his vulgar words that coursed through Rose's mind. She liked that, then. He was awfully good with words this time. His hips were jerking rhythmically as well, seeking some friction. The hand not currently working inside Rose slipped down to circle his erection, stroking and squeezing to match his vicious pace. He was rippling quickly, almost constantly, close, so close with her.

Adding the visual memory of him dashing through the console room shedding his clothing in desperation for completion to the physical and mental sensations flying between the two of them, he felt Rose's arousal reach an almost painful high, taking his with it. His tongue and fingers and hips were working madly now and his thoughts were getting harder to keep sensible. "I was hard, so hard, just imagining what it would be like to taste you, every part of you. To go right back upstairs, drag you to the TARDIS and go down on you right there in the console room. Imagining your taste, your scent, your sounds, your legs wrapped around my head. Wanted you so bad. So, so bad. I'd have taken you right there on the jumpseat where I was fucking my hand, imagining I was on my knees in front of you, worshiping you. I'dve used my tongue and teeth and fingers and then my cock to make you come, to make you explode. Over and over again. Just. Like. This." At his words, she keened again and held him almost painfully tight between her thighs. Suddenly he none too gently nipped her sensitive clit with his teeth and she was screaming his name just like he imagined she would and three climaxes, Rose's, his fantasy Rose and new, new Doctor alone in the console room from his memory ripped through them, shockwave after shockwave of pure pleasure rioting across the link. He cried out, giving himself one more good tug and then scrambled with his other hand to grab the closest thing to cover up with (Rose's discarded jumper, by coincidence) as he came so hard he was sure he saw stars, the entire Medusa cascade probably.

He collapsed back onto his heels and Rose slumped back onto the couch and neither of them spoke for a few long, breathless moments. It was Rose's giggling and the warmth of her amusement creeping across the bond that made him finally open his eyes and look up at her. She was still deliciously flushed (although some of it might have been embarrassment now) and shirtless, her hair a complete disarray. He thought he probably looked much the same, his trousers still open and Rose's soiled jumper still clutched in his hand. One look at her mirth-filled face and he began to laugh as well, laughing as he had not in years, not since he'd lost her.

They both laughed themselves breathless once again, one setting the other back off as he or she gained composure. "Well, that was brilliant," Rose said, finally, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Unexpected, but brilliant."

"It was, wasn't it?" the Doctor answered, preening and moving back up to sit beside her once again on the couch, handing her the jeans and knickers and dropping her jumper back to the floor. He tucked himself away and picked the book back up off the floor as Rose put her trousers back on. "And that was just the first time! Imagine how good it'll be once I've had some practice, Rose!" he exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows at her. "And I'm going to insist on a lot of practice." He sent her several images of places he'd very much like to practice with her. With the pain of his memories in the back of his mind and his joy at being with her still spilling over from that very satisfying release, he wasn't quite ready yet to go back to being worried about their bond.

There was a hefty spike of lust across the bond and Rose collapsed back on the couch once more, groaning. "Stop it, stop it," she laughed, putting a hand over her face. "We're never going to read any of that dusty old book if you keep doing that."

"I thought that you were very much in favour of what I was doing instead of reading my 'dusty, old book'," he teased, leaning forward and leering at her unclothed chest a moment. "In fact, there are a number of other parts of you that I feel I've not yet been properly reacquainted," the Doctor growled, moving forward to let his breath puff gently across the tops of her breasts, delighting in keeping her off kilter.

Rose looked down, surprised a moment at her lack of shirt before flushing again. "Oh, believe me, I'm looking forward to that as well," she replied and then flipped the tables on him by reaching forward and beginning to unbutton his oxford, his eyes rolling back as her fingers danced across his hearts, her warmth burning him despite the thin tshirt between them. "But the next time we do this, Time Lord," she whispered, her mouth brushing against his ear as she tugged his undone shirt from his waistband and he shuddered, knowing he'd officially lost this round and not minding one bit. "We're both going to be completely naked," she paused, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and helping him get his wrists through it, "you're going to have that glorious cock of yours inside me," she paused again and he whimpered as her hand glanced down to his lap where he was already getting hard again. "And the two of us are going to come so hard they'll hear it on Raxacoricofallapatorius," she finished, echoing her words to him from so, so long ago that word just as bafflingly arousing as it had been back then (perhaps even more baffling now that he knew exactly where it was and what came off it).

Before he could reach for her again, she triumphantly stood up, taking his oxford with her and donning it herself with a flourish. He gaped at her, as in awe of her now as he had been all those years ago and she grinned at him, first reveling in her win in their little game of seduction and then more softly as she remembered their time together then, too.

"You, read that book," Rose ordered playfully, pointing at him with her tongue in her teeth. "I'm going to find something to keep me busy."

Panic surged through him and he knew that he hadn't hidden it well when Rose spun back to him immediately. "Don't worry. M'not leaving the library. I'm just going to find a book to read or something. I'll be right here," she added gently.

He relaxed incrementally and cracked open the ancient Gallifreyan book, some of his anxiety creeping back in. The sooner he figured this out, the sooner they could move forward. He took a deep breath and began to read.