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rabid1stWhat Wild Geese Know
by Rabid1st
Doctor Who AU
Doctor/Rose
Spoilers: A bit of S3, Last of the Time Lords
Betas: Measi & Keswindhover & Caia
Rating: Mature + (this part Adult but not smutty)
Summary: A post reunion story...taking off from the canon premise that the Doctor and Rose never had sex. All events through Last of the Time Lords apply. This part is Rose POV in places...I tried to make it all Doctor POV but it just went wonky for the alien!sex. Too, too hard to explain from his POV.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor have any right to use these characters. I wrote this for my own amusement and the amusement of my friends and expect no compensation of any kind.
IF YOU MISSED PART ONE CLICK HERE
PART TWO
Rose showed the Doctor around her kitchen, and then left him rummaging in the cupboards. She could tell by his tutting that he didn't think much of her food choices, but he twiddled his fingers and grinned at her as she sauntered away. She felt dazed but kept her head held high, her shoulders squared and her steps unhurried. Knowing he would be listening, she maintained a sedate pace, cool as you please, all the way down the hall to her bedroom. But as soon as she'd closed the door behind her, she sagged against it and covered her face with both hands.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
He was here. In her apartment. In person. The Doctor. Her Doctor. He'd come home.
“Thank you,” she whispered, casting her gaze heavenward. “Thank you!”
Letting the wonder of an answered prayer wash over her, she lowered her hands, clasping them as she pressed them to her lips. She seemed to have a permanent smile. Even blind panic couldn't wilt it. Heart pounding, she let her eyes sweep the room. His bag lay open on the end of the bed. Those were his suits in her closet. Those were his books on the bedside table. That was his jacket on her...his pillow. His pillow, because it was his side of the bed. His clean, spicy, not-quite-human scent would linger there like it used to linger in the TARDIS. It was on her hands now. She cracked them apart like the cover of a book and buried her nose between them to savor the exotic, yet comfortingly familiar aroma. It would be all over her soon.
Oh, my God!
Alarm bells clanged inside her skull. He wanted her to seduce him. She couldn't even seduce Jack, and nuns could seduce Jack. Jack had once propositioned a lamp post. Her hand went to her trouser pocket, fumbling for her mobile phone. She needed to call her mother. Jackie would know what to do.
She recalled her youthful amazement at her mum's easy way with the lads. Jackie had used her feminine wiles to get anything she'd needed out of mostly willing men. If the car stopped running, sooner or later some bloke would show up with his tools greased and ready to set thing right. Green grocers brought around bags of oranges. Postmen carried heavy furniture all the way down stairs to the curb. Growing up in Jackie Tyler's shadow had been more intimidating than enlightening for Rose. Men did Jackie's bidding. Rose got pats on the head and chucks under the chin. Even when she started to fill out, she failed to pull attention from her mum.
Rose was a tom boy not a siren. Blokes liked to pal around with her before getting a leg over. To this day, even counting the balloon animal incident with all the hopping which the Doctor never let her forget, her most embarrassing moment was the night she'd tried charming Jimmy Stone out of taking his drugs. He'd called her useless and shoved her aside. Mickey had been kinder. Whenever she'd been in the mood, he'd generally fallen in line with her plans. But he'd never taken her seriously. Trotting out the black lace knickers and high heels inspired him to make off-color jokes, yodel like Tarzan and wrestle her into giggling submission.
Not that she'd mind if the Doctor wanted to wrestle and giggle with her. They'd gotten up to that once or twice, near the end. The memory of it made her fan her face with her free hand like an old lady having vapors. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she couldn't help rolling her eyes. This was ridiculous. She tucked the mobile phone back in her trouser pocket. No way was she calling Jackie for advice. It would be useless anyway. The lot of them, her mum, dad, Pete, Jr., Mickey and Jake would only troop over to see the Doctor and they'd end up staying all night. Rose shook her head. She could do this. How hard could it be to seduce the man you loved more than chocolate and days off combined? He wanted her. She wanted him. Neither of them were virginal innocents.
Except it did seem like her first time, alien and new. Sex with the Doctor. She tried to imagine it, but only managed to conjure the earlier euphoria of being held in his arms and snogged silly. His hugs intoxicated her. His kisses left her reeling. All the time they were together, she'd never wanted more than to hold his hand, stay by his side forever. She'd been content with that. Only when she'd lost him did she succumb to raw desire. On her own, late at night, loneliness hounded her until all she could think of was what he might be like as a lover. In this very apartment, in that very bed, she'd done what she had never dared to do in the TARDIS; she'd dreamed of having him inside her.
It had to be possible, she reckoned. He had something between his legs. She'd seen it. Stripped naked, he'd looked generally male to her. True, she hadn't studied him as closely as her mum would have, but she had no reason to suspect his private parts would be less humanoid than the rest of him. Except, now, he was telling her there was more to them. Something hidden inside, he'd said. It could be anything. What if it was hideous? What if it was laughable?
What if he eats me afterward? Like poor Owen Harper when he picked up that Rigelian Mantis for a one-night stand.
Rose snorted. “He's not going to eat you,” she told her whey-faced reflection. “At least not in the praying mantis, Racnoss sort of way.”
“Did you have the Racnoss?” the Doctor yelped in the distance, sounding interested.
“Oh, God, I forgot about the super-hearing,” Rose groaned, blushing to her toes. Yet another reason she never pleasured herself on the TARDIS. It was bad enough having him comment about her showers and how often she used the loo. He had no sense of privacy when it came to some things.
“It's telepathically enhanced,” he bellowed from afar. A moment later, his lowered voice came from just beyond the bedroom door. “And I promise not to eat you. Nibble, maybe, or lick.”
She'd also forgotten how silently he could move. “Doctor? Go...cook,” she ordered, less like a dominatrix and more like a desperately nervous teenager.
“Things are simmering,” he said, his tone leaving her with the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about dinner.
Rose tried not to think. She waited, ear pressed to the door, hand at her throat, until she heard him stride back down the hall. Blowing out a breath, she straightened and, after the briefest hesitation, stripped off her blouse. She tossed it onto the bed as she moved further into the room. After emptying her pockets, she stooped to remove her shoes. Trousers, knickers and bra joined her discarded shirt.
Scooping up the pile, she carted it to the laundry hamper. Concern that he might bound in on her in the middle of her shower made her close the bathroom door behind her. Two security barriers might give him pause or they might not. He was difficult to predict. Her hair she pulled high up and tied in a loose chignon. She didn't want to take the time to blow it dry again. While the shower heated, she tissued off her makeup and brushed her teeth. Might as well get used to facing him au natural.
The hot shower washed away a good measure of her tension. She let the heavy spray pound her curved shoulders for a time before sudsing up with Bella Rosa body soap. She knew the natural fragrances, verbena and vanilla, would delight the Doctor's delicate senses. Soon after she'd come on board, he had turned quite firm with her about shower gels and such. Too many chemicals made his head swim, he'd said. He'd given in on hair dye but he'd ranted and raved and lectured until she'd agreed to let him reverse engineer her other beauty products to more natural states. Twentieth century cosmetic companies were, according to him, pickling her cells in a stew of toxins and he didn't want her altering her DNA just to smell vaguely of gardenias or whatever.
Over time, Rose had grown quite fond of the new lighter fragrances he'd created. Before she'd started working for Torchwood, her father had encouraged her to design a similar line of Earth-friendly cosmetics based on what she could remember of the Doctor's formulas. The resulting Bella Rosa label sold like lemon ice on a sweltering day. And, now that he was here, the Doctor could help refine the products and make them even more appealing and safe.
'Well, there's one way to make money,' Rose thought as she toweled dry.
Pride created such a swelling sensation in her chest, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. He really was the most wonderful person in this or any other universe. She hadn't forgotten, but until last month, she'd had only the vaguest expectation of ever seeing him again. The lengths he'd gone to just to say goodbye had convinced her more than anything else that he truly couldn't reach her. She knew he would have come to her in person if he'd been able to do so. And sure enough here he was, hard on the heels of discovering how to bridge the void. And he loved her. She'd always known that, of course. But there was no denying how wonderful it felt to have him say it.
Fresh and clean, she turned her attention to a suitable outfit for seduction. She opened the wardrobe and looked over her choices. Again, she considered the Doctor's more sensitive system. He liked to taste and touch. He didn't really care about visual stimulation. At least not in the same way a human man might. Lace negligees and panties wouldn't entice him. During their travels, she'd mumbled “might as well be wearing a bin bag” so often he'd taken to suggesting she do just that. “All the same to me,” he'd chime cheerfully, making her want to smack him. Esthetically, he enjoyed what his culture found fashionable. Madame Pompadour might come close with her full silk skirts and elaborate brocade bodices, but Rose couldn't hope to mimic the court costumes of the Time Lords. She decided to dress for comfort and accessibility.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He burned the toast three times but managed to get dinner on the table before Rose returned. Setting the covered basket of toast next to her plate, he plopped into a chair and drew her laptop over to him. He was busy rewiring it when she entered the room. He didn't need to glance her way to be completely aware of her. When she padded down the hall on still damp, bare feet, he started to tingle in anticipation. His orienting senses had fixated on her as soon as he'd arrived in this dimension. They told him exactly where and when she was at any moment. Rose remained oblivious to this aspect of his attraction to her--how easily he could find her in a crowd or a city. He didn't lose her like he lost other people. She was his lodestone, magnet to his steel.
Naturally, his highly evolved senses were far more discerning than any human faculties would be. He was not only telepathic, but empathic if the mood was conducive to it. He could sense her excitement and fear and arousal. The soft drape and swish of her clothing played in his ear like music. He could gauge the state of her nerves when she paused in the doorway to study him. She leaned into the door frame, giving him a moment to think about what would happen next.
What would happen? He wasn't completely sure. Rose obviously wasn't naturally aggressive. He'd shared a bed with her in their travels, hugged and tickled her. He'd given her any number of broad hints about his intentions. They'd even discussed how to rear children. Children! That was beyond forward for his kind. Gallifreyan males didn't mention children until they were told to expect some. He supposed if they were ever going to expect children, he'd have to give Rose more incentive to molest him. He thought about what he might do differently as he adjusted the settings on her laptop.
“This takes me back,” she said and he lifted his gaze from his tinkering. He must have seemed dumbstruck because she explained without prompting. “You jiggery-pokering about in your shirtsleeves. Used to give me a thrill, like I was catching you with your kit off.”
He stood hastily, his mouth dry and uncooperative. Even if he'd known what to say to such a confession, his parched throat wouldn't have provided words. Funny to think of her lusting after him just as he was thinking she never had. Imagine her enticed by a glimpse of his forearm, like a Victorian gentleman spotting a flash of ankle. She'd wanted him, then. That was encouraging. She'd always seemed oblivious to his masculinity. She'd once gone so far as to question it. “I mean...men,” she'd said, clearly leaving him out of that company.
Drinking her in, he could see her point really. No doubt a man confronted with such a vision would know what to do at this juncture, while he felt completely inadequate to the task ahead of him. How could he possibly approach her as a human lover might? She was beautiful. He knew he didn't have much of an eye for the ladies, but Rose was beautiful on so many levels, her appeal was hard to miss. She smelled heavenly and moved with determined grace. Her eyes sparkled. Her honey-gold hair shined. She'd tied it into a messy chignon. He longed for permission to set it free. To pet her. Taste her. Cuddle her close.
She was dressed for cuddling in a simple outfit of silvery slacks and a black top. The outfit surprised him. She generally wore utilitarian clothing and he paid little attention to it. These slacks hung loose. Their wide, stretchy waistband rode low on her hips. The boxy blouse swung from her shoulders. It had a square neckline, three big square button and quarter-length, full sleeves. The hem stopped just short of meeting the top of her slacks, leaving a sliver of smooth skin bare. He'd have to lick the material to discover its exact composition. It might be a silk blend. Or rayon. Something synthetic maybe.
Although...probably...strictly speaking it didn't matter he told himself sternly, reining in further speculation. Really, he had enough on his mind without dithering over fashion. What mattered was the overall effect of the material. Both slacks and blouse were soft and flowed over her like water when she walked. Tantalizing glimpses of her exposed belly and the rocking swivel of her hips held him enthralled as she approached.
She kept coming, past his boundaries and into his comfort zone. There was a banked fire at her core. His heat regulating glands gave him more information than she knew. She wore nothing underneath her slacks and top. He targeted her aroused interest through the thin layer of her clothing. Her hardened nipples radiated energy and she was wet and hot between her legs. Physically, she seemed ready, but she gave no easily interpreted sign of it. Framing his face with her hands, she went up on her toes to bring her mouth to his and kiss him soundly. She tasted of mint and, unfortunately, fluoride. He'd have to address her dental care without delay.
Still, the kiss held sweet intention. He wanted to enjoy it, but he instinctively squirmed, his torso twisting. The urge to escape from such close quarters nearly unmanned him. His arms lifted, flailing slightly, as if he were a clipped bird, hoping to fly. Before panic could take hold, he thought to seize Rose at her exposed waist. Skin-on-skin, he knew her. This is the woman you love, his palms and fingertips told him. Primal synapses clicked over, firing off new instructions. She was satiny smooth and welcoming. Recognition cleared his head, reminding him of what they were going to do later this very night. They would have to get closer. He wanted to get closer. It would be lovely to be inside her, sheltered and safe. He started to relax, only to have the kiss end.
Sparkling eyes dancing with mischief, Rose purred, “Hungry?”
He stared down into her for a second and then squeaked, “Peas!”
As she'd settled back onto her heels, his hands had disappeared under her loose blouse. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts and she gasped. Oh, that sound stirred him deep. He drew a shaky breath and tried to elaborate on his earlier comment.
“Creamed peas.” He swallowed convulsively. “Creamed peas on toast...for supper. And ice cream after, with fruit in a rum sauce.”
She placed her palms flat against his chest and stood on tip-toe again to see over his shoulder. “I had fruit?”
He reluctantly shifted his grip, afraid he would be holding her breasts when she came back down this time. He shouldn't be afraid of that, but he was. He was pretty sure breast-holding would carry them beyond the point of no return.
“I brought fruit,” he corrected primly. “You had pears.” He gave a tiny theatrical shiver and curled his lip in a pained manner. “In a tin. Tinned pears.”
“How horrible for you,” she said, patting his bicep affectionately.
“I disposed of them.”
“I suppose I'll have to give them up, now you're staying.”
“Only if you're intend to go on kissing me,” he said, concentrating on prying his fingers from her ribs. They didn't seem to want to let go.
“Oh, I do,” she said and she kissed him again.
This time he barely twitched. Though his pulse skittered rather alarmingly when her tongue touched his. Sparks arched up and down his spine and he felt his loins relaxing. Another thing he'd have to explain, the cold rush of exposure. He couldn't go around unfulfilled, just hanging about like a human male. Once he managed to relax, once his sex descended, things would need to move along quickly. He'd need to be inside her, then, almost immediately. Rose drew her nails along his shoulder blade. Shivering, he latched onto her. A guttural growl escaped him as his hands cupped her hip bones, fingers curling into the yielding flesh of her bottom.
Her skin had a delicious blush. Waves of heat splashed over him with each hammer of her heart. Her nipples felt hot enough to burn through his shirt. They glowed like tiny coals, inflamed and inflaming. He wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet. She molded to him, clinging like the little ape she was. Rassilon help him, he shouldn't find that quite so erotic but he did.
Coming out of the kiss, she skimmed his cheek to snuffle in the hollow of his neck. He concentrated on releasing receptive pheromones while she burrowed into him, obviously enjoying his scent. Again, he felt the wrenching quake all over as he opened below. Need tightened his grip on her. All she had to do was keep pressing him like this. He was almost ready. He longed to complete the circuit, let her into his mind. There was a definite heaviness low in his abdomen. But when he set Rose's feet on the ground, freeing his hands so he could bring them to her temples, she stepped away and he lost his momentum. He grimaced as the protective cartilage around his emerging sex snapped closed like a clamshell. Damn!
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, examining the table setting.
He glared at the back of her head in mute frustration, thinking, 'Kiss me. Go on kissing me. Take control so we can... Oh, bother.'
She needed more encouragement.
“Champagne,” he manged to peep, jutting his chin to indicate a pair of fluted glasses. Since she wasn't looking at him, he cleared his throat and added, “It's chilling in the refrigerator. Top shelf, left.”
“I had...?” she began as she headed for the kitchen, but caught herself and grinned over her shoulder at him. “You brought champagne in your coat pocket? All the way from the other universe?”
“I thought we might want to celebrate...something,” he said slightly defensive.
“You're a treasure, you are.” Rose said, flashing him a glimpse of pink tongue. She hummed happily as she bounced to the refrigerator, drew forth the bottle and examined the label. “Or, I should say, your coat is. Bananas, berries, rum, champagne. What else did you bring?”
“Ice cream,” he said, noticing she was already looking at the carton of caramel crunch softening in the fridge.
“How deep are those pockets, anyway?”
“Quite extensive. But I only brought the barest necessities. First aid supplies and medicines... gadgets...tools...champagne...”
“Ice cream.”
“Things we might be hard pressed to find in a pinch. And, of course, I always carry an emergency kit.”
“I remember. Looking glass, firecrackers, matches, flasks of rum and water, a banana or two and a pocket torch,” Rose recited.
“Never know when you might need a bit of potassium or a light...or...a small explosive.”
“We do have champagne in this universe, you know? And bananas.”
“Yes, but not precisely here,” he pointed out, hand rubbing along the base of his skull, ruffling through his hair. “You wouldn't want me popping off to the market when...you might want to hold that bottle over the sink. Bound to have taken a shaking on the trip over.”
“How many pieces of toast did you burn?” Rose teased, noticing the crumbs around the sink disposal as she unwrapped the wire and foil surrounding the champagne cork.
“Two or three. Six? Is it my fault you don't own a proper toaster?” He smiled to soften his incensed tone. “The one thing I forgot to pack. It's always something. Bring your sonic screwdriver. Forget your toothbrush. Bring your toothbrush. Forget the toaster. Just give me functional equipment...something from say Lloyd's of Belkinzinar and I will astound you with my toasting skill. If we lived anywhere else in the universe we'd have a proper toaster. But, no...you come from a sadly backward planet...spring-loaded mechanisms and heating coils? Who thinks of such things?”
“I'll check the alien artifacts at Torchwood. Maybe I can find you a proper toaster.”
The champagne cork popped and the bottle sighed. “Le soupir amoureux,” the Doctor declared, then translated for Rose, “The loving whisper, what the French call that noise. Clever people, the French, they've got a name for everything.”
“Rather like the Inuit,” Rose agreed, as she returned to fill their glasses. “A thousand names for snow.”
“More like 806,” the Doctor said, holding her chair for her.
“I've heard it said the Germans have a thousand words for sorrow.”
“Poetic license. English has quite a few sorrowful words, come to that. Now, the Mplezkk'yt,” he confided with a knowing nod, “the most artistically inclined people in the universe, actually do have a thousand different ways of saying, 'you're blocking my light.' And my language, of course, has well over a thousand words for time. Three thousand six hundred and twenty-eight to be precise. But my favorite example of linguistic excess is the Ploo of S'nississenoo.”
“The Ploo of...?” Rose snickered, sending champagne bubbles up her nose. Once she'd recovered, she asked, “Are they anything like The Who?”
“The band?”
“No, the other ones. The ones Horton heard? The little Seuss-y fellows.” Processing his blank look, she elaborated, “Doctor Seuss? Horton the Elephant? I took P.J. to see the movie last year. His whole room is done up like Whoville. He's mad about them.”
Fork halfway to his mouth, he continued to gape at her. “Seuss-y...?” he began, his brow furrowing, but then he made the connection. “Oh, oh, like the Grinch?” The flippancy of her reference caused such a giddy lift in his spirits that he put his fork down and scooted his chair around the table to her side. “Did you know the Grinch was a Who?” Rose shook her head. “I'd forgotten until just now. All of that present pilfering and awakening of the Christmas spirit takes place in a single snowflake. Little Whovians singing their Whovian songs. A person's a person no matter how small,” he mused on that for a moment, then said, “But the Ploo are largish with teal-colored carapaces and I mentioned them because, at last count they had ten-thousand eight-hundred and fifty-two ways of saying, 'I love you.' And...and,” he added, brows arching and head bobbling to stress his point, “they have a planet-wide competition every year to come up with new ways.”
“They must be a romantic lot.”
“You would think so, but no.” He wrinkled his nose and scratched his ear, perplexed. “Actually, I'm not sure they ever get around to the romance. All of them far too busy trying to outdo one another with overblown declarations of affection.”
“Sounds like a children's book,” Rose said as she spooned peas over her toast. “The moral being talk is cheap, or some such.”
“Are there always morals in children's books?” he wondered aloud. Then, having thought about a few hundred plots in a second or so, added, “I suppose there are.”
Rose ate a few bites, beamed enthusiastically and complimented him on his cooking. Only she would consider opening a tin of peas and making a cream sauce a culinary feat. He reached for his plate and glass, arranging them on her side of the table. She pulled her laptop around to see what he had done to it. A stray lock of hair escaped her chignon when she leaned forward. The strands fell into her eyes and, intent on studying the oddly twisting connector he'd welded into her Firewire port, she impatiently tucked the hair behind her ear.
“It's like my cell phone,” she said, still examining his handiwork. “It works across time and space?”
“Yes, exactly,” he said. He started to reach around her to hit a few keys and quickly decided she should do the typing for him. “Access the Internet,” he told her, leaving his arm draped about her shoulders. “You can go online and find any computer, anywhere, any when, any time or place. Well, any time with computers. Any computer with Internet service. Well, Internet service or accessible phone lines. Just about. There are a few security issues. But the point is that that little gizmo, er...doodad...is a temporally flexible wireless connection, linking this laptop to the past or the future...or the present, whenever, wherever, via satellite beam or ground line. Whichever," he added, for the symmetry. "Cybernetic technology is a tad more advanced in this reality so with the stroke of a few keys...zippity do dah, I'm a citizen of the British Commonwealth." Proud of his new standing in society, he beamed broadly. But then, sobered a little as he went on to explain how he'd accomplished it. "The government records go back eighty years. I've created a false history for myself. Bank accounts, birth records, schools, driver's licenses, taxes, everything.”
Rose cocked her head to gaze fondly on him. “You'd make a fantastic criminal mastermind.”
“I've thought of that,” he said. “It's a way to make money and we'd meet a lot of interesting people. But I imagine it would disrupt our home life.”
“I would expect you to cover your tracks.”
“I would,” he told her, seriously. “But what of my associates? Criminal types are notoriously unreliable. ”
“True,” she mused. “And eventually Torchwood would find you out. We get all the alien masterminds in the end. I'd have to cart you off to the lock up and throw away the key.”
“That'd put some spice in our sex life,” he said. "Press F-7."
She did and a picture appeared on screen. It looked to be a teenage version of the Doctor in a school sporting uniform. “Oh, I like that! Makes me believe you were a child once.”
“I was a child once.”
“Not like this you weren't. You played cricket?” she asked, noting the uniform and bat.
“I did. I'm a fine bowler. Well...I say fine. Good. Adequate. I should say adequate. No need to draw unnecessary attention.”
She couldn't contain her mirth as she read the picture's caption. “D'Artagnan Delatardis?”
“Delatardeese,” he corrected, giving the surname a French lilt. “We still use the Gallic pronunciation. Though the family immigrated in my great, great grandfather's time from the north of France. I grew up in Southwark, same as you. Though not in the estates.”
“I'm more interest in the D'Artagnan,” Rose laughed, edging around in their close quarters to face him.
Bright red, he avoided her gaze as he confessed. “I always wanted to be a Musketeer. And it will go a long way toward explaining why my nearest and dearest call me Doctor.”
“Embarrassed by your name. Clever,” she sighed, as she snuggled into his embrace. His encircling arm drew her closer.
Dipping his chin, he pressed the blade of his nose against her cheek. “Still hungry?” he whispered.
Her breath caught. “How...?” she asked huskily before clearing her throat. “How did we meet?”
“Through your friend Ricky.”
“Mickey?”
“I didn't take his head off this time, though,” he said, before lightly kissing her temple. Her erratic thoughts tumbled around under his lips.
She lifted a hand and stroked tentative fingers through his hair. “Are you a medical doctor, then?”
“I am.” He nibbled his way down her throat to her collar. Caressing her was getting easier, coming to him naturally. He began to enjoy himself. “Oxford and then St. Barts, where I originally went in our universe. I had the diplomas on file for my Bachelors of Medicine and Surgery. All I had to do was update them for 1992. I'm a certified teacher as well.”
Rose's heated whisper feathered along his cheek. “You've been busy.”
“I started young,” he said. He traced the very tip of his tongue along the neckline of her blouse, just under the edge of it, then added, “And I am brilliant.”
“You are,” she murmured, pillowing her head against shoulder and arching her back to give him better access to her neckline. They were practically sitting in one chair now. “So, do you have a surgery somewhere?”
He smiled down on her. “No, I don't practice. I write books.”
This interested her so much she sat forward in the chair, breaking contact as she shifted into her seat to stare at him. “What sort of books?”
“Children's books.”
“Like Dr. Seuss?”
“A bit, only not as successful, of course.” He was disappointed that the cuddling was over but he dutifully brought up an online bookstore and typed in his assumed name. A string of titles appeared on screen.
“Hang on,” Rose declared. “You're already published?”
“Any computer, anywhere, any when,” he reminded her. “I sent my first three manuscripts back in time.”
“Three? But...I'd have seen you in the stores.”
“Would you have noticed?”
“I shop for P.J.,” she said, but she sounded doubtful.
“Pete Jr. is what now? Three?”
“Four, last April.
He shrugged. “A little young, yet, for my books. Give him a few years.”
Rose giggled helplessly as she processed the first book title. “Flack Mackerel and the Rift in Space,” she crowed, pointing at a cartooned book cover. “Oh, you wouldn't? Is that Jack?”
“I was going to call him Captain Haddock but the name was already taken.”
“He should sue you for slander.” Reading aloud, she said, “'Intergalactic Adventurer Flack Mackerel faces his deadliest foe, yet, the Postulator.' He's a fish! Look at him.”
“What? I think it's a perfect likeness. Square-jaw and steely-eye. He'd be flattered.”
Burbling with laughter, Rose collapsed back into his waiting arms. Then, twisting around, she braced her knee by his thigh and straddled his lap to murmur against his lips. “You always were jealous of Jack.”
“Jealous?” he piped, as she stroked her tongue down his cheek to his earlobe. “No. No. I was never jealous. I was merely...concerned. For your...uhm...you and he were rather....that is he is a bit...uh....” She'd insinuated her fingers into the space between his shirt buttons and was popping the buttons open one at a time as her tongue explored the curls of his ear. His hands, moving with a purpose of their own, had started fumbling with the band restraining her hair. Some seconds later, he realized he'd lost the thread of the conversation. “What was the question?”
She sat straighter just as her hair came undone. It spilled over her face. Her eyes locked with his through a blond veil of silken strands. “Were you jealous?”
“Yes,” he admitted, drawing her into an blatantly possessive kiss.
He clutched her close and she wriggled against him for awhile, her mouth caressing his. She was deliciously soft and slick inside. Even the fluoride didn't bother him too much. His hands found their way around her bottom and under her blouse to explore the planes and curves of her back. He already knew her back intimately from their many hugs, but he'd always found that bare skin offered deeper insight. Through the prickling of her skin, Rose told him she was still shy. Her muscles clenched when he skimmed a hand under the waistband of her slacks. Her blood eddied and swirled under his probing fingertips. He could feel her pulse quicken as their kissing intensified. He concentrated his petting efforts toward pushing her into a sensual frenzy.
He toyed with the curve of her bum and the slopes of her breasts, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin but steadfastly avoiding any obvious trigger points. Cradling her above and below, he suckled along the shallow valley of her cleavage. Her breathing became strained. She rocked back and forth, leaning into his stroking hands. Her fingers clawed at his shirt, nearly tearing it from him. It went flying once he helped her tug it free. She ignored his undershirt. Both of her hands clutched at his hair. Holding on, she tilted his head back and her mouth found his again, coming down hard. He opened all over when her tongue lapped into him. He thought about taking her to the floor, but she slithered from his grasp, edging off the chair to stand while simultaneously sliding her hands down to clasp his wrists.
“We need the bed,” she said, drawing him up out of his seat. "Now!"
Bed, what a good idea. But...this was all moving rather quickly. His glassy gaze went to the cluttered table. “Shouldn't I tidy up first?” he asked.
“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
“Oh,” he breathed, stumbling as an icy surge of hormones jellied his knees and set him shuddering all over. “Okay.”
END THIS PART
GO TO PART THREE
by Rabid1st
Doctor Who AU
Doctor/Rose
Spoilers: A bit of S3, Last of the Time Lords
Betas: Measi & Keswindhover & Caia
Rating: Mature + (this part Adult but not smutty)
Summary: A post reunion story...taking off from the canon premise that the Doctor and Rose never had sex. All events through Last of the Time Lords apply. This part is Rose POV in places...I tried to make it all Doctor POV but it just went wonky for the alien!sex. Too, too hard to explain from his POV.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor have any right to use these characters. I wrote this for my own amusement and the amusement of my friends and expect no compensation of any kind.
IF YOU MISSED PART ONE CLICK HERE
PART TWO
Rose showed the Doctor around her kitchen, and then left him rummaging in the cupboards. She could tell by his tutting that he didn't think much of her food choices, but he twiddled his fingers and grinned at her as she sauntered away. She felt dazed but kept her head held high, her shoulders squared and her steps unhurried. Knowing he would be listening, she maintained a sedate pace, cool as you please, all the way down the hall to her bedroom. But as soon as she'd closed the door behind her, she sagged against it and covered her face with both hands.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
He was here. In her apartment. In person. The Doctor. Her Doctor. He'd come home.
“Thank you,” she whispered, casting her gaze heavenward. “Thank you!”
Letting the wonder of an answered prayer wash over her, she lowered her hands, clasping them as she pressed them to her lips. She seemed to have a permanent smile. Even blind panic couldn't wilt it. Heart pounding, she let her eyes sweep the room. His bag lay open on the end of the bed. Those were his suits in her closet. Those were his books on the bedside table. That was his jacket on her...his pillow. His pillow, because it was his side of the bed. His clean, spicy, not-quite-human scent would linger there like it used to linger in the TARDIS. It was on her hands now. She cracked them apart like the cover of a book and buried her nose between them to savor the exotic, yet comfortingly familiar aroma. It would be all over her soon.
Oh, my God!
Alarm bells clanged inside her skull. He wanted her to seduce him. She couldn't even seduce Jack, and nuns could seduce Jack. Jack had once propositioned a lamp post. Her hand went to her trouser pocket, fumbling for her mobile phone. She needed to call her mother. Jackie would know what to do.
She recalled her youthful amazement at her mum's easy way with the lads. Jackie had used her feminine wiles to get anything she'd needed out of mostly willing men. If the car stopped running, sooner or later some bloke would show up with his tools greased and ready to set thing right. Green grocers brought around bags of oranges. Postmen carried heavy furniture all the way down stairs to the curb. Growing up in Jackie Tyler's shadow had been more intimidating than enlightening for Rose. Men did Jackie's bidding. Rose got pats on the head and chucks under the chin. Even when she started to fill out, she failed to pull attention from her mum.
Rose was a tom boy not a siren. Blokes liked to pal around with her before getting a leg over. To this day, even counting the balloon animal incident with all the hopping which the Doctor never let her forget, her most embarrassing moment was the night she'd tried charming Jimmy Stone out of taking his drugs. He'd called her useless and shoved her aside. Mickey had been kinder. Whenever she'd been in the mood, he'd generally fallen in line with her plans. But he'd never taken her seriously. Trotting out the black lace knickers and high heels inspired him to make off-color jokes, yodel like Tarzan and wrestle her into giggling submission.
Not that she'd mind if the Doctor wanted to wrestle and giggle with her. They'd gotten up to that once or twice, near the end. The memory of it made her fan her face with her free hand like an old lady having vapors. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she couldn't help rolling her eyes. This was ridiculous. She tucked the mobile phone back in her trouser pocket. No way was she calling Jackie for advice. It would be useless anyway. The lot of them, her mum, dad, Pete, Jr., Mickey and Jake would only troop over to see the Doctor and they'd end up staying all night. Rose shook her head. She could do this. How hard could it be to seduce the man you loved more than chocolate and days off combined? He wanted her. She wanted him. Neither of them were virginal innocents.
Except it did seem like her first time, alien and new. Sex with the Doctor. She tried to imagine it, but only managed to conjure the earlier euphoria of being held in his arms and snogged silly. His hugs intoxicated her. His kisses left her reeling. All the time they were together, she'd never wanted more than to hold his hand, stay by his side forever. She'd been content with that. Only when she'd lost him did she succumb to raw desire. On her own, late at night, loneliness hounded her until all she could think of was what he might be like as a lover. In this very apartment, in that very bed, she'd done what she had never dared to do in the TARDIS; she'd dreamed of having him inside her.
It had to be possible, she reckoned. He had something between his legs. She'd seen it. Stripped naked, he'd looked generally male to her. True, she hadn't studied him as closely as her mum would have, but she had no reason to suspect his private parts would be less humanoid than the rest of him. Except, now, he was telling her there was more to them. Something hidden inside, he'd said. It could be anything. What if it was hideous? What if it was laughable?
What if he eats me afterward? Like poor Owen Harper when he picked up that Rigelian Mantis for a one-night stand.
Rose snorted. “He's not going to eat you,” she told her whey-faced reflection. “At least not in the praying mantis, Racnoss sort of way.”
“Did you have the Racnoss?” the Doctor yelped in the distance, sounding interested.
“Oh, God, I forgot about the super-hearing,” Rose groaned, blushing to her toes. Yet another reason she never pleasured herself on the TARDIS. It was bad enough having him comment about her showers and how often she used the loo. He had no sense of privacy when it came to some things.
“It's telepathically enhanced,” he bellowed from afar. A moment later, his lowered voice came from just beyond the bedroom door. “And I promise not to eat you. Nibble, maybe, or lick.”
She'd also forgotten how silently he could move. “Doctor? Go...cook,” she ordered, less like a dominatrix and more like a desperately nervous teenager.
“Things are simmering,” he said, his tone leaving her with the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about dinner.
Rose tried not to think. She waited, ear pressed to the door, hand at her throat, until she heard him stride back down the hall. Blowing out a breath, she straightened and, after the briefest hesitation, stripped off her blouse. She tossed it onto the bed as she moved further into the room. After emptying her pockets, she stooped to remove her shoes. Trousers, knickers and bra joined her discarded shirt.
Scooping up the pile, she carted it to the laundry hamper. Concern that he might bound in on her in the middle of her shower made her close the bathroom door behind her. Two security barriers might give him pause or they might not. He was difficult to predict. Her hair she pulled high up and tied in a loose chignon. She didn't want to take the time to blow it dry again. While the shower heated, she tissued off her makeup and brushed her teeth. Might as well get used to facing him au natural.
The hot shower washed away a good measure of her tension. She let the heavy spray pound her curved shoulders for a time before sudsing up with Bella Rosa body soap. She knew the natural fragrances, verbena and vanilla, would delight the Doctor's delicate senses. Soon after she'd come on board, he had turned quite firm with her about shower gels and such. Too many chemicals made his head swim, he'd said. He'd given in on hair dye but he'd ranted and raved and lectured until she'd agreed to let him reverse engineer her other beauty products to more natural states. Twentieth century cosmetic companies were, according to him, pickling her cells in a stew of toxins and he didn't want her altering her DNA just to smell vaguely of gardenias or whatever.
Over time, Rose had grown quite fond of the new lighter fragrances he'd created. Before she'd started working for Torchwood, her father had encouraged her to design a similar line of Earth-friendly cosmetics based on what she could remember of the Doctor's formulas. The resulting Bella Rosa label sold like lemon ice on a sweltering day. And, now that he was here, the Doctor could help refine the products and make them even more appealing and safe.
'Well, there's one way to make money,' Rose thought as she toweled dry.
Pride created such a swelling sensation in her chest, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. He really was the most wonderful person in this or any other universe. She hadn't forgotten, but until last month, she'd had only the vaguest expectation of ever seeing him again. The lengths he'd gone to just to say goodbye had convinced her more than anything else that he truly couldn't reach her. She knew he would have come to her in person if he'd been able to do so. And sure enough here he was, hard on the heels of discovering how to bridge the void. And he loved her. She'd always known that, of course. But there was no denying how wonderful it felt to have him say it.
Fresh and clean, she turned her attention to a suitable outfit for seduction. She opened the wardrobe and looked over her choices. Again, she considered the Doctor's more sensitive system. He liked to taste and touch. He didn't really care about visual stimulation. At least not in the same way a human man might. Lace negligees and panties wouldn't entice him. During their travels, she'd mumbled “might as well be wearing a bin bag” so often he'd taken to suggesting she do just that. “All the same to me,” he'd chime cheerfully, making her want to smack him. Esthetically, he enjoyed what his culture found fashionable. Madame Pompadour might come close with her full silk skirts and elaborate brocade bodices, but Rose couldn't hope to mimic the court costumes of the Time Lords. She decided to dress for comfort and accessibility.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He burned the toast three times but managed to get dinner on the table before Rose returned. Setting the covered basket of toast next to her plate, he plopped into a chair and drew her laptop over to him. He was busy rewiring it when she entered the room. He didn't need to glance her way to be completely aware of her. When she padded down the hall on still damp, bare feet, he started to tingle in anticipation. His orienting senses had fixated on her as soon as he'd arrived in this dimension. They told him exactly where and when she was at any moment. Rose remained oblivious to this aspect of his attraction to her--how easily he could find her in a crowd or a city. He didn't lose her like he lost other people. She was his lodestone, magnet to his steel.
Naturally, his highly evolved senses were far more discerning than any human faculties would be. He was not only telepathic, but empathic if the mood was conducive to it. He could sense her excitement and fear and arousal. The soft drape and swish of her clothing played in his ear like music. He could gauge the state of her nerves when she paused in the doorway to study him. She leaned into the door frame, giving him a moment to think about what would happen next.
What would happen? He wasn't completely sure. Rose obviously wasn't naturally aggressive. He'd shared a bed with her in their travels, hugged and tickled her. He'd given her any number of broad hints about his intentions. They'd even discussed how to rear children. Children! That was beyond forward for his kind. Gallifreyan males didn't mention children until they were told to expect some. He supposed if they were ever going to expect children, he'd have to give Rose more incentive to molest him. He thought about what he might do differently as he adjusted the settings on her laptop.
“This takes me back,” she said and he lifted his gaze from his tinkering. He must have seemed dumbstruck because she explained without prompting. “You jiggery-pokering about in your shirtsleeves. Used to give me a thrill, like I was catching you with your kit off.”
He stood hastily, his mouth dry and uncooperative. Even if he'd known what to say to such a confession, his parched throat wouldn't have provided words. Funny to think of her lusting after him just as he was thinking she never had. Imagine her enticed by a glimpse of his forearm, like a Victorian gentleman spotting a flash of ankle. She'd wanted him, then. That was encouraging. She'd always seemed oblivious to his masculinity. She'd once gone so far as to question it. “I mean...men,” she'd said, clearly leaving him out of that company.
Drinking her in, he could see her point really. No doubt a man confronted with such a vision would know what to do at this juncture, while he felt completely inadequate to the task ahead of him. How could he possibly approach her as a human lover might? She was beautiful. He knew he didn't have much of an eye for the ladies, but Rose was beautiful on so many levels, her appeal was hard to miss. She smelled heavenly and moved with determined grace. Her eyes sparkled. Her honey-gold hair shined. She'd tied it into a messy chignon. He longed for permission to set it free. To pet her. Taste her. Cuddle her close.
She was dressed for cuddling in a simple outfit of silvery slacks and a black top. The outfit surprised him. She generally wore utilitarian clothing and he paid little attention to it. These slacks hung loose. Their wide, stretchy waistband rode low on her hips. The boxy blouse swung from her shoulders. It had a square neckline, three big square button and quarter-length, full sleeves. The hem stopped just short of meeting the top of her slacks, leaving a sliver of smooth skin bare. He'd have to lick the material to discover its exact composition. It might be a silk blend. Or rayon. Something synthetic maybe.
Although...probably...strictly speaking it didn't matter he told himself sternly, reining in further speculation. Really, he had enough on his mind without dithering over fashion. What mattered was the overall effect of the material. Both slacks and blouse were soft and flowed over her like water when she walked. Tantalizing glimpses of her exposed belly and the rocking swivel of her hips held him enthralled as she approached.
She kept coming, past his boundaries and into his comfort zone. There was a banked fire at her core. His heat regulating glands gave him more information than she knew. She wore nothing underneath her slacks and top. He targeted her aroused interest through the thin layer of her clothing. Her hardened nipples radiated energy and she was wet and hot between her legs. Physically, she seemed ready, but she gave no easily interpreted sign of it. Framing his face with her hands, she went up on her toes to bring her mouth to his and kiss him soundly. She tasted of mint and, unfortunately, fluoride. He'd have to address her dental care without delay.
Still, the kiss held sweet intention. He wanted to enjoy it, but he instinctively squirmed, his torso twisting. The urge to escape from such close quarters nearly unmanned him. His arms lifted, flailing slightly, as if he were a clipped bird, hoping to fly. Before panic could take hold, he thought to seize Rose at her exposed waist. Skin-on-skin, he knew her. This is the woman you love, his palms and fingertips told him. Primal synapses clicked over, firing off new instructions. She was satiny smooth and welcoming. Recognition cleared his head, reminding him of what they were going to do later this very night. They would have to get closer. He wanted to get closer. It would be lovely to be inside her, sheltered and safe. He started to relax, only to have the kiss end.
Sparkling eyes dancing with mischief, Rose purred, “Hungry?”
He stared down into her for a second and then squeaked, “Peas!”
As she'd settled back onto her heels, his hands had disappeared under her loose blouse. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts and she gasped. Oh, that sound stirred him deep. He drew a shaky breath and tried to elaborate on his earlier comment.
“Creamed peas.” He swallowed convulsively. “Creamed peas on toast...for supper. And ice cream after, with fruit in a rum sauce.”
She placed her palms flat against his chest and stood on tip-toe again to see over his shoulder. “I had fruit?”
He reluctantly shifted his grip, afraid he would be holding her breasts when she came back down this time. He shouldn't be afraid of that, but he was. He was pretty sure breast-holding would carry them beyond the point of no return.
“I brought fruit,” he corrected primly. “You had pears.” He gave a tiny theatrical shiver and curled his lip in a pained manner. “In a tin. Tinned pears.”
“How horrible for you,” she said, patting his bicep affectionately.
“I disposed of them.”
“I suppose I'll have to give them up, now you're staying.”
“Only if you're intend to go on kissing me,” he said, concentrating on prying his fingers from her ribs. They didn't seem to want to let go.
“Oh, I do,” she said and she kissed him again.
This time he barely twitched. Though his pulse skittered rather alarmingly when her tongue touched his. Sparks arched up and down his spine and he felt his loins relaxing. Another thing he'd have to explain, the cold rush of exposure. He couldn't go around unfulfilled, just hanging about like a human male. Once he managed to relax, once his sex descended, things would need to move along quickly. He'd need to be inside her, then, almost immediately. Rose drew her nails along his shoulder blade. Shivering, he latched onto her. A guttural growl escaped him as his hands cupped her hip bones, fingers curling into the yielding flesh of her bottom.
Her skin had a delicious blush. Waves of heat splashed over him with each hammer of her heart. Her nipples felt hot enough to burn through his shirt. They glowed like tiny coals, inflamed and inflaming. He wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet. She molded to him, clinging like the little ape she was. Rassilon help him, he shouldn't find that quite so erotic but he did.
Coming out of the kiss, she skimmed his cheek to snuffle in the hollow of his neck. He concentrated on releasing receptive pheromones while she burrowed into him, obviously enjoying his scent. Again, he felt the wrenching quake all over as he opened below. Need tightened his grip on her. All she had to do was keep pressing him like this. He was almost ready. He longed to complete the circuit, let her into his mind. There was a definite heaviness low in his abdomen. But when he set Rose's feet on the ground, freeing his hands so he could bring them to her temples, she stepped away and he lost his momentum. He grimaced as the protective cartilage around his emerging sex snapped closed like a clamshell. Damn!
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, examining the table setting.
He glared at the back of her head in mute frustration, thinking, 'Kiss me. Go on kissing me. Take control so we can... Oh, bother.'
She needed more encouragement.
“Champagne,” he manged to peep, jutting his chin to indicate a pair of fluted glasses. Since she wasn't looking at him, he cleared his throat and added, “It's chilling in the refrigerator. Top shelf, left.”
“I had...?” she began as she headed for the kitchen, but caught herself and grinned over her shoulder at him. “You brought champagne in your coat pocket? All the way from the other universe?”
“I thought we might want to celebrate...something,” he said slightly defensive.
“You're a treasure, you are.” Rose said, flashing him a glimpse of pink tongue. She hummed happily as she bounced to the refrigerator, drew forth the bottle and examined the label. “Or, I should say, your coat is. Bananas, berries, rum, champagne. What else did you bring?”
“Ice cream,” he said, noticing she was already looking at the carton of caramel crunch softening in the fridge.
“How deep are those pockets, anyway?”
“Quite extensive. But I only brought the barest necessities. First aid supplies and medicines... gadgets...tools...champagne...”
“Ice cream.”
“Things we might be hard pressed to find in a pinch. And, of course, I always carry an emergency kit.”
“I remember. Looking glass, firecrackers, matches, flasks of rum and water, a banana or two and a pocket torch,” Rose recited.
“Never know when you might need a bit of potassium or a light...or...a small explosive.”
“We do have champagne in this universe, you know? And bananas.”
“Yes, but not precisely here,” he pointed out, hand rubbing along the base of his skull, ruffling through his hair. “You wouldn't want me popping off to the market when...you might want to hold that bottle over the sink. Bound to have taken a shaking on the trip over.”
“How many pieces of toast did you burn?” Rose teased, noticing the crumbs around the sink disposal as she unwrapped the wire and foil surrounding the champagne cork.
“Two or three. Six? Is it my fault you don't own a proper toaster?” He smiled to soften his incensed tone. “The one thing I forgot to pack. It's always something. Bring your sonic screwdriver. Forget your toothbrush. Bring your toothbrush. Forget the toaster. Just give me functional equipment...something from say Lloyd's of Belkinzinar and I will astound you with my toasting skill. If we lived anywhere else in the universe we'd have a proper toaster. But, no...you come from a sadly backward planet...spring-loaded mechanisms and heating coils? Who thinks of such things?”
“I'll check the alien artifacts at Torchwood. Maybe I can find you a proper toaster.”
The champagne cork popped and the bottle sighed. “Le soupir amoureux,” the Doctor declared, then translated for Rose, “The loving whisper, what the French call that noise. Clever people, the French, they've got a name for everything.”
“Rather like the Inuit,” Rose agreed, as she returned to fill their glasses. “A thousand names for snow.”
“More like 806,” the Doctor said, holding her chair for her.
“I've heard it said the Germans have a thousand words for sorrow.”
“Poetic license. English has quite a few sorrowful words, come to that. Now, the Mplezkk'yt,” he confided with a knowing nod, “the most artistically inclined people in the universe, actually do have a thousand different ways of saying, 'you're blocking my light.' And my language, of course, has well over a thousand words for time. Three thousand six hundred and twenty-eight to be precise. But my favorite example of linguistic excess is the Ploo of S'nississenoo.”
“The Ploo of...?” Rose snickered, sending champagne bubbles up her nose. Once she'd recovered, she asked, “Are they anything like The Who?”
“The band?”
“No, the other ones. The ones Horton heard? The little Seuss-y fellows.” Processing his blank look, she elaborated, “Doctor Seuss? Horton the Elephant? I took P.J. to see the movie last year. His whole room is done up like Whoville. He's mad about them.”
Fork halfway to his mouth, he continued to gape at her. “Seuss-y...?” he began, his brow furrowing, but then he made the connection. “Oh, oh, like the Grinch?” The flippancy of her reference caused such a giddy lift in his spirits that he put his fork down and scooted his chair around the table to her side. “Did you know the Grinch was a Who?” Rose shook her head. “I'd forgotten until just now. All of that present pilfering and awakening of the Christmas spirit takes place in a single snowflake. Little Whovians singing their Whovian songs. A person's a person no matter how small,” he mused on that for a moment, then said, “But the Ploo are largish with teal-colored carapaces and I mentioned them because, at last count they had ten-thousand eight-hundred and fifty-two ways of saying, 'I love you.' And...and,” he added, brows arching and head bobbling to stress his point, “they have a planet-wide competition every year to come up with new ways.”
“They must be a romantic lot.”
“You would think so, but no.” He wrinkled his nose and scratched his ear, perplexed. “Actually, I'm not sure they ever get around to the romance. All of them far too busy trying to outdo one another with overblown declarations of affection.”
“Sounds like a children's book,” Rose said as she spooned peas over her toast. “The moral being talk is cheap, or some such.”
“Are there always morals in children's books?” he wondered aloud. Then, having thought about a few hundred plots in a second or so, added, “I suppose there are.”
Rose ate a few bites, beamed enthusiastically and complimented him on his cooking. Only she would consider opening a tin of peas and making a cream sauce a culinary feat. He reached for his plate and glass, arranging them on her side of the table. She pulled her laptop around to see what he had done to it. A stray lock of hair escaped her chignon when she leaned forward. The strands fell into her eyes and, intent on studying the oddly twisting connector he'd welded into her Firewire port, she impatiently tucked the hair behind her ear.
“It's like my cell phone,” she said, still examining his handiwork. “It works across time and space?”
“Yes, exactly,” he said. He started to reach around her to hit a few keys and quickly decided she should do the typing for him. “Access the Internet,” he told her, leaving his arm draped about her shoulders. “You can go online and find any computer, anywhere, any when, any time or place. Well, any time with computers. Any computer with Internet service. Well, Internet service or accessible phone lines. Just about. There are a few security issues. But the point is that that little gizmo, er...doodad...is a temporally flexible wireless connection, linking this laptop to the past or the future...or the present, whenever, wherever, via satellite beam or ground line. Whichever," he added, for the symmetry. "Cybernetic technology is a tad more advanced in this reality so with the stroke of a few keys...zippity do dah, I'm a citizen of the British Commonwealth." Proud of his new standing in society, he beamed broadly. But then, sobered a little as he went on to explain how he'd accomplished it. "The government records go back eighty years. I've created a false history for myself. Bank accounts, birth records, schools, driver's licenses, taxes, everything.”
Rose cocked her head to gaze fondly on him. “You'd make a fantastic criminal mastermind.”
“I've thought of that,” he said. “It's a way to make money and we'd meet a lot of interesting people. But I imagine it would disrupt our home life.”
“I would expect you to cover your tracks.”
“I would,” he told her, seriously. “But what of my associates? Criminal types are notoriously unreliable. ”
“True,” she mused. “And eventually Torchwood would find you out. We get all the alien masterminds in the end. I'd have to cart you off to the lock up and throw away the key.”
“That'd put some spice in our sex life,” he said. "Press F-7."
She did and a picture appeared on screen. It looked to be a teenage version of the Doctor in a school sporting uniform. “Oh, I like that! Makes me believe you were a child once.”
“I was a child once.”
“Not like this you weren't. You played cricket?” she asked, noting the uniform and bat.
“I did. I'm a fine bowler. Well...I say fine. Good. Adequate. I should say adequate. No need to draw unnecessary attention.”
She couldn't contain her mirth as she read the picture's caption. “D'Artagnan Delatardis?”
“Delatardeese,” he corrected, giving the surname a French lilt. “We still use the Gallic pronunciation. Though the family immigrated in my great, great grandfather's time from the north of France. I grew up in Southwark, same as you. Though not in the estates.”
“I'm more interest in the D'Artagnan,” Rose laughed, edging around in their close quarters to face him.
Bright red, he avoided her gaze as he confessed. “I always wanted to be a Musketeer. And it will go a long way toward explaining why my nearest and dearest call me Doctor.”
“Embarrassed by your name. Clever,” she sighed, as she snuggled into his embrace. His encircling arm drew her closer.
Dipping his chin, he pressed the blade of his nose against her cheek. “Still hungry?” he whispered.
Her breath caught. “How...?” she asked huskily before clearing her throat. “How did we meet?”
“Through your friend Ricky.”
“Mickey?”
“I didn't take his head off this time, though,” he said, before lightly kissing her temple. Her erratic thoughts tumbled around under his lips.
She lifted a hand and stroked tentative fingers through his hair. “Are you a medical doctor, then?”
“I am.” He nibbled his way down her throat to her collar. Caressing her was getting easier, coming to him naturally. He began to enjoy himself. “Oxford and then St. Barts, where I originally went in our universe. I had the diplomas on file for my Bachelors of Medicine and Surgery. All I had to do was update them for 1992. I'm a certified teacher as well.”
Rose's heated whisper feathered along his cheek. “You've been busy.”
“I started young,” he said. He traced the very tip of his tongue along the neckline of her blouse, just under the edge of it, then added, “And I am brilliant.”
“You are,” she murmured, pillowing her head against shoulder and arching her back to give him better access to her neckline. They were practically sitting in one chair now. “So, do you have a surgery somewhere?”
He smiled down on her. “No, I don't practice. I write books.”
This interested her so much she sat forward in the chair, breaking contact as she shifted into her seat to stare at him. “What sort of books?”
“Children's books.”
“Like Dr. Seuss?”
“A bit, only not as successful, of course.” He was disappointed that the cuddling was over but he dutifully brought up an online bookstore and typed in his assumed name. A string of titles appeared on screen.
“Hang on,” Rose declared. “You're already published?”
“Any computer, anywhere, any when,” he reminded her. “I sent my first three manuscripts back in time.”
“Three? But...I'd have seen you in the stores.”
“Would you have noticed?”
“I shop for P.J.,” she said, but she sounded doubtful.
“Pete Jr. is what now? Three?”
“Four, last April.
He shrugged. “A little young, yet, for my books. Give him a few years.”
Rose giggled helplessly as she processed the first book title. “Flack Mackerel and the Rift in Space,” she crowed, pointing at a cartooned book cover. “Oh, you wouldn't? Is that Jack?”
“I was going to call him Captain Haddock but the name was already taken.”
“He should sue you for slander.” Reading aloud, she said, “'Intergalactic Adventurer Flack Mackerel faces his deadliest foe, yet, the Postulator.' He's a fish! Look at him.”
“What? I think it's a perfect likeness. Square-jaw and steely-eye. He'd be flattered.”
Burbling with laughter, Rose collapsed back into his waiting arms. Then, twisting around, she braced her knee by his thigh and straddled his lap to murmur against his lips. “You always were jealous of Jack.”
“Jealous?” he piped, as she stroked her tongue down his cheek to his earlobe. “No. No. I was never jealous. I was merely...concerned. For your...uhm...you and he were rather....that is he is a bit...uh....” She'd insinuated her fingers into the space between his shirt buttons and was popping the buttons open one at a time as her tongue explored the curls of his ear. His hands, moving with a purpose of their own, had started fumbling with the band restraining her hair. Some seconds later, he realized he'd lost the thread of the conversation. “What was the question?”
She sat straighter just as her hair came undone. It spilled over her face. Her eyes locked with his through a blond veil of silken strands. “Were you jealous?”
“Yes,” he admitted, drawing her into an blatantly possessive kiss.
He clutched her close and she wriggled against him for awhile, her mouth caressing his. She was deliciously soft and slick inside. Even the fluoride didn't bother him too much. His hands found their way around her bottom and under her blouse to explore the planes and curves of her back. He already knew her back intimately from their many hugs, but he'd always found that bare skin offered deeper insight. Through the prickling of her skin, Rose told him she was still shy. Her muscles clenched when he skimmed a hand under the waistband of her slacks. Her blood eddied and swirled under his probing fingertips. He could feel her pulse quicken as their kissing intensified. He concentrated his petting efforts toward pushing her into a sensual frenzy.
He toyed with the curve of her bum and the slopes of her breasts, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin but steadfastly avoiding any obvious trigger points. Cradling her above and below, he suckled along the shallow valley of her cleavage. Her breathing became strained. She rocked back and forth, leaning into his stroking hands. Her fingers clawed at his shirt, nearly tearing it from him. It went flying once he helped her tug it free. She ignored his undershirt. Both of her hands clutched at his hair. Holding on, she tilted his head back and her mouth found his again, coming down hard. He opened all over when her tongue lapped into him. He thought about taking her to the floor, but she slithered from his grasp, edging off the chair to stand while simultaneously sliding her hands down to clasp his wrists.
“We need the bed,” she said, drawing him up out of his seat. "Now!"
Bed, what a good idea. But...this was all moving rather quickly. His glassy gaze went to the cluttered table. “Shouldn't I tidy up first?” he asked.
“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
“Oh,” he breathed, stumbling as an icy surge of hormones jellied his knees and set him shuddering all over. “Okay.”
END THIS PART
GO TO PART THREE
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 03:38 am (UTC)And you shouldn't worry about the POV. None of it seemed out of place or strange to me. Great job!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 10:04 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing your reactions with me, they made me smile. And I'm very happy the Rose POV didn't stand out like a sore thumb. There will be more of it later in Part 3...because the sex is going to be easier to understand from her POV. As you can see, his POV on it is rather scattered and runs the risk of being too alien.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 03:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:31 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 03:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:33 am (UTC)Thanks for your show of impatience. I will have the next bit to you as soon as I can get cooled down myself. Gives Mr. Tennant a stern look.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 03:53 am (UTC)Lovely. Will be waiting impatiently for the third installment.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:34 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:03 am (UTC)“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
“Oh,” he breathed, stumbling as an icy surge of hormones jellied his knees and set him shuddering all over. “Okay.”
And this? I might have loved this the most.
Can't wait to see part three!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:37 am (UTC)And I believe Rose has the hang of this "taking charge" business at last.
Rae
thanking you for making my birthday brighter with your lovely comments.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:38 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it.
And I very much appreciate you taking the time to leave me the thumbs up comment.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:40 am (UTC)More soon, I hope. Thanks for taking the time to leave me some feedback.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:21 am (UTC)... and I'm fizzling with impatience for the next bit! XD;;; Fantastic piece as usual. The PoV was perfect and well within character, I liked the bits where it would fipflop between the two. XD; AND. Am I crazy??? or is the Doctor *gasp* MUSTERING SOME DOMINANCE?! *dramatic music*
;) I eagerly await your next bit of brilliance. Until then. I'll go re-read the part about a steely eyeed, square jawed fish. :3
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:46 am (UTC)And yes, he can muster some dominance given a little push. The main thing is he finds it hard to initiate the sex...he doesn't really have a problem going along with it once he's feeling safe and loved. It's rather a gender reversal of sorts. He likes sex and he loves Rose. But he's not able to kick things off very well without all of the traditional Gallifreyan sexual signals...like position of the sun and female phermones.
Next bit soon, I hope. Thanks for making my birthday a little brighter with your sweet gushing. And I've very happy to hear I made your day better, too.
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:28 am (UTC)You are amazing. Seriously. This just blew me away. It's sweet and awkward and hot and totally adorably possible characterization. I was choked up and laughing and turned on. Once again you've managed to infuse the Doctor's innate alien-ness with a sensual eye for detail that makes it entirely realistic for them to be drawn together.
*loves*
ETA: Yeah I just totally friended you cause I checked the tags and apparently I've missed some fic and that can not be allowed.
Amazing, I caught you NOT reading.
Date: 2008-03-12 02:51 am (UTC)And...Awww! Thanks! That's all very nice of you to say. You really know how to bring me to a blush. I'm so glad you are enjoying this. I do love making the Doctor as alien as I can without making the sex completely off-putting for the reader. And it does help that I love both of these characters so much that I just enjoy spending time with them as they fumble around one another. They make me smile and I love giving them rein to get into interesting situations.
And I am thrilled you finally friended me. Hope you enjoy the other fic. I wonder what you have missed? Hmmm!
Back to Disheveled soon, I hope. And more of this, too.
Rae
Re: Amazing, I caught you NOT reading.
From:Re: Amazing, I caught you NOT reading.
From:Re: Amazing, I caught you NOT reading.
From:(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 04:49 am (UTC)Bed, what a good idea. But...this was all moving rather quickly. His glassy gaze went to the cluttered table. “Shouldn't I tidy up first?” he asked.
“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
“Oh,” he breathed, stumbling as an icy surge of hormones jellied his knees and set him shuddering all over. “Okay.”
OOooOOoh. She's definitely getting the domineering part down now! All she needed was a bit of encouragement. =)
More soon please!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:54 am (UTC)Thank you so much for always taking a moment to let me know what you particularly enjoyed about a chapter. And you are quite right, all she needed was a bit of encouragement. The dominance is rather gentle...he doesn't really need to be dominated so much as given the go ahead in a straightforward, no nonsense way.
More as soon as I can.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 02:58 am (UTC)I'm sure it will all work out fine.
Thanks for the insightful comment. You made me think less about being another year older and deeper in debt. :grin:
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 05:01 am (UTC)*except* for when the author is as awesome as you! I can't control myself -- I've been hitting your page twice a day waiting for this update.
If you are having trouble with POV, I sure couldn't tell. This flowed easily -- you make it seem effortless.
Thank you for sharing and making my day!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 03:11 am (UTC)You made my day, too. Thanks for breaking your rule.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 05:28 am (UTC)You are so very very cruel!
I've been waiting and wating and now must wait some more.
Sigh.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 05:21 am (UTC)Sorry for the wait.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 06:02 am (UTC)I laughed so loud and long at this, I had to take a break for fear of waking up the roomies!
God, this fic is awesome. Anxiously awaiting the conclusion!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-12 05:24 am (UTC)Thanks for the vote of "awesome." I am happy you are looking forward to the conclusion.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 06:12 am (UTC)That whole paragraph is win. The Jack part made me laugh, and when Rose decided to call her mother, I went, "oh my god, what?!" I can only imagine how horribly that conversation would have gone. Hell, that's a crackfic by itself.
In other news, I had no idea creamed peas existed. It sounded dreadful until I realized that the cream part didn't come in the can.
“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
And that, I think, was the right thing to say. XD
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-15 03:01 am (UTC)Thanks for the feedback. I do hope these two get on with things in Part 3.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 06:32 am (UTC)Oh now...that's just mean. Poor Owen indeed! :D
Yes, nibbling is good...licking is good too...MMMMMMMM
The whole exchange with his assumed name and his books and Flack Mackerel, was inspired.
Dies laughing.
And I love the whole progression of the Doctor's arousal. How he's stimulated by Rose's aggression and how thing 'loosen' down below and how once it comes to full arousal he'd need to be insider her RIGHT AWAY.
You have Ten's verbal diarrhea down beautifully. That is something I can't do. I can do Nine's voice but Ten continues to elude me. You have him down pat and I admire that.
Looking forward to part three.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-16 06:10 am (UTC)I'm also thrilled that you enjoy my Ten and his wacky alien sexuality. I had to cheat a bit and go with Rose POV because of some of the sex...because he's not going to describe it while he's having it...so we must rely on my voice or hers. But I think this part with her POV also gets the reader more involved emotionally. Rose was good for that.
Hopefully, I will have Part 3 done this weekend. We will see. Thank you so much for sharing what you enjoyed about the chapter with me. It made my day.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 07:16 am (UTC)This had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe. To make it even better, while I was reading this bit iTunes put on Simon & Garfunkel's 59th St. Bridge Song, with the line about "Hello, lamp post. What cha knowing?" All I could think was, "Captain Jack. Carnally!"
I also loved Rose's thoughts about Jackie and her general excited yet slightly panicked attitude. It might make me a horrible person, but I was extremely amused that Owen got eaten by a mantis. Also, hooray for dimensionally transcendent pockets!
Silliness and all, this fic is hot! More? Soon?
Your comment made me snort chocolate milk...
Date: 2008-03-12 08:01 pm (UTC)And I don't think you are a horrible person for enjoying Owen's demise. I thought about his rape drug and figured he was quite likely to have been consumed by something in Alt!Cardiff. I didn't care for him at all last year...but I must say I like him very much this season...and wouldn't want him to be Mantis chow.
More hot silliness soon, I hope. Thanks for the highly amusing commentary.
Rae
Re: Your comment made me snort chocolate milk...
From:Re: Your comment made me snort chocolate milk...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 08:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 10:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 10:33 am (UTC)This is so brilliant.
You manage to make it so alien and yet so wonderful at the same time while keeping it wonderfully in character.
Please don't keep us waiting to long for chapter 3!!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 11:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 12:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 12:38 pm (UTC)-Inwe.
P.S I like the Icon.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-16 06:16 am (UTC)Lamp post...Honda...Jack is easy. Rose not being able to seduce him...probably says an awful lot about the Doctor running interference.
Thanks so much for the kind words about my chapter. I hope I get you a new chapter soon.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 01:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 02:28 pm (UTC)I totally get why you didn't want to leave the whole thing in the Doctor's POV, because then that which would be alien to Rose would simply go unexplained or unnoticed because it wouldn't be alien to him.
“No,” she insisted, firmly tugging him toward the hallway. “You should do as I say.”
See, that's what he means by taking charge, Rose! Good for you!
“Oh,” he breathed, stumbling as an icy surge of hormones jellied his knees and set him shuddering all over. “Okay.”
I just love that you've provided an actual sensible explanation for the Doctor's lack of sexual aggressiveness, even with someone he obviously adores. *should be canon*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-11 07:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: