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rabid1stDISHEVELED
By Rabid1st
Dr. Who...Ten/Rose
Word Count: 5800 - Part 2
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Rose/Ten, Rose/Nine
Warning: Adult situations, not work safe, fun and frolic-y at points and serious at others.
Spoilers: To S2 – Girl in the Fireplace
Beta Babes: Devil Bunny, Keswindhover and Lilith
Summary: This is Ten/Rose smutfic...of a sort...things are done differently and with the tongue...it gets wild...and that's all I'm saying...
Acknowledgement: I actually wrote the weasel bit without knowing anything about the great controversy it was originally about weasels and chickens. But my beta babe,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
keswindhover, in addition to giving me the hamster reference, referred me to mustangsally78 who is quite right in her assertions concerning the animal in question. I stand corrected and indebted to both of these ladies.
Disclaimer: Nope, don’t own a thing. But I’m a nice person and I’m hardly worth suing. All characters and situations belong to the BBC and Dr. Who and Russell T. Davies, etc. I'm just borrowing them for the moment.
PART ONE
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/81014.html#cutid1
PART TWO
“But I thought…you were,” Rose began but she couldn’t complete the thought. It was too dreadful to think of him dead. He’d burned. Every cell in his body had burned. Reaching out a tentative hand, she lightly caressed the lapel of his leather jacket and then stepped closer into the ambient warmth he was generating. She ran the flat of her palm over his chest, savoring the span of it. Had he always been so large? She’d grown used to his trimmer figure. “You said you couldn’t change back.”
“Oh, I…I haven’t. Er…he hasn’t,” the Doctor said. Despite his appearance, the starts and stops in his speech made him sound remarkably like his regenerated self. But then he grinned again and slipped into the deeper ‘northern’ accent to proudly announce, “I’m a figment.”
“A fig…?”
“…ment. Of your imagination. Not a swan.”
Rose tipped her head back to squint at him and immediately regretted it. Her skull seemed to be full of marbles. Thousands of glass orbs shifted, banging around inside her head and their combined weight threatened to pull her head off her neck. She pressed the heel of her palm to her temple to stabilize everything. It felt like she’d had six too many at the pub. Her smile became a grimace as the room dipped and swirled around her. For a second or two it was all she could do not to topple over. The Doctor quickly grabbed her around the waist, pulling her hips into his.
‘Now, we’re dancing,’ she thought.
She never wanted him to let go. He seemed so solid, so real. But she obviously couldn’t believe what her senses were telling her. What she was seeing and feeling was too good to be true. He was definitely aroused now. Definitely male, her Doctor, the first Doctor, the older…or no…he would be the younger Doctor, wouldn’t he? Despite appearances? Anyway, it didn’t matter because it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was….gone…and he wasn’t ever coming back. She thought about what had happened and then, keeping a hand on her head to hold it in place, carefully nodded.
“Not a swan. Yeah. I see what this is. This is it, then? The dreaming seed? What you did in my mouth just then was the…your…your,” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to think of an appropriate euphemism and tried not to think of the human equivalent. “…being all aroused? Whadya call it,” she snapped her fingers as she struggled to recall Shareen’s favorite term, “…the…string of pearls? And now, I’ve gone all squiffy and I’m seeing figments.”
“Clever and beautiful,” the blue-eyed Doctor said, his tone caressing her with rich resonance. He still hadn’t let go of her and he smiled as he brushed a hand up her side. She could feel the tips of his blunt, callused fingers, catching on the silken material of her gown. A tiny shiver of delight danced along her skin. She’d dreamed of him touching her like this.
As she shyly glanced up at him, his mouth twisted into a pensive pout and he cast his gaze at the ceiling. “String of pearls?” he sniffed disdainfully. “Not sure I like that…pearls…?” He gave a tiny shake of his head. “No, not very much. That,” he said, looking back at her, “was the injection phase of arousal, my cnidocytes going off.”
“Oh, that’s just odd,” Rose giggled. “Your face and his voice. But are you him doing the voice or are you just you looking like him?" She clutched at her hair. "Gaw, I think I’ve given myself a paradox headache.”
“I’m him. Me. I haven’t changed back. You’re seeing things…feeling things…well…experiencing things, really, that aren’t here. Guess I am rather...potent.”
She ducked her chin and giggled again. It all seemed so very funny. “And I’m definitely plastered. Have you considered marketing this stuff to the pharmaceutical people? You’d make a fortune.”
“Feeling no pain?” he surmised, sounding like he once had, oh, so long ago. He still had that comical face with the oversized ears. And there was a touch of indulgent good humor behind his words. “That’s the aphrodisiac part. Makes sure you’re happy. Gallifreyan females can get a little rough.”
Rose tried to clear the fog from her head and concentrate. “Look, how can I be hallucinating?” She frowned, trying to reason it out. “You don’t…this doesn’t just look like him.” She jabbed the Doctor with a finger and he bobbed a bit in response, his brows lifting with mild amusement. “You’re exactly the same. The voice and everything.” Snuggling into his chest, she wrapped both arms around his waist and squeezed. “It’s amazing. It feels so real.”
“Bound to feel real,” he said. “Comes straight from your sense memory. I got the hook up.”
Feeling clever for using a slang phrase, he snickered. Rose stepped back and slapped playfully at his shoulder. And he changed. Not physically but in some indefinable way becoming the Doctor she’d started this evening with.
“He’s your surrogate…the penetrator. Though why…given a universe of choices…you would choose him I’m sure I’ll never….”
He went through another mercurial switch and his voice matched his appearance again. She had to come up with something to call them, they were both the Doctor.
“The Penetrator,” her first Doctor said, with a boyish smirk. “I love it.” He brushed a few stray hairs from her brow as he told her, “You can call me that if you’d like. ‘Cause I’d answer.”
“Oh, shut up,” he told himself.
“The thing is Rose,” he went on, not taking his own advice. “You rely on your five little senses for so much input. We can use them to advantage. Stimulate them to remember how I was in life. How certain things felt. Once I access your nervous system I can compile the sense memory of other experiences you’ve had. Can’t have you unsatisfied. So I look and feel solid.”
“But that’s….” She wanted to say, it was impossible or not really what she wanted.
But instead she smiled when he completed the thought for her by saying, “Fantastic?”
“Yeah, I guess it is…a little…”
She shivered as his hands, those strong, capable hands, glided along the outside of her arms. He followed her curves, tracing the bow of her neck until he was cradling her face between his palms. His thumb tugged at her lower lip. She gazed up at him, feeling nothing but trust. When she smiled, he groaned and tightened his grip, fingertips combing great chunks of her hair free. And she gave in, melting into him for a long, slow kiss. When their lips parted, she drew in a deep breath and then sighed.
“Mmmm!” she murmured, happily, eyes still closed. “It even smells like you.”
“Smells like…? Smells?” the Doctor exclaimed in a note perfect imitation of his trimmer, dark-eyed self.
Rose jerked out of her daze. Her eyes popped open as she stumbled backward. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown. She was red-faced and a little ashamed. It felt just like she’d been caught cheating. “Oh, you’re still…”
“Oh, yes, still here,” he said, over enunciating the way he generally did when holding onto his temper. “Listening to this…drivel.” He seized her arms just above the elbows and pushed, forcing her backwards. She grabbed at his coat, and then gave a tiny shriek of dismay as one Doctor became two. He separated from himself, pulling apart like an amoeba. The dark-eyed one had a firm grip on her elbows. And he pushed her out to arm’s length. The older…younger…bigger…oh, this was confusing…the first one she’d ever met, leaned against the desk edge while the slender one used his momentum to waltz her a few steps away.
Doctor number two seemed genuinely upset. His face twisted with comic fury as he gave her a gentle shake. “Whaddya mean, it smells like him?” He demanded.
“This isn’t going to work if I can’t even kiss her,” the shorthaired one remarked in a sensual drawl. He glanced at Rose. “Is he always this wound up or is it just the sex?”
“Are you saying he smells better than me? Manlier maybe? With his strong, capable hands?”
“He gets on these tears,” Rose told her first Doctor. Then she patiently addressed the one holding onto her. “You used to get dirty, oily, working on the TARDIS. He has that hot engine smell. And you smell like hair gel and… Hang on. I don’t see what you’re upset about if he’s you. You’re him. You’re the same person.” She frowned over the puzzle until another thought hit her. “And how do you know what I was thinking about his hands?”
“Hair gel?” the older Doctor chortled.
“Some of us have hair. And what am I, then?” He asked Rose. “If he’s strong and capable? I’m…what? Scrawny? Feeble? Effete…inept?”
“It’s not fair you taking my thoughts out of context.” Rose countered. “Especially when you said you weren’t going to rummage around in my mind.”
“Unless I was aroused.”
“So you’re aroused now?”
“Just a bit, yeah,” he said in a tone that made it seem much more than a bit.
“Oh," Rose looked away. "I was happy to see him, is all. I thought it would be safe to think about him. Better than swans.”
“But you could have had…what? Who?" He released her suddenly, turning away to pace the room. "A…a…plethora…a virtually unlimited smorgasbord of men…Alexander the Great, or alright if you can’t imagine Alexander…then what about that Colin Firth fellow…or…or Elvis…Hugh Jackman…Joey Lawrence…Laurence Olivier…Brad Pitt…?” He sputtered to a pause.
“Look, you can’t be jealous of yourself,” Rose reasoned.
“Oh, but I can,” the short-haired one remarked. “It’s a talent. Sort of.”
Even as his more animated self went on in a higher register. “I thought maybe…possibly Jack Harkness or even Mickey. I was braced for Mickey…but no you have to go for the retro look.” He pointed a finger at his counterpart. That Doctor waved. “Big ears. Hooked beak. Beady pale eyes. You can’t tell me you find that attractive.”
“It’s Colin Farrell played Alexander,” Rose said, calmly. “Colin Firth is Pride & Prejudice.”
He let his arm fall to his side as he gaped at her. Rose had a hard time holding in the urge to giggle. She told herself it was the drug. This entire muddle stemmed from her reckless use of alien aphrodisiacs. She should have listened to the warnings in school and stayed off the hard stuff.
“We’re not here to talk about who butchered which films,” the Doctor said. “Truth is you’ve always had a soft spot for my former self...wanting me to change back…’oh, can you?’” he said, snidely imitating her. His eyes got very round and wide. “No! No, I can’t. And why should I?”
“She fancies me, our Rose,” her first Doctor said smugly. “Always did like me better. And who can blame her?”
”Me! I can blame her,” the second Doctor said, touching his fingertips to his chest. He shot a smoldering glare at Rose. “This body was specifically designed to please you. Did you know? Did you give it any thought? The accent. The trim figure. The smile. Hair you could run your fingers through. Someone younger, sexier, more fun at parties. I’m even, almost, yes, very nearly domestic," he said, practically spitting the cursed word. "Everything you asked for…everything I…” He broke off with a sigh as she stared at him in confusion. “Oh, never mind,” he said, petulantly.
“It’s not as if she remembers what happened at Satellite Five,” the first Doctor said with what seemed to Rose to be exaggerated patience. “And you’re shattering the mood.”
The second one seemed to take this in. He shot a pleading glance at Rose but then jammed both hands into his pockets and slumped. His sullen mouth looked very kissable. After a brief sulk, he took note of Rose still warily watching him and gave a terse nod. Blowing off the rest of his temper, he shuffled over to his fellow self and leaned against the desk beside him. They mirrored one another's stance, arms folded and ankles crossed.
“I just thought I had it right for once,” the trimmer one said in a conversational tone. “I’m better looking…better dressed…a better conversationalist…honestly, check out these teeth.” He flashed a grimacing smile. “I’m six times more sociable than you.” He looked down at his feet, studying his trainers a few moments before adding, “And I’m a better dancer.”
“Well, cheer up,” the first Doctor said, bumping their shoulders together. “She probably hasn’t had a good look at you yet.” His smile widened to an infectious grin that brought Rose in on the joke as he added, “Must be hard to see anything properly what with your huge ego blocking out the sun.” His grin vanished, turned off at the switch by a sobering thought. “Listen, luv! You’d best stop referring to us as first and second,” he told Rose, “Even in your mind. Could lead to all sorts of aggravation.”
“I don’t…”
“You see there really are other Doctors, a first and a second. But we’re not them. I’m the ninth and the ego-weasel here is the tenth. You can refer to us by number if you like: Nine and Ten.”
“But…” Rose began.
“He’s right,” the other Doctor sighed, also meeting Rose’s eye earnestly. “The last thing we want is to have any more of me showing up. Get my first and second selves in here and we’ll never get things started.”
“But…it’s my hallucination,” Rose reasoned. “I can’t imagine people I don’t even know.”
“We’re all sharing,” the second…tenth Doctor said. “I’m in your mind. My other selves are in my mind. You could access my memory of them. Best not risk it. He’s Nine. I’m Ten. Should be easy to remember,” he went on looking suddenly happier. “After all…Ten is the highest standard. The heart of your mathematical system. Base Ten. Top Ten. Perfect Ten.”
The first…older…ninth Doctor snorted. "Ten? What’s that?” He sneered. “Simple, tha's what! Counting on your fingers and toes? Multiply it by anything…add a zero and you're done.” He winked at Rose. “But Nine. Nine's got character, depth...personality. It's three times three," he said, gesturing broadly like a magician conjuring. "And three's a powerful number. Three Fates. Three wishes. Third time's the charm.”
Ten made a rude noise. “Three strikes and you’re out. Or here’s one…three’s a crowd.”
Nine wisely went on without engaging himself in debate, "Triumvirate. The trinity. In your multiplication tables the Nines are as easy to learn as the Tens but subtler. Two times nine is eighteen. Three times nine is twenty-seven. Four times...? Thirty-six. See the lovely pattern? One, two, three...counting up...and eight, seven, six...counting down. So what's next? Five times nine is four going up...and five...coming down..."
"Forty-five," Rose said, delighted and slightly surprised she'd never noticed this herself.
"And, they all add up to Nine, too. Eighteen? One and eight is nine. Thirty-six? Three and six is...Nine."
"Four and five is nine," Rose agreed. "Then five and four, again, for fifty-four." She bounced over to him all smiles and warmth and said, "Oh, I do love having you here again."
He uncrossed his arms and reached out to softly caress her cheek. "I've always been here, sweetheart," he said. His gaze seemed to be full of fire as he stared down at her. And then before she could draw another breath, he was gone. He winked out of existence and the bubble of happiness in her chest popped.
“What about eleven?” Ten asked the air. “Nine times eleven is ninety-nine. Doesn’t go up. Doesn’t go down. And it adds to eighteen. Not nine."
“Yeah,” Rose said sadly. Head drooping low, she retied the strings of her dressing gown, cinching them so fiercely the Doctor was sure she was shutting him out. “So...it’s not a real pattern.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said in a small contrite voice. He felt like a heel for spoiling her fun. “Maybe there are two patterns.” Rose could feel him watching her and made an effort to meet his eye but her smile was wan. They stared into the middle distance, both thinking of what was lost. Rose sighed. After a moment, he scooped her closer with one arm. “I didn’t mean to shatter the mood,” he murmured.
She shrugged her shoulders and snuggled into him, molding her curves to his. They fit perfectly together, no straining to reach. He rubbed his cheek along the silken mass of her hair. A hair clip scratched him and he took a moment to remove it and two others, releasing the last restraint on her tresses. As hair spilled around her face, he nuzzled lower until he found her ear. His hot breath sent shivers through her.
“We can bring him back,” he whispered.
Her lungs burned, refusing to draw breath for a few seconds. She was clinging to him like a drowning woman. He didn’t seem to mind. They shifted until they were comfortably wrapped around each other. Nearly a minute passed before either of them spoke.
Finally, Rose whispered back, “I don’t like him best.”
“You don’t?”
Instead of repeating herself, she leaned away carefully, so as not to break any more contact than she had to, and studied him. “Did you really regenerate to this…for me?”
Avoiding her questioning gaze, Ten sighed. “Well,” he drawled, trying to sound offhand. “I wanted you to like the new look but it was a long shot really. Never did get the hang of controlled regeneration.” He glanced down at her, finding and holding her gaze as his hand slipped between them. He interlaced their fingers. “Guess I cocked it up, hey? And I so wanted to be ginger."
Rose saw the lines of his face fall into resignation. She tried to find some context for this very odd situation. But it all left her a little off-kilter. She’d hurt the Doctor’s feelings by expressing a careless enthusiasm for his other self. In a way, this surprised her more than any of the other gob-smacking things she’d experienced in the last thirty minutes. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t generally hyper-sensitive. He tended to be cocky to the point of egomania. She'd never seen him look quite so crestfallen.
“I like the brown,” she said, softly. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she pretended to consider him. “You did well enough, yeah? You’re very handsome. Trim and… What’s the word…?” She scratched her head with her free hand. “Sleek, I think. Slinky.”
“Slinky?” he repeated. His eyes grew very round as his mouth toyed silently with the word, “Slinky?” He let go of her hand, almost flinging it away as he pushed off the desk edge. “You mean like a…like a lizard…or…or a snake?” He wrinkled his nose. “A serpent? A…a stoat? What did that old lummox call me?” He pointed to where his former self had been. “I’m a…a weasel?”
“An ego-weasel,” Rose corrected, primly. She had to press her lips together to avoid laughing. Taking a quick breath she rushed out, "He called you 'the ego-weasel.'"
“Right…,” he said, showing her the whites of his eyes, “Right…thank you.”
Taken aback by the concept, he looked so adorably aghast Rose couldn’t help laughing. When he tilted his head, his resemblance to some small woodland creature was uncanny. A burble of mirth forced its way through her firmly closed lips. Her eyes shone merrily. She tried to stifle the giggles but failed. In a paroxysm of glee she managed to gasp, “No. No, but you’re not. I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, yes,” he said, bobbing his head and regarding her with wide-eyed indignation. “I think you did mean exactly that. You agree with him. You think I’m pointy-nosed…and…button-eyed…and…and sharp-toothed. And who finds that attractive?” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, standing it all on end. “Other weasels maybe.”
“You’re not a weasel,” she insisted, following him as he crossed to the bed and threw himself dejectedly across the foot of it; face up so he could stare at the stars. “Really you’re not. You don’t look anything like a weasel.”
“Oh, don’t I?” he said, challenging her with his dazzling intellect. “Have you studied me closely?”
Biting her lip, Rose fought for composure as she stared down at him. She couldn’t help but take his implied invitation to admire him. He had fallen into complete disarray, shirt riding up, suit jacked flared and hair wildly tufted. He looked incredibly scrumptious. She counted to ten, closing her eyes as she sank down on the very edge of the mattress. She was having trouble drawing breath this close to him. And she’d been giggling so much. Pressing a hand to her chest, she tried to gather her wits but he was still on his tear and she really couldn’t seem to control her snickering.
“Go on…admit it…I’m…weasel-y,” he said. “Weasel-ish.” Rose nearly got herself under control but unfortunately just when she thought it was safe to speak he added, “Weasel-esque.” And she convulsed with mirth again. Tightening his stomach muscles, he curled up off the bed a bit to regard her as she continued to sputter. “Weasel…like,” he finished and slumped back into the supine.
“Stop it,” she panted, leaning back on an elbow to prod him.
“Weasel-,” he began but broke off because she’d lunged at him, grabbing his jacket front. She twisted the fabric, exposing even more of his midsection. He was so lean. She could see the jut of his hips and there was a dark line of hair on his pale skin. He had hair on his chest. She remembered it feeling impossibly soft against her knuckles as she’d buttoned him into pajamas.
“There are no weasels,” she declared. “You’re more like…I don’t know a fox or something…maybe a whadyacallit…an otter, yeah?”
“An otter?” he coughed. Curling his lip back he puffed in derision, “Pff? Wha’s that…? I’ll tell you what…a wet weasel.” Groaning theatrically, Rose dropped her head to his chest in mock despair. He put both arms around her. “Oh, yes, tha’s a comfort…that is. I can hold my head up now. There’s a big difference…not a weasel but an otter.”
“Otters are good,” Rose mumbled into his tie. “They’re nothing like weasels.” Then she lifted her chin a little, sparkling eyes meeting his equally glittering gaze. “At least, I don’t think they are. Are they? They’re opposites aren’t they? Like in Redwall. Anyway, otters are cute.”
“Cute?” he sounded appalled but he was relaxing beneath her, stretching out and at ease. “Am I cute?”
“Sexy cute,” Rose assured him. “Not cuddly cute. Otters are dead sexy. Did you never read Redwall?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re like Tagg taking up the sword of Martin.” She flourished an arm as if fencing. “I had such a crush on Deyna when I was a little girl.” Dropping her hand back onto his chest, she regarded him narrowly. “And you know what this reminds me of? When I was eight or nine and had my front teeth come in, Mickey went around telling everyone I had a hamster head.”
“Did he really?” The Doctor asked in amazement. “There’s a bit of nerve.”
“Yeah, he went on for years, teasing me. Said I had hamster cheeks full of seeds and such. Used to call me Penfold. Drove me mad.” She smiled shyly, ducking her chin as she scooted her hips backward and brought her legs onto the bed. When she’d finished squirming, she was lying along his body. Nose to nose she said, “And don’t we sound like something they’d read aloud at library story-time?”
“Hamster and Weasel Are Friends,” the Doctor declared, beaming.
“Hamster and Otter,” she corrected, her lips brushing over his, “Are Very Close Friends.”
“Oh, Penfold, we’re going to get banned from the schools,” he said, gleefully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose knew a bit about sex. Not that she was skanky or anything. She wasn’t one of those girls who let everyone take a turn but she knew what was what. She’d heard stuff around and tried a few things out. She read CSI fanfiction online, even the Lady Heather ones. And took the “Are You Good in Bed?” and “How to Tell What He Wants” quizzes in her mother’s magazines. And whenever something new came up she always talked it over with Shareen. But mostly, she was an ordinary girl who knew ordinary blokes.
She’d started officially dating at fifteen and since then she’d only had three grown up boyfriends. Four if you counted the Doctor. And there really wasn’t any way she couldn’t count the Doctor now. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for him, for this. It was beyond good.
She’d had no idea kissing could bring on so many delicious sensations. Something wet and warm tugged at her core. She almost came as it coiled in her belly. Moaning, she clenched tight, squeezing her thighs together. Crested waves of longing broke over her, splashing across her skin. She didn’t see how it was possible to feel this way. Not from kissing. But, oh, god her Doctor could kiss. He had a way with his tongue that put every other man to shame. Not just the men she’d kissed but all the ones she might have. She didn’t need to kiss them all to know she’d found the best. He let everything build slowly, banking all her fires.
For the longest time he made complex passes at her mouth, a series of light strokes with his lips like a fly fisherman casting. He teased with the flick of his tongue, hoping for a strike. His fingers curled through her hair and skimmed over her skin and he spoke, very softly. In a language she didn’t understand. She strained to catch each susurration, imaging she might work out meaning if she listened closely.
He kept catching her breath in his mouth, warming it and returning it to her. Every time his tongue touched hers, heat pulsed in jagged lightening strikes to her most intimate places. He’d kicked off his trainers and his bare feet caressed her, toes to knees. He’d gotten through her robe again so they were skin to skin. But he held her loosely. Only now and then did he plunge deep as if determined to dive all the way to her center. There was no rhythm to these sensual onslaughts, no reason and no way to prepare. The shift happened suddenly.
In an instant, he’d turn desperate, clinging, clawing as he dragged her tight into him. He would hold on until she started shuddering. Kiss her until they were forced to break and gasp. Every time he took her hard, every time he ground against her, he drove her to the very brink of an earth-shattering release. She would twist and writhe, running her hands up under his shirt as she slid down the emotional embankment.
But he never let her fall. He would catch her, a millisecond before she could tumble into bliss. He would pull out, pull away, watching her warily as she recovered. Then, lightly tracing her lips with the very tip of his tongue, he would shyly explore until her blood dropped off the boil. He never let her cool down, though. He licked her, slurping along her throat like she was made of melting ice cream. It hardened her nipples. He savored her, courting her mouth, shamelessly flattering it with his alien words. Her thighs started trembling. She couldn’t make them stop. She needed more. She needed him inside.
“Oh, yes,” he agreed, the growl of the first syllable fading into an extended hiss with the second.
Rose didn’t mind him reading her mind this time. She groaned in relief when he seized her, pushing her to her back and flowing over on top of her. Rocking, they found equilibrium. She arched, shifting his weight. He was straddling her hips, which felt wrong. She wanted to wrap around him. Her fingers tugged ineffectually at his clothing. She needed to touch him, feel the muscles bunching and sliding under his skin.
His eyes burned bright as he reared up for a moment. He seemed to be holding himself in check, fighting against a strong current. He stared at her, head turning away as his gaze remained fixed, locked on her face. His lips curled back exposing sharp teeth. His breath came in ragged pants. His jaw clenched. The look in his eye, his half-panicked expression, made her ache with desire. This was Time Lord Arousal, majestically aggressive. God-like, she supposed. She recognized it on some genetic level and part of her quaked like some Grecian virgin caught out alone in the fields.
But he was still her Doctor. “Come on, then,” she said, only slightly impaired by the tremor in her voice. “I can take it.”
He laughed, a throaty, wicked sound, and swooped down on her. Rose felt the tiny punctures this time, one after the other. A hundred cellular size needles striking in the wake of his tongue as he swept it up her neck. The toxin burned briefly before spreading its honeyed heaviness to her chest and along her limbs. She had no choice but to surrender. The Doctor slipped into her. Into her mind. Into her body. She urged him closer, holding onto him with her arms, her legs and her awareness.
A sweet pressure built where she needed it. The full feeling increased, stretching her open. She grew slick yielding to it. It felt solid, warm, like his flesh. She tightened around the sensation and the Doctor groaned. His eyes were blue again, his voice deeper as he said her name. When had he changed? Lost his clothes? She couldn’t remember and didn’t really care. She brought her knees up locking her ankles at the small of his back and held onto his bare shoulders, burying her nose in the curve of his neck. The illusion of the thick shaft within her abated a little. He seemed to withdraw and then returned with a sliding thrust, going impossibly deep. There was no pain, just languid pleasure. It was slow and sweet and oh, so hot. Rose rocked her hips, silently encouraging him to find her rhythm.
He spoke in her head. “It’s a samba,” he said with characteristic delight. Brown eyes sparkling, he smiled at her as he performed a Latin dancer’s shimmy, somehow hitting every one of her nerve endings perfectly.
Enslaved by her body's responses, Rose had no thought to spare for the randomness of her mental images. The Doctor kept shifting form. He couldn’t seem to settle on one but she didn’t care. What he looked like hardly mattered. He was her Doctor. She wanted to focus on the physical, what he was doing to her and how good it felt. She didn’t care which one of them touched her. She wanted both of him, all of him. She would never get enough of this, enough of him. No sooner did she have the thought than they were both with her, not mentally but physically. Nine stroking deep between her legs. Ten behind her. Both of them inside her. It felt amazing, nothing like she would have imagined a second or so earlier.
But it sent her mind skittering down a dark alley. She was suddenly self-conscious, quite sure what they were doing now would qualify her as skanky. Good girls didn’t do this sort of thing. Fear washed through her and she felt the first hint of discomfort, a ghostly claustrophobia. This should hurt. It didn’t but it should. At least, she’d assumed it would when she’d first learned people did such things. She’d never done anything remotely like this, wouldn’t dream of it. Did he think she had? Surely, he knew she had never let two men, let any man... This couldn’t be one of her sense memories. Somehow he was making her feel things she’d never felt before. And what if someone found out? What if people knew she’d let him…? Was this what happened to those poor Greek girls with the bears and the bulls and…?
“Don’t think about swans,” Ten cautioned, husky and low and straight into her ear. She could feel his naked body pressed against her back, his arms encircling her. It all seemed so real. “Or your mother,” he went on, “Or him, whoever he is. Honestly, who is he?”
She tried to delete the shaming image from her mind instead of answering him. But it was impossible to avoid telling him anything. Her sense of claustrophobia increased when he said, “The produce man? Not your mother’s produce man? You don’t want him to find out about this? But why should he? Oh…oh…right,” he breathed. “This is like the elephant paradox isn’t it? Where I tell you not to think about elephants and the first thing that comes to mind is…oh, wait...no...no, don’t think about elephants.”
“Will you shut up?” Nine growled.
"Trying to remember your moves? Lucky for Rose at least one of us can multitask. Walk and chew gum at the same time. Resonate concrete while tossing around double entendres about dancing. It's just a matter of setting your priorities."
“Does he go on like this 24/7?” Nine asked. “Jus’ nattering away?” Rose nodded absently, still overset by what they were doing to her. It felt fantastic but she wanted it to stop. And yet, she didn’t allow the thought to form in her mind. “It's a wonder you haven't gone mad,” Nine panted, his head hanging low as he rocked into her hips. “You have my permission to murder him if you like.”
“He’s…it’s…not so bad,” Rose managed. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. She didn’t want this to be shameful, something she’d regret.
Nine glanced at his other self. “Some of us are trying to concentrate on Rose.”
"Some of us need to concentrate more than others," Ten said, smugly.
“Can’t you see she’s upset?” Nine murmured, not inside her head but outside. Ten snarled that, of course, he could and they both moved away from her mind, giving her a little space. “It’s alright, luv,” Nine said. “Let it go. Nobody will find out about this…about us…it’s not even happening, is it? It’s all in your mind. I promise…you have complete control…”
She tried to assert it. All three of them shifted at her command, as if their bodies belonged to her, too. Both Doctors hit the right spot at the same time, one of them sinking into her the other pulling back. And suddenly Rose was rocked by the most astounding orgasm. It blinded her, deafened her. Shattered her into breathless fragments. Tensing like a drawn bow, she wailed through the dizzying rush. Nothing about it hurt or shamed her. It just seemed right being full of him as she spiraled into nothingness. The long fall ended in a series of jerking spasms.
“…just think about us…”
“Me…,” Ten said and then sighed as she did. “Oh…yes…tha’s better.”
One Doctor vanished but the other one was still there, holding her cradled in his arms when she came crashing back into her body. She could see again. Hear. Feel him solidly next to her in the bed. They were both still dressed, though very disheveled. Just like he’d told her, it had all been in her mind. At some point, he had taken off his shoes and his tie and opened his suit jacket. His shirt was wrinkled and partially unbuttoned, loose at the bottom. Her robe was untied and untidy, a tangle of cloth barely covering her. Gulping air, she tilted her head back to study his face.
He stared at her, awed, his lips slightly parted. An angelic smile teased at the corners of his mouth. His face seemed lit from within. It glowed from the pleasure he’d just shared with her. He took a long shuddering breath and then another.
“Well…I can see why old Omega was addicted to this,” he finally managed to say. “It’s like a rollercoaster and...too much wine and...falling in love all at the same time.” He shifted her into the crook of his arm and, beaming down at her, shyly asked, “Do you wanna go again?”
END THIS PART
PART THREE
By Rabid1st
Dr. Who...Ten/Rose
Word Count: 5800 - Part 2
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Rose/Ten, Rose/Nine
Warning: Adult situations, not work safe, fun and frolic-y at points and serious at others.
Spoilers: To S2 – Girl in the Fireplace
Beta Babes: Devil Bunny, Keswindhover and Lilith
Summary: This is Ten/Rose smutfic...of a sort...things are done differently and with the tongue...it gets wild...and that's all I'm saying...
Acknowledgement: I actually wrote the weasel bit without knowing anything about the great controversy it was originally about weasels and chickens. But my beta babe,
keswindhover, in addition to giving me the hamster reference, referred me to mustangsally78 who is quite right in her assertions concerning the animal in question. I stand corrected and indebted to both of these ladies. Disclaimer: Nope, don’t own a thing. But I’m a nice person and I’m hardly worth suing. All characters and situations belong to the BBC and Dr. Who and Russell T. Davies, etc. I'm just borrowing them for the moment.
PART ONE
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/81014.html#cutid1
PART TWO
“But I thought…you were,” Rose began but she couldn’t complete the thought. It was too dreadful to think of him dead. He’d burned. Every cell in his body had burned. Reaching out a tentative hand, she lightly caressed the lapel of his leather jacket and then stepped closer into the ambient warmth he was generating. She ran the flat of her palm over his chest, savoring the span of it. Had he always been so large? She’d grown used to his trimmer figure. “You said you couldn’t change back.”
“Oh, I…I haven’t. Er…he hasn’t,” the Doctor said. Despite his appearance, the starts and stops in his speech made him sound remarkably like his regenerated self. But then he grinned again and slipped into the deeper ‘northern’ accent to proudly announce, “I’m a figment.”
“A fig…?”
“…ment. Of your imagination. Not a swan.”
Rose tipped her head back to squint at him and immediately regretted it. Her skull seemed to be full of marbles. Thousands of glass orbs shifted, banging around inside her head and their combined weight threatened to pull her head off her neck. She pressed the heel of her palm to her temple to stabilize everything. It felt like she’d had six too many at the pub. Her smile became a grimace as the room dipped and swirled around her. For a second or two it was all she could do not to topple over. The Doctor quickly grabbed her around the waist, pulling her hips into his.
‘Now, we’re dancing,’ she thought.
She never wanted him to let go. He seemed so solid, so real. But she obviously couldn’t believe what her senses were telling her. What she was seeing and feeling was too good to be true. He was definitely aroused now. Definitely male, her Doctor, the first Doctor, the older…or no…he would be the younger Doctor, wouldn’t he? Despite appearances? Anyway, it didn’t matter because it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was….gone…and he wasn’t ever coming back. She thought about what had happened and then, keeping a hand on her head to hold it in place, carefully nodded.
“Not a swan. Yeah. I see what this is. This is it, then? The dreaming seed? What you did in my mouth just then was the…your…your,” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to think of an appropriate euphemism and tried not to think of the human equivalent. “…being all aroused? Whadya call it,” she snapped her fingers as she struggled to recall Shareen’s favorite term, “…the…string of pearls? And now, I’ve gone all squiffy and I’m seeing figments.”
“Clever and beautiful,” the blue-eyed Doctor said, his tone caressing her with rich resonance. He still hadn’t let go of her and he smiled as he brushed a hand up her side. She could feel the tips of his blunt, callused fingers, catching on the silken material of her gown. A tiny shiver of delight danced along her skin. She’d dreamed of him touching her like this.
As she shyly glanced up at him, his mouth twisted into a pensive pout and he cast his gaze at the ceiling. “String of pearls?” he sniffed disdainfully. “Not sure I like that…pearls…?” He gave a tiny shake of his head. “No, not very much. That,” he said, looking back at her, “was the injection phase of arousal, my cnidocytes going off.”
“Oh, that’s just odd,” Rose giggled. “Your face and his voice. But are you him doing the voice or are you just you looking like him?" She clutched at her hair. "Gaw, I think I’ve given myself a paradox headache.”
“I’m him. Me. I haven’t changed back. You’re seeing things…feeling things…well…experiencing things, really, that aren’t here. Guess I am rather...potent.”
She ducked her chin and giggled again. It all seemed so very funny. “And I’m definitely plastered. Have you considered marketing this stuff to the pharmaceutical people? You’d make a fortune.”
“Feeling no pain?” he surmised, sounding like he once had, oh, so long ago. He still had that comical face with the oversized ears. And there was a touch of indulgent good humor behind his words. “That’s the aphrodisiac part. Makes sure you’re happy. Gallifreyan females can get a little rough.”
Rose tried to clear the fog from her head and concentrate. “Look, how can I be hallucinating?” She frowned, trying to reason it out. “You don’t…this doesn’t just look like him.” She jabbed the Doctor with a finger and he bobbed a bit in response, his brows lifting with mild amusement. “You’re exactly the same. The voice and everything.” Snuggling into his chest, she wrapped both arms around his waist and squeezed. “It’s amazing. It feels so real.”
“Bound to feel real,” he said. “Comes straight from your sense memory. I got the hook up.”
Feeling clever for using a slang phrase, he snickered. Rose stepped back and slapped playfully at his shoulder. And he changed. Not physically but in some indefinable way becoming the Doctor she’d started this evening with.
“He’s your surrogate…the penetrator. Though why…given a universe of choices…you would choose him I’m sure I’ll never….”
He went through another mercurial switch and his voice matched his appearance again. She had to come up with something to call them, they were both the Doctor.
“The Penetrator,” her first Doctor said, with a boyish smirk. “I love it.” He brushed a few stray hairs from her brow as he told her, “You can call me that if you’d like. ‘Cause I’d answer.”
“Oh, shut up,” he told himself.
“The thing is Rose,” he went on, not taking his own advice. “You rely on your five little senses for so much input. We can use them to advantage. Stimulate them to remember how I was in life. How certain things felt. Once I access your nervous system I can compile the sense memory of other experiences you’ve had. Can’t have you unsatisfied. So I look and feel solid.”
“But that’s….” She wanted to say, it was impossible or not really what she wanted.
But instead she smiled when he completed the thought for her by saying, “Fantastic?”
“Yeah, I guess it is…a little…”
She shivered as his hands, those strong, capable hands, glided along the outside of her arms. He followed her curves, tracing the bow of her neck until he was cradling her face between his palms. His thumb tugged at her lower lip. She gazed up at him, feeling nothing but trust. When she smiled, he groaned and tightened his grip, fingertips combing great chunks of her hair free. And she gave in, melting into him for a long, slow kiss. When their lips parted, she drew in a deep breath and then sighed.
“Mmmm!” she murmured, happily, eyes still closed. “It even smells like you.”
“Smells like…? Smells?” the Doctor exclaimed in a note perfect imitation of his trimmer, dark-eyed self.
Rose jerked out of her daze. Her eyes popped open as she stumbled backward. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown. She was red-faced and a little ashamed. It felt just like she’d been caught cheating. “Oh, you’re still…”
“Oh, yes, still here,” he said, over enunciating the way he generally did when holding onto his temper. “Listening to this…drivel.” He seized her arms just above the elbows and pushed, forcing her backwards. She grabbed at his coat, and then gave a tiny shriek of dismay as one Doctor became two. He separated from himself, pulling apart like an amoeba. The dark-eyed one had a firm grip on her elbows. And he pushed her out to arm’s length. The older…younger…bigger…oh, this was confusing…the first one she’d ever met, leaned against the desk edge while the slender one used his momentum to waltz her a few steps away.
Doctor number two seemed genuinely upset. His face twisted with comic fury as he gave her a gentle shake. “Whaddya mean, it smells like him?” He demanded.
“This isn’t going to work if I can’t even kiss her,” the shorthaired one remarked in a sensual drawl. He glanced at Rose. “Is he always this wound up or is it just the sex?”
“Are you saying he smells better than me? Manlier maybe? With his strong, capable hands?”
“He gets on these tears,” Rose told her first Doctor. Then she patiently addressed the one holding onto her. “You used to get dirty, oily, working on the TARDIS. He has that hot engine smell. And you smell like hair gel and… Hang on. I don’t see what you’re upset about if he’s you. You’re him. You’re the same person.” She frowned over the puzzle until another thought hit her. “And how do you know what I was thinking about his hands?”
“Hair gel?” the older Doctor chortled.
“Some of us have hair. And what am I, then?” He asked Rose. “If he’s strong and capable? I’m…what? Scrawny? Feeble? Effete…inept?”
“It’s not fair you taking my thoughts out of context.” Rose countered. “Especially when you said you weren’t going to rummage around in my mind.”
“Unless I was aroused.”
“So you’re aroused now?”
“Just a bit, yeah,” he said in a tone that made it seem much more than a bit.
“Oh," Rose looked away. "I was happy to see him, is all. I thought it would be safe to think about him. Better than swans.”
“But you could have had…what? Who?" He released her suddenly, turning away to pace the room. "A…a…plethora…a virtually unlimited smorgasbord of men…Alexander the Great, or alright if you can’t imagine Alexander…then what about that Colin Firth fellow…or…or Elvis…Hugh Jackman…Joey Lawrence…Laurence Olivier…Brad Pitt…?” He sputtered to a pause.
“Look, you can’t be jealous of yourself,” Rose reasoned.
“Oh, but I can,” the short-haired one remarked. “It’s a talent. Sort of.”
Even as his more animated self went on in a higher register. “I thought maybe…possibly Jack Harkness or even Mickey. I was braced for Mickey…but no you have to go for the retro look.” He pointed a finger at his counterpart. That Doctor waved. “Big ears. Hooked beak. Beady pale eyes. You can’t tell me you find that attractive.”
“It’s Colin Farrell played Alexander,” Rose said, calmly. “Colin Firth is Pride & Prejudice.”
He let his arm fall to his side as he gaped at her. Rose had a hard time holding in the urge to giggle. She told herself it was the drug. This entire muddle stemmed from her reckless use of alien aphrodisiacs. She should have listened to the warnings in school and stayed off the hard stuff.
“We’re not here to talk about who butchered which films,” the Doctor said. “Truth is you’ve always had a soft spot for my former self...wanting me to change back…’oh, can you?’” he said, snidely imitating her. His eyes got very round and wide. “No! No, I can’t. And why should I?”
“She fancies me, our Rose,” her first Doctor said smugly. “Always did like me better. And who can blame her?”
”Me! I can blame her,” the second Doctor said, touching his fingertips to his chest. He shot a smoldering glare at Rose. “This body was specifically designed to please you. Did you know? Did you give it any thought? The accent. The trim figure. The smile. Hair you could run your fingers through. Someone younger, sexier, more fun at parties. I’m even, almost, yes, very nearly domestic," he said, practically spitting the cursed word. "Everything you asked for…everything I…” He broke off with a sigh as she stared at him in confusion. “Oh, never mind,” he said, petulantly.
“It’s not as if she remembers what happened at Satellite Five,” the first Doctor said with what seemed to Rose to be exaggerated patience. “And you’re shattering the mood.”
The second one seemed to take this in. He shot a pleading glance at Rose but then jammed both hands into his pockets and slumped. His sullen mouth looked very kissable. After a brief sulk, he took note of Rose still warily watching him and gave a terse nod. Blowing off the rest of his temper, he shuffled over to his fellow self and leaned against the desk beside him. They mirrored one another's stance, arms folded and ankles crossed.
“I just thought I had it right for once,” the trimmer one said in a conversational tone. “I’m better looking…better dressed…a better conversationalist…honestly, check out these teeth.” He flashed a grimacing smile. “I’m six times more sociable than you.” He looked down at his feet, studying his trainers a few moments before adding, “And I’m a better dancer.”
“Well, cheer up,” the first Doctor said, bumping their shoulders together. “She probably hasn’t had a good look at you yet.” His smile widened to an infectious grin that brought Rose in on the joke as he added, “Must be hard to see anything properly what with your huge ego blocking out the sun.” His grin vanished, turned off at the switch by a sobering thought. “Listen, luv! You’d best stop referring to us as first and second,” he told Rose, “Even in your mind. Could lead to all sorts of aggravation.”
“I don’t…”
“You see there really are other Doctors, a first and a second. But we’re not them. I’m the ninth and the ego-weasel here is the tenth. You can refer to us by number if you like: Nine and Ten.”
“But…” Rose began.
“He’s right,” the other Doctor sighed, also meeting Rose’s eye earnestly. “The last thing we want is to have any more of me showing up. Get my first and second selves in here and we’ll never get things started.”
“But…it’s my hallucination,” Rose reasoned. “I can’t imagine people I don’t even know.”
“We’re all sharing,” the second…tenth Doctor said. “I’m in your mind. My other selves are in my mind. You could access my memory of them. Best not risk it. He’s Nine. I’m Ten. Should be easy to remember,” he went on looking suddenly happier. “After all…Ten is the highest standard. The heart of your mathematical system. Base Ten. Top Ten. Perfect Ten.”
The first…older…ninth Doctor snorted. "Ten? What’s that?” He sneered. “Simple, tha's what! Counting on your fingers and toes? Multiply it by anything…add a zero and you're done.” He winked at Rose. “But Nine. Nine's got character, depth...personality. It's three times three," he said, gesturing broadly like a magician conjuring. "And three's a powerful number. Three Fates. Three wishes. Third time's the charm.”
Ten made a rude noise. “Three strikes and you’re out. Or here’s one…three’s a crowd.”
Nine wisely went on without engaging himself in debate, "Triumvirate. The trinity. In your multiplication tables the Nines are as easy to learn as the Tens but subtler. Two times nine is eighteen. Three times nine is twenty-seven. Four times...? Thirty-six. See the lovely pattern? One, two, three...counting up...and eight, seven, six...counting down. So what's next? Five times nine is four going up...and five...coming down..."
"Forty-five," Rose said, delighted and slightly surprised she'd never noticed this herself.
"And, they all add up to Nine, too. Eighteen? One and eight is nine. Thirty-six? Three and six is...Nine."
"Four and five is nine," Rose agreed. "Then five and four, again, for fifty-four." She bounced over to him all smiles and warmth and said, "Oh, I do love having you here again."
He uncrossed his arms and reached out to softly caress her cheek. "I've always been here, sweetheart," he said. His gaze seemed to be full of fire as he stared down at her. And then before she could draw another breath, he was gone. He winked out of existence and the bubble of happiness in her chest popped.
“What about eleven?” Ten asked the air. “Nine times eleven is ninety-nine. Doesn’t go up. Doesn’t go down. And it adds to eighteen. Not nine."
“Yeah,” Rose said sadly. Head drooping low, she retied the strings of her dressing gown, cinching them so fiercely the Doctor was sure she was shutting him out. “So...it’s not a real pattern.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said in a small contrite voice. He felt like a heel for spoiling her fun. “Maybe there are two patterns.” Rose could feel him watching her and made an effort to meet his eye but her smile was wan. They stared into the middle distance, both thinking of what was lost. Rose sighed. After a moment, he scooped her closer with one arm. “I didn’t mean to shatter the mood,” he murmured.
She shrugged her shoulders and snuggled into him, molding her curves to his. They fit perfectly together, no straining to reach. He rubbed his cheek along the silken mass of her hair. A hair clip scratched him and he took a moment to remove it and two others, releasing the last restraint on her tresses. As hair spilled around her face, he nuzzled lower until he found her ear. His hot breath sent shivers through her.
“We can bring him back,” he whispered.
Her lungs burned, refusing to draw breath for a few seconds. She was clinging to him like a drowning woman. He didn’t seem to mind. They shifted until they were comfortably wrapped around each other. Nearly a minute passed before either of them spoke.
Finally, Rose whispered back, “I don’t like him best.”
“You don’t?”
Instead of repeating herself, she leaned away carefully, so as not to break any more contact than she had to, and studied him. “Did you really regenerate to this…for me?”
Avoiding her questioning gaze, Ten sighed. “Well,” he drawled, trying to sound offhand. “I wanted you to like the new look but it was a long shot really. Never did get the hang of controlled regeneration.” He glanced down at her, finding and holding her gaze as his hand slipped between them. He interlaced their fingers. “Guess I cocked it up, hey? And I so wanted to be ginger."
Rose saw the lines of his face fall into resignation. She tried to find some context for this very odd situation. But it all left her a little off-kilter. She’d hurt the Doctor’s feelings by expressing a careless enthusiasm for his other self. In a way, this surprised her more than any of the other gob-smacking things she’d experienced in the last thirty minutes. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t generally hyper-sensitive. He tended to be cocky to the point of egomania. She'd never seen him look quite so crestfallen.
“I like the brown,” she said, softly. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she pretended to consider him. “You did well enough, yeah? You’re very handsome. Trim and… What’s the word…?” She scratched her head with her free hand. “Sleek, I think. Slinky.”
“Slinky?” he repeated. His eyes grew very round as his mouth toyed silently with the word, “Slinky?” He let go of her hand, almost flinging it away as he pushed off the desk edge. “You mean like a…like a lizard…or…or a snake?” He wrinkled his nose. “A serpent? A…a stoat? What did that old lummox call me?” He pointed to where his former self had been. “I’m a…a weasel?”
“An ego-weasel,” Rose corrected, primly. She had to press her lips together to avoid laughing. Taking a quick breath she rushed out, "He called you 'the ego-weasel.'"
“Right…,” he said, showing her the whites of his eyes, “Right…thank you.”
Taken aback by the concept, he looked so adorably aghast Rose couldn’t help laughing. When he tilted his head, his resemblance to some small woodland creature was uncanny. A burble of mirth forced its way through her firmly closed lips. Her eyes shone merrily. She tried to stifle the giggles but failed. In a paroxysm of glee she managed to gasp, “No. No, but you’re not. I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, yes,” he said, bobbing his head and regarding her with wide-eyed indignation. “I think you did mean exactly that. You agree with him. You think I’m pointy-nosed…and…button-eyed…and…and sharp-toothed. And who finds that attractive?” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, standing it all on end. “Other weasels maybe.”
“You’re not a weasel,” she insisted, following him as he crossed to the bed and threw himself dejectedly across the foot of it; face up so he could stare at the stars. “Really you’re not. You don’t look anything like a weasel.”
“Oh, don’t I?” he said, challenging her with his dazzling intellect. “Have you studied me closely?”
Biting her lip, Rose fought for composure as she stared down at him. She couldn’t help but take his implied invitation to admire him. He had fallen into complete disarray, shirt riding up, suit jacked flared and hair wildly tufted. He looked incredibly scrumptious. She counted to ten, closing her eyes as she sank down on the very edge of the mattress. She was having trouble drawing breath this close to him. And she’d been giggling so much. Pressing a hand to her chest, she tried to gather her wits but he was still on his tear and she really couldn’t seem to control her snickering.
“Go on…admit it…I’m…weasel-y,” he said. “Weasel-ish.” Rose nearly got herself under control but unfortunately just when she thought it was safe to speak he added, “Weasel-esque.” And she convulsed with mirth again. Tightening his stomach muscles, he curled up off the bed a bit to regard her as she continued to sputter. “Weasel…like,” he finished and slumped back into the supine.
“Stop it,” she panted, leaning back on an elbow to prod him.
“Weasel-,” he began but broke off because she’d lunged at him, grabbing his jacket front. She twisted the fabric, exposing even more of his midsection. He was so lean. She could see the jut of his hips and there was a dark line of hair on his pale skin. He had hair on his chest. She remembered it feeling impossibly soft against her knuckles as she’d buttoned him into pajamas.
“There are no weasels,” she declared. “You’re more like…I don’t know a fox or something…maybe a whadyacallit…an otter, yeah?”
“An otter?” he coughed. Curling his lip back he puffed in derision, “Pff? Wha’s that…? I’ll tell you what…a wet weasel.” Groaning theatrically, Rose dropped her head to his chest in mock despair. He put both arms around her. “Oh, yes, tha’s a comfort…that is. I can hold my head up now. There’s a big difference…not a weasel but an otter.”
“Otters are good,” Rose mumbled into his tie. “They’re nothing like weasels.” Then she lifted her chin a little, sparkling eyes meeting his equally glittering gaze. “At least, I don’t think they are. Are they? They’re opposites aren’t they? Like in Redwall. Anyway, otters are cute.”
“Cute?” he sounded appalled but he was relaxing beneath her, stretching out and at ease. “Am I cute?”
“Sexy cute,” Rose assured him. “Not cuddly cute. Otters are dead sexy. Did you never read Redwall?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re like Tagg taking up the sword of Martin.” She flourished an arm as if fencing. “I had such a crush on Deyna when I was a little girl.” Dropping her hand back onto his chest, she regarded him narrowly. “And you know what this reminds me of? When I was eight or nine and had my front teeth come in, Mickey went around telling everyone I had a hamster head.”
“Did he really?” The Doctor asked in amazement. “There’s a bit of nerve.”
“Yeah, he went on for years, teasing me. Said I had hamster cheeks full of seeds and such. Used to call me Penfold. Drove me mad.” She smiled shyly, ducking her chin as she scooted her hips backward and brought her legs onto the bed. When she’d finished squirming, she was lying along his body. Nose to nose she said, “And don’t we sound like something they’d read aloud at library story-time?”
“Hamster and Weasel Are Friends,” the Doctor declared, beaming.
“Hamster and Otter,” she corrected, her lips brushing over his, “Are Very Close Friends.”
“Oh, Penfold, we’re going to get banned from the schools,” he said, gleefully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose knew a bit about sex. Not that she was skanky or anything. She wasn’t one of those girls who let everyone take a turn but she knew what was what. She’d heard stuff around and tried a few things out. She read CSI fanfiction online, even the Lady Heather ones. And took the “Are You Good in Bed?” and “How to Tell What He Wants” quizzes in her mother’s magazines. And whenever something new came up she always talked it over with Shareen. But mostly, she was an ordinary girl who knew ordinary blokes.
She’d started officially dating at fifteen and since then she’d only had three grown up boyfriends. Four if you counted the Doctor. And there really wasn’t any way she couldn’t count the Doctor now. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for him, for this. It was beyond good.
She’d had no idea kissing could bring on so many delicious sensations. Something wet and warm tugged at her core. She almost came as it coiled in her belly. Moaning, she clenched tight, squeezing her thighs together. Crested waves of longing broke over her, splashing across her skin. She didn’t see how it was possible to feel this way. Not from kissing. But, oh, god her Doctor could kiss. He had a way with his tongue that put every other man to shame. Not just the men she’d kissed but all the ones she might have. She didn’t need to kiss them all to know she’d found the best. He let everything build slowly, banking all her fires.
For the longest time he made complex passes at her mouth, a series of light strokes with his lips like a fly fisherman casting. He teased with the flick of his tongue, hoping for a strike. His fingers curled through her hair and skimmed over her skin and he spoke, very softly. In a language she didn’t understand. She strained to catch each susurration, imaging she might work out meaning if she listened closely.
He kept catching her breath in his mouth, warming it and returning it to her. Every time his tongue touched hers, heat pulsed in jagged lightening strikes to her most intimate places. He’d kicked off his trainers and his bare feet caressed her, toes to knees. He’d gotten through her robe again so they were skin to skin. But he held her loosely. Only now and then did he plunge deep as if determined to dive all the way to her center. There was no rhythm to these sensual onslaughts, no reason and no way to prepare. The shift happened suddenly.
In an instant, he’d turn desperate, clinging, clawing as he dragged her tight into him. He would hold on until she started shuddering. Kiss her until they were forced to break and gasp. Every time he took her hard, every time he ground against her, he drove her to the very brink of an earth-shattering release. She would twist and writhe, running her hands up under his shirt as she slid down the emotional embankment.
But he never let her fall. He would catch her, a millisecond before she could tumble into bliss. He would pull out, pull away, watching her warily as she recovered. Then, lightly tracing her lips with the very tip of his tongue, he would shyly explore until her blood dropped off the boil. He never let her cool down, though. He licked her, slurping along her throat like she was made of melting ice cream. It hardened her nipples. He savored her, courting her mouth, shamelessly flattering it with his alien words. Her thighs started trembling. She couldn’t make them stop. She needed more. She needed him inside.
“Oh, yes,” he agreed, the growl of the first syllable fading into an extended hiss with the second.
Rose didn’t mind him reading her mind this time. She groaned in relief when he seized her, pushing her to her back and flowing over on top of her. Rocking, they found equilibrium. She arched, shifting his weight. He was straddling her hips, which felt wrong. She wanted to wrap around him. Her fingers tugged ineffectually at his clothing. She needed to touch him, feel the muscles bunching and sliding under his skin.
His eyes burned bright as he reared up for a moment. He seemed to be holding himself in check, fighting against a strong current. He stared at her, head turning away as his gaze remained fixed, locked on her face. His lips curled back exposing sharp teeth. His breath came in ragged pants. His jaw clenched. The look in his eye, his half-panicked expression, made her ache with desire. This was Time Lord Arousal, majestically aggressive. God-like, she supposed. She recognized it on some genetic level and part of her quaked like some Grecian virgin caught out alone in the fields.
But he was still her Doctor. “Come on, then,” she said, only slightly impaired by the tremor in her voice. “I can take it.”
He laughed, a throaty, wicked sound, and swooped down on her. Rose felt the tiny punctures this time, one after the other. A hundred cellular size needles striking in the wake of his tongue as he swept it up her neck. The toxin burned briefly before spreading its honeyed heaviness to her chest and along her limbs. She had no choice but to surrender. The Doctor slipped into her. Into her mind. Into her body. She urged him closer, holding onto him with her arms, her legs and her awareness.
A sweet pressure built where she needed it. The full feeling increased, stretching her open. She grew slick yielding to it. It felt solid, warm, like his flesh. She tightened around the sensation and the Doctor groaned. His eyes were blue again, his voice deeper as he said her name. When had he changed? Lost his clothes? She couldn’t remember and didn’t really care. She brought her knees up locking her ankles at the small of his back and held onto his bare shoulders, burying her nose in the curve of his neck. The illusion of the thick shaft within her abated a little. He seemed to withdraw and then returned with a sliding thrust, going impossibly deep. There was no pain, just languid pleasure. It was slow and sweet and oh, so hot. Rose rocked her hips, silently encouraging him to find her rhythm.
He spoke in her head. “It’s a samba,” he said with characteristic delight. Brown eyes sparkling, he smiled at her as he performed a Latin dancer’s shimmy, somehow hitting every one of her nerve endings perfectly.
Enslaved by her body's responses, Rose had no thought to spare for the randomness of her mental images. The Doctor kept shifting form. He couldn’t seem to settle on one but she didn’t care. What he looked like hardly mattered. He was her Doctor. She wanted to focus on the physical, what he was doing to her and how good it felt. She didn’t care which one of them touched her. She wanted both of him, all of him. She would never get enough of this, enough of him. No sooner did she have the thought than they were both with her, not mentally but physically. Nine stroking deep between her legs. Ten behind her. Both of them inside her. It felt amazing, nothing like she would have imagined a second or so earlier.
But it sent her mind skittering down a dark alley. She was suddenly self-conscious, quite sure what they were doing now would qualify her as skanky. Good girls didn’t do this sort of thing. Fear washed through her and she felt the first hint of discomfort, a ghostly claustrophobia. This should hurt. It didn’t but it should. At least, she’d assumed it would when she’d first learned people did such things. She’d never done anything remotely like this, wouldn’t dream of it. Did he think she had? Surely, he knew she had never let two men, let any man... This couldn’t be one of her sense memories. Somehow he was making her feel things she’d never felt before. And what if someone found out? What if people knew she’d let him…? Was this what happened to those poor Greek girls with the bears and the bulls and…?
“Don’t think about swans,” Ten cautioned, husky and low and straight into her ear. She could feel his naked body pressed against her back, his arms encircling her. It all seemed so real. “Or your mother,” he went on, “Or him, whoever he is. Honestly, who is he?”
She tried to delete the shaming image from her mind instead of answering him. But it was impossible to avoid telling him anything. Her sense of claustrophobia increased when he said, “The produce man? Not your mother’s produce man? You don’t want him to find out about this? But why should he? Oh…oh…right,” he breathed. “This is like the elephant paradox isn’t it? Where I tell you not to think about elephants and the first thing that comes to mind is…oh, wait...no...no, don’t think about elephants.”
“Will you shut up?” Nine growled.
"Trying to remember your moves? Lucky for Rose at least one of us can multitask. Walk and chew gum at the same time. Resonate concrete while tossing around double entendres about dancing. It's just a matter of setting your priorities."
“Does he go on like this 24/7?” Nine asked. “Jus’ nattering away?” Rose nodded absently, still overset by what they were doing to her. It felt fantastic but she wanted it to stop. And yet, she didn’t allow the thought to form in her mind. “It's a wonder you haven't gone mad,” Nine panted, his head hanging low as he rocked into her hips. “You have my permission to murder him if you like.”
“He’s…it’s…not so bad,” Rose managed. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. She didn’t want this to be shameful, something she’d regret.
Nine glanced at his other self. “Some of us are trying to concentrate on Rose.”
"Some of us need to concentrate more than others," Ten said, smugly.
“Can’t you see she’s upset?” Nine murmured, not inside her head but outside. Ten snarled that, of course, he could and they both moved away from her mind, giving her a little space. “It’s alright, luv,” Nine said. “Let it go. Nobody will find out about this…about us…it’s not even happening, is it? It’s all in your mind. I promise…you have complete control…”
She tried to assert it. All three of them shifted at her command, as if their bodies belonged to her, too. Both Doctors hit the right spot at the same time, one of them sinking into her the other pulling back. And suddenly Rose was rocked by the most astounding orgasm. It blinded her, deafened her. Shattered her into breathless fragments. Tensing like a drawn bow, she wailed through the dizzying rush. Nothing about it hurt or shamed her. It just seemed right being full of him as she spiraled into nothingness. The long fall ended in a series of jerking spasms.
“…just think about us…”
“Me…,” Ten said and then sighed as she did. “Oh…yes…tha’s better.”
One Doctor vanished but the other one was still there, holding her cradled in his arms when she came crashing back into her body. She could see again. Hear. Feel him solidly next to her in the bed. They were both still dressed, though very disheveled. Just like he’d told her, it had all been in her mind. At some point, he had taken off his shoes and his tie and opened his suit jacket. His shirt was wrinkled and partially unbuttoned, loose at the bottom. Her robe was untied and untidy, a tangle of cloth barely covering her. Gulping air, she tilted her head back to study his face.
He stared at her, awed, his lips slightly parted. An angelic smile teased at the corners of his mouth. His face seemed lit from within. It glowed from the pleasure he’d just shared with her. He took a long shuddering breath and then another.
“Well…I can see why old Omega was addicted to this,” he finally managed to say. “It’s like a rollercoaster and...too much wine and...falling in love all at the same time.” He shifted her into the crook of his arm and, beaming down at her, shyly asked, “Do you wanna go again?”
END THIS PART
PART THREE
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OMG! Thank you...
Date: 2006-06-15 03:16 am (UTC)Thank you so much for creating the ego-weasel icon.
Rae