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rabid1stDISHEVELED
By Rabid1st
Dr. Who...Ten/Rose
Word Count: 3400 - Part 4
Rating: Mature - NC-17
Pairing: Rose/Ten
Warning: Adult situations, not work safe, fun and frolic-y at points and serious at others.
Spoilers: To S2 – The Idiot’s Lantern
Beta Babes: Seriously...this bit is unbetaed...so if you all want to wait for a few days...and come back...I'm sure it will get better.
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...
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
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/81708.html#cutid1
PART THREE
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/82748.html#cutid1
PART FOUR
The party hit its stride around nine and was still swinging long past midnight. Rose flitted about, comparing fashions with the ladies and occasionally dancing. She’d gathered a gaggle of admirers, both male and female. The Doctor lost count of the young men courting her favor. There seemed to be an endless stream of earnest faces. They flocked around her, bringing her refreshments, telling her jokes and begging dances. Women asked about her dress and her shoes. And once or twice about her ‘young man.’ A phrase she took to mean him. That’s what he was, he reminded himself, someone she was seeing. He could be nothing more than that. He could hardly aspire to be more. She would want a life someday. A life he couldn’t give her.
Unfailingly gracious, Rose obliged a suitor now and then, showing off a few of the period dance moves they'd mastered together. But she never strayed from his sight. A red-haired chap who reminded him a little of Turlough tried to kiss her. The Doctor tensed but she rebuffed the lad gently. Seeing her glance toward him as the redhead walked away, the Doctor lifted his nearly empty glass, toasting her conquest. She rewarded him with that slow smile he adored and went back to her flirting.
It was good to hear her laugh ring out from time to time. Losing Mickey had sobered her. She’d cried at first and asked to go home and, feeling more lost than he ever had before, the Doctor had complied. She’d spent two weeks with her mother, reminiscing as they flipped through photo albums. Meanwhile, he’d kicked around London, hoping for a crisis but finding only pigeons and kitsch. By the third week, he’d been introduced as “Rose’s Doctor” so often he’d started to think of himself that way. He’s settled into an easy routine with the trio of blue-haired old ladies two floors down. They’d meet him on the roof to watch the sunset each evening, all three of them complaining about rising prices and kids today. They always asked after his sweetheart.
Thankfully, Rose recovered her sense of adventure during the third week of their stay and they’d set off for ancient Alexandria. She’d enjoyed playing dress up so much he’d thought of other places and times they could visit where the costumes were fun rather than constricting. Rigel 12. Age of the Minotaur. Beachwear. Mars circa 2080. Eatable gelatin sheaths. Ed Sullivan TV studio. 1956. Pink flared skirt with sequined bodice. She’d actually squealed when she’d found the matching pink pumps.
The shoes were a huge success even in the wrong year. The Doctor watched Rose work her fashion-conscious entourage from the corner of his eye as he mingled with the neighbors. People welcomed him, told him stories. He spun out lies and half-truths and most delightfully full truths for their entertainment. Someone gave him a glass of tomato juice. He sat the orangeade he’d been nursing aside and fished the celery stalk out of his fresh drink. Crisp celery was just what he needed, something to suck on and crunch. His tongue had been tingling all afternoon. Ever since he’d swung Rose into his arms and around and around.
How long had it been since they’d kissed? Too long. Even if it hadn’t been long enough to be safe, yet. Certainly not the month he’d warned her was necessary. He counted the days off as he munched on his celery stalk. Twenty-seven? No, midnight…so twenty-eight, now. Close enough. He could walk over to her. Take her in his arms. Slide into her mouth and into her mind and…
Still, two more days would be safer. He could hold out for two days. They couldn’t afford to give in to lust. Rose could so easily become addicted to the neurotoxin. She’d been standing closer, giving him sidelong glances. And he was already too dependent on her. The wireless crackled with static as a new song started playing: Skylark, an instrumental rendition by The Glenn Miller Orchestra. The red-haired lad went in for the slow dance but the Doctor spun away from his congenial companions and arrived at Rose’s side in time to cut off the advance.
“Mine, I think,” he said.
“Yours,” Rose agreed, beaming up at him.
He handed the disappointed redhead the partially chewed celery by way of compensation before guiding Rose a few steps away. The boy opened his mouth to protest, saw the look on Rose's face and simply sulked off. Throwing open his arms, the Doctor happily welcomed her. She grinned and eased into him, fitting her body along his. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she snuggled close. He was desperate to hold her. It hadn’t been so very long since their last dance, less than an hour, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her. He’d been craving this, looking for excuses to have it, ever since they’d consummated their relationship. More and more often he was finding reasons to hug her. Hold her. Spin her around.
Her hands glided under his coat, around his waist and on up his back. Even through his suit jacket and shirt, he burned from her heat. He placed his own hands very carefully, one just below her ribcage, the other between her shoulder blades. They swayed to Miller’s seductive strings and horns. The Doctor sang along with the music quietly and very close to her ear. He sang about his love waiting to be kissed and a lonely bird flying through the night. Rose shivered, pressing closer. She found his wrist, then his hand and intertwined their fingers. She knew what it did for him, now. It was the Gallifreyan equivalent of a long, wet, deep kiss, the kind of thing that would surely shock the neighbors.
The Doctor drew in a sharp breath. Something stirred deep in his subconscious, something riotously primitive. Stepping slightly away, he turned his head just enough to stare down into her eyes.
“We should go,” he said, his lips barely moving. “Back to the TARDIS.”
Rose moistened her lips and said, “Yeah, alright,” far too quickly for his peace of mind.
They slipped away from the crowd. A few people noticed them leaving, called out goodbyes, but they made a fairly uneventful exit. The music faded as they traversed the alley leading to their ship. But they could hear other revelers further away. Rose kept her grip on his hand and cuddled his arm as they splashed through shallow puddles. They pulled one another along, both eager to be alone together. The moonlit streets were wet from an earlier rain. Black paving stones glittered underfoot. It was a beautiful night to follow such a chaotic day. Only that morning Rose had been lost. The Doctor recalled his fury, the possessive fire of it. He’d been so very angry. Nothing short of death would have stopped him from getting her back.
Now they were inseparable again. He had her back and the need to lock her safely away kept baying in his brain. That would be wrong. He kept telling himself how wrong it would be as he keyed open the TARDIS and they stepped inside. The warmth of home welcomed them. Their footsteps echoed as they walked up the sloping ramp to the console. Rose leaned into his shoulder.
“I had a lovely time,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“Is it over?” He asked, sounding blatantly seductive. “Your lovely time?”
“Unless we’re really going to see Elvis, now,” she spoke very matter-of-factly. “I should go change.”
Grinning up at him, she rocked back and forth against his arm. Her tongue teased at the corner of her mouth. They stopped at the console. He twisted a few knobs and smacked a lever to set the TARDIS in motion. As the rotor pulsed, Rose tried to pull free of his grip but he refused to let go of her hand. She tugged futilely, giving him a quizzical look before she jerked a thumb over her shoulders.
“Got to go,” she said and then, as if sensing his mood, in a far more timorous way added, “Change.”
Gaze fixed on the monitor, he held onto her, stretching her arm to its full length as she backed away. As their fingers started to come apart, he lost all interest in pretending he had anything but her on his mind. He stepped back and pivoted toward her, moving with a fluid grace. Reeling her in, he closed the small distance between them. She stumbled forward. He twirled her as they came together, passing his arm over her head, so her back hit his chest. She bounced and gasped. Before she could shrug him off, he caught her tight against him, grinding his pelvis into the yielding flesh of her bottom. She molded into him as he nuzzled his way to her ear.
“But I don’t want you to change,” he growled softly.
She dug her nails into the heavy fabric of his coat and gulped, “Doctor?”
His other arm came up to lock around her waist. After a moment, he slid the flat of his palm down her torso urging her closer. Her thighs quickly clamped shut when he reached them. But her lips were slightly parted. She wasn’t indifferent to him. The rapid pulse in her veins had her practically vibrating. He could feel her heart pounding wildly as he leaned into her back. She hadn’t been expecting this show of masculine ardor and it scared her just a little. But she didn’t want it to stop. Still, a gentleman would give her the option. For the first time in his nine hundred years, the Doctor wondered if he really was a gentelman.
“Tell me to let go,” he suggested as he drew his hand back up her body to her neckline and curled his fingers around one edge of her jacket front.
When his knuckles skimmed the velvet soft slope of her breast, Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Drawing the jacket’s shiny blue fabric to the side made the zipper crawl lower. She glanced down. “Or would you…rather…” he continued with a sort of breezy ease, “…I kept…” As he spoke, he released her hand to put all of his attention on her sliding zipper. He pulled evenly on both sides of it, easing the jacket’s tight sleeves down her arms until she was bound at the wrists by bunched fabric, “holding on?” he finished.
Hands effectively shackled behind her back, Rose swallowed hard. Once again they were in dangerously new territory. But she trusted him. He could tell she was more excited than frightened. She let her head loll against his shoulder as she said, “You just hold on.”
“Mhmmm…aren’t you brave?” he murmured before sweeping his tongue along the curve of her jaw.
She gave a little mew and quivered, expecting the cnidocyte sting. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t want to dream. He wanted to revel in this glorious aggression. It was new to him and utterly fascinating. He had no idea what he would do next. His fingers started popping the buttons on the side of her dress. A few sharp tugs later, the pink satin and her crisp netting slip were pooled around her ankles. As she stepped free of the tangle of cloth, the Doctor caught her and swung her around setting her on her feet again, facing him. She blushed pink all over when he swept his hungry gaze down her body.
He was hungry. It shocked him how much he wanted this, wanted Rose, naked, bound and under him. She should be craving this, craving the drug. But she wasn’t the one who kept initiating these encounters. He saw her struggling with the jacket, trying to work her hands free. He didn’t think he was going to allow that. He put a restraining hand on her arm.
“I don’t want to drug you,” he said. “Not yet. I know you need it.”
Surprised, she stopped trying to free herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, brow furrowing a little as she looked up at him. She wrinkled her nose as she said, very forthrightly, “I need you.”
“Me? What’s that mean, me?”
“You,” she said, enunciating as if he were exceptionally slow. “I’ve been out of body all day, floating on the radio waves.”
“Television signal,” he corrected. “A radio wave wouldn’t give you the same image quality…the frequency can’t transmit enough information to recreate…” He pressed his lips together to stop the babbling. “Right, sorry…probably not relevant. You were saying…?”
Grinning indulgently she leaned into him. “Now, I’m back, breathing and alive…I want to feel you. Touch you.”
“Me, too,” he said, surprised. “It’s all I think about.” He gave his head a sharp shake. “Not touching myself…obviously…because…I could…”
“I know,” she murmured. She tipped her head back, smiling provocatively. “That’s so sweet.”
“Am I sweet?” he asked, pulling her to his chest and dropping his chin so he could stare straight into her eyes.
“’Fraid so,” she purred.
He tipped his head a little, studying her. She had on thigh high black stockings and miniscule black knickers. Her strapless bra matched her pink shoes but was decorated with tiny black bows. Her skin had a marvelous luster. He wanted to touch it. So he did. First, drawing the flat of his palm across her belly and then slipping his arm around her waist. He flexed his knees and hefted her bottom up onto the edge of the console. She braced her bound hands behind her hips.
They slid along each other, interlocking. His fingers traced down her outer thigh to guide one leg around his waist. Noses awkwardly bumping, they brought their foreheads together. His mouth opened, straining toward hers, aching to taste. His tongue darted out to kiss against her lips.
As his hands stroked over her he grated out, “Rose?” and then, taking in a shuddering breath declared, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I feel so…so…”
“Randy?” Rose suggested, playfully.
“Yes,” he hissed into her mouth but then, breaking free of her spell, he immediately recanted, “No.” He nibbled along her neck, following her pulse as he offered up alternatives. “Territorial. Possessive. Quixotic.”
“Quixotic?”
“I want to storm your castle,” he growled between elaborate licks of her collarbone. “Slay your dragons. Do something daring…romantic…something impossible…" He pulled back to stare at her again as he breathlessly rushed out his plea, "Something hard and fast and manly. Is there anything I can do for you, Rose?”
“Hmmm, something hard?” she asked, the corners of her mouth curving up. Hooking her other leg around him, she hugged him in tight. He fell forward, spilled over her, giggling.
“Forceful.”
“Quick.”
“Mad. Reckless,” he breathed, skating his lips down her cheek to her mouth.
“Manly,” they murmured together.
His hands cupped her face, urging her to hold their kiss through several slow, synchronized breaths. Gradually, his fingers slipped down her neck to her breasts. Their tongues slithered over and under each other. She arched her back, bowing up into him as he worked blindly to unfasten her bra. Exposing her rosy pink nipples, he spared them a brief glance. They peaked on impossibly pliable, exquisitely firm globes. She had breasts like newly hatched Mitignites, his Rose. They jiggled when she moved. Pressed against him they always made him feel just a little giddy. It was unnatural for a Time Lord to feel this way about breasts. He ran his hands over them, fondling her, pleasing her, squeezing gently as his palm circled and his thumb caressed.
Rose moaned and rocked her hips in a figure eight. And for the first time in his life he wished he was human and had something phallic to give her. He had to give her something. Enslaved by her desire, he answered her summons the only way he could, licking his way back to her kiss-swollen lips. His fingers crept up her throat to comb the ribbon and pins from her hair. His teeth raked along her jaw line. Reaching her ear, he toyed with her earring, rolling the beads against her cheek with his nose. He tugged on the hook with his teeth and pushed with his tongue until he succeeded in sucking the bauble free of her ear lobe. The pink dangle skidded down the slope of her bare breast.
“I want to taste you,” he whispered, low and quick. “Everywhere. All over. Is that alright?”
She nodded and rasped, “Yes…yes, I thought you’d never…please.”
Adjusting their angles, he lowered his head and tentatively licked first one taut aureole and then the other. She tasted like bath powder and soap and sweat and Rose, her own blend of salty toxins. He caught hints of her cellular debris, the flavor of fragmented DNA and the chemical signature of every emotion she'd had recently. He could taste her earlier fear and her later satisfaction. There was a seasoning of passion from their reunion hug and a dash of exuberance from the dancing. He savored the tang of her desire for him. It effervesced. He’d never tasted anything more delectable. He met her gaze for a moment, letting her see how happy it made him to know her like this. Then, he returned his attention to pleasing her. He grew quite bold, suckling loudly, groaning when she did.
The scent of her escalating arousal filled the room. It worked on his nerves like rain pounding on a tin roof, a relentless drone in his head. “Mine, mine, mine…” it said, keeping time with his beating hearts. He agreed. She was his. He was hers. The possessive could go either way. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, he thought, and nearly laughed out loud. Rassilon help him he was losing his objectivity.
This was nothing if not subjective. His fingertips skimmed over her, picking up her thoughts, her feelings. Spiraling lower and lower in response to her need, he reached her navel. From there, he arrowed straight down to the scrap of soaked cotton between her legs. It was oily, slippery to the touch. He worked the drenched fabric in a series of tight circles, making Rose buck and writhe. He stroked her hard and fast. Hooking his other hand into the side of her briefs he waited for her hips to lift. When they did, a well-timed yank sent her knickers to her knees. She kicked free of them as he scooped her up and carried her to their chair for two.
Draping her across the seat, he took her the way he knew a man would. He shoved her knees open, thrust between them and ground against her, rocking his pelvis, mimicking the human sex act as they kissed. Climaxing from the friction, she said his name as if it were a prayer, letting each of the complex syllables melt on her tongue. And it struck him as a bit odd, her knowing it when he didn't. Though as soon as she'd said it he forgot it again.
He was the Doctor. She was his Rose. She’d been telling the truth. She didn’t seem to need anything but him. He stared into her eyes as he shifted his hips away from hers and slowly walked his fingertips up her inner thigh to the spongy, slippery mound between her legs. She opened a little wider for him, her mouth and her legs. He kissed her again as he cupped his palm over her sensitive flesh. Her skin felt impossibly smooth under the heel of his hand. Breaking off from her mouth, he lurched to the side, glancing down.
“You shaved?” he said, hitting a higher register than was, in strictly masculine terms, appropriate to their situation.
The look on his face combined with the loss of all physical contact acted like a spray of cold water on Rose’s mood. She shivered, pushing herself up on her elbows as she sputtered at him, “Wha…wha’s wrong?”
“You...shaved,” he repeated, forcing his intonation to a manlier rumble even as his bug-eyed, darting glance and bobbing chin nudged her attention in the direction of her offense. His upper lip curled in distaste.
Rose looked down, perplexed. Her brows lifted slightly. “Yeah? Well...waxed.”
“Waxed? Waxed?” Sneering, he drew away a little as if she’d transformed into something altogether garden-slug like.
"A Brazillian. While we were back home. I just thought...well...most men..."
“Is this done...waxing? Is it something you do? I don’t know…I mean you had hair before and now you’re…you’re bald.” Nose crinkling, he met her eye. “Bit of a shock!”
She glanced up at him and then down again, clearly at a loss. “If you say so,” she murmured, tilting her head to the side. “Pretty normal where I come from.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I’ve seen the adverts. Every second of everyday you’re bombarded with negative messages, someone’s always claiming there’s something wrong with your natural state. Cover your scent. Cover yourselves. Wear this. Buy that. What have you people got against hair?” He demanded. “You…you straighten it and curl it and dye it and stuff it under wigs and hats. Shave your head. Shave your legs. Wax. Whatever. Too much hair under your arms or on your upper lip? Burn it off. And you…you, Rose Tyler…you peroxide and pluck and powder and now,” he waved a hand at her, “now this…?”
“Look if you don’t like it, it grows back,” Rose huffed. “And you shave. I've seen you.”
“A beard, yes. Beards are status indicators on any number of worlds and you can’t keep reshaping them to fit the planet you’re on or the time you’re in. Tedious work and I'd rather be thought unmanly than aggressive. Time travelers need to be careful about beards…and hair length…and hats. You can usually get away with a scarf…but nobody sees your,” he waved a hand at her private parts, “…except me…”
“I know that," she sighed. "Look, it’s just…in a relationship…sometimes…” Red with embarrassment, Rose pinched her eyes shut. Dropping her head back, she did a slow count to twenty and then without looking at him said, “I just thought…with the month coming up that we might…”
She didn't want to spell it out for him. Tears of frustration glittered in her eyes as she bit down on her lower lip. It struck the Doctor anew how vulnerable she was, hands bound behind her, naked except for her stockings and shoes. A sharp pang, very like one of cupid’s arrows, struck the center of his chest. He moved closer to her, wanting to shelter her from his own rudeness. He felt like an obnoxious jerk, which, he reflected, he probably was.
“Might what?” He murmured, stroking her shoulder.
“Oh…what’s the use?” she puffed. “You know my mum says people who can’t talk about sex shouldn’t be having it.” Blowing the hair from her eyes with another strong exhale, she raised her head and met his gaze squarely. “Look, I’m usually like this…shaved or waxed, okay? If it’s shocking you, I’m sorry. But I wasn’t planning on…well…any of it, last time. We'd been flying about time and space for so long, no men onboard and no beaches and I'd let myself go a little.” She took a quick breath, looking beyond him and working the tension out of her jaw before going on, “But this time I wanted everything to be nice. Perfect…oh, alright…I know it was silly of me. Stop with the staring. I just thought..you know how you are? Like you said, you want to taste me. You have that thing…where you lick walls and windowsills and such?”
“A…tongue?”
“No.” She actually laughed as she shook her head, delighted by him again. She snorted, "Tongue?" unable to believe he'd suggested it. "No, the psychological thing. You know, like an obsession…only that's not the right word. Compulsion? Where you stick random bits in your mouth...you can’t help yourself. A…what’s it?” If her hands were free the Doctor knew she’d be snapping her fingers at him. He adored watching her work things out. Her eyes flashed when she finally did. “Fixation. Yeah? You got an oral fixation. And a copy of the Lesbian Kama Sutra and I just thought you might want to--” She glanced down, again, this time drawing his gaze with hers.
A slow grin swept the last traces of confusion from his face. He allowed his eyes to travel slowly up her torso and then turned his shoulder into hers and gave her a little nudge.
“You thought I might…fixate?” The way he hissed and tongued over the word made it sound very sexy indeed.
“Yeah,” she sighed.
He started nodding. “Alright, yes, I’m…” he said, continuing with the bobbing head. “Getting used to it. Takes a little mental adjustment…but…no…yes, now, I think on it…smooth…is…smooth is good…I like smooth things…jazz…and,” he paused and stilled, only his gaze prowling over her. He couldn’t think of any smoothness in the world he might compare to her skin, “and then there’s….glass, ice,” he swallowed as he stared at her slowly rising and falling breast, “smoothies…” He glanced down, boldly studying the new landscape as Rose blushed anew.
“Some people have it pierced,” she said. “I could get a rose stud and…”
“I’ve obviously been reading all the wrong magazines,” he murmured, grimacing slightly. Then, he met her eye again. “Up to you, of course, but I’d rather you didn’t. Pierce, I mean. As for the hair…you don’t have to, you know? Not for me.”
“I guess I know that, yeah,” she said. Pressing her lips together, she favored him with a tight little smile and then added, “But it makes me feel…better…”
He sighed. “Nothing is better than being Rose,” he said.
She gave a nervous little laugh as she asked, “Even if I’m bald?”
“Even if,” he said, dropping to the floor before her. His coat flared around him, reminding her of the disparity of their relative states of dress. “Bald is beautiful. It’s the new black. I embrace the bald,” he announced brightly, resting his cheek on the inside of her knee. A tremor shook her leg as his fingers dipped into her slick velvety folds. “Given some encouragement, I could learn to love the bald.” He used his fingertips to gently ease her open and then, leaning in, drew his tongue along her moist slit. She quaked and gasped. “That sort of thing, yes,” he said. “I feel encouraged already.”
“Less talking,” Rose ordered.
Mouth pressed into her, he snickered madly, gleefully. The buzz of light laughter made her shiver and squirm against his lips. “Your wish is my command,” he mumbled. “But be careful what you wish for.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to absorb every nuance of texture and flavor. Enthralled by the vibrations under her skin, the hammering of her pulse, he hummed a harmonizing melody as he gently sampled her secrets. He remembered what was like to be her. She liked to be touched, petted. He traced his fingertips over her. Her nerve endings sparked for him even without an aphrodisiac. He knew how to make her tremble. His tongue lapped and licked around the sensitive bud of her clit, teasing it to engorged delight. Blooming like a rose, she grew wetter, suppler. His long fingers slipped easily in and out of her.
“Oh, now that,” he whispered, genuinely awed. “That's beautiful. You’re like…warm honey inside…like…a candy cordial. Resisting just a little but then when I press in…" he pressed in, "Up…oh, you give way so easily and go all sticky, slick and slippery and…clinging.”
If felt so good inside her. She molded her flesh to his, gloving his fingers. He couldn’t help going back every few seconds for more. He stroked her all over, exploring her inner thighs, her bottom, her belly and her breasts. The skin around his mouth was soon coated with her juices. He reveled in her flavors and her varied responses. She gasped when he sucked on her right nipple, moaned when he nuzzled the left. She lightly drummed her heels against his back whenever his fingers teased the bundle of nerves at the top of her petal soft core.
When she clench around him, he paused to watch her pull him in deeper. His whole being seemed to sink into her each time. Breathlessly, he told her how it thrilled him. What it meant to him to be inside her, to be milked by her tight, slick walls. The cnidocytes in his tongue swelled into nubs but he refused to fire them. He sucked her swollen clit into his mouth again and ran the hard ridges of his own arousal over hers. She thrashed, yelping and bashing her head against the back of the chair as she crested through climax.
He kept at her, swirling and probing with his fixated tongue, needing to fire into her, denying his need and driving her toward a second orgasm and then a third. Kicking off a shoe, she braced the stocking-clad sole of one foot on his shoulder as she arched in rapture. His tongue could go deeper, now, reach every delicate fold. She bounced under him, groaning, straining at her bonds. Her nails clawed into the seat cushion. Varying pressure and speed, he used every trick he’d learned in his reading and brought her up again through another jolt of ecstasy. This time she just kept shaking. Three of his fingers twisted into her as she shattered for final time. It finished her. She ejaculated a thin stream of fluid into the palm of his hand and fell back, limp and panting.
“Now that,” he declared, with smug satisfaction, staggering to his feet, “That…is what I call encouragement.” He nodded erratically at her as he beamed with delight.
Despite her gasping exhaustion, Rose managed a weak chuckle. The Doctor sobered, stilled. Barely breathing, he stared into her eyes as he drew his hand passed his tongue and licked every trace of her from his palm. Rose felt instantly aroused again. Combing the clean hand through his hair, he broke up his ruffle. His fingers clutched at the base of his skull as he ran his heated gaze over her. Something glimmered in his mild, brown eyes, something predatory. He stepped closer. Gathering her to his chest, he reached around her shoulder and deftly freed her hands from her tangled jacket.
“I’m not through with you,” he said, “Not by a long way.”
He hooked his fingers behind her knees and guided her legs under his long coat and around his waist. She hugged his neck as he lifted her easily, one arm under her bottom the other around her shoulders. Another woman might have pulled back, scared of the smoldering passion in him and how unexpectedly strong he was but he couldn’t scare her. She buried her face in the curve of his throat, clinging to him like a small child might cling its father as he carried her deeper into the TARDIS.
END THIS PART
PART FIVE
By Rabid1st
Dr. Who...Ten/Rose
Word Count: 3400 - Part 4
Rating: Mature - NC-17
Pairing: Rose/Ten
Warning: Adult situations, not work safe, fun and frolic-y at points and serious at others.
Spoilers: To S2 – The Idiot’s Lantern
Beta Babes: Seriously...this bit is unbetaed...so if you all want to wait for a few days...and come back...I'm sure it will get better.
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...
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
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/81708.html#cutid1
PART THREE
http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/82748.html#cutid1
PART FOUR
The party hit its stride around nine and was still swinging long past midnight. Rose flitted about, comparing fashions with the ladies and occasionally dancing. She’d gathered a gaggle of admirers, both male and female. The Doctor lost count of the young men courting her favor. There seemed to be an endless stream of earnest faces. They flocked around her, bringing her refreshments, telling her jokes and begging dances. Women asked about her dress and her shoes. And once or twice about her ‘young man.’ A phrase she took to mean him. That’s what he was, he reminded himself, someone she was seeing. He could be nothing more than that. He could hardly aspire to be more. She would want a life someday. A life he couldn’t give her.
Unfailingly gracious, Rose obliged a suitor now and then, showing off a few of the period dance moves they'd mastered together. But she never strayed from his sight. A red-haired chap who reminded him a little of Turlough tried to kiss her. The Doctor tensed but she rebuffed the lad gently. Seeing her glance toward him as the redhead walked away, the Doctor lifted his nearly empty glass, toasting her conquest. She rewarded him with that slow smile he adored and went back to her flirting.
It was good to hear her laugh ring out from time to time. Losing Mickey had sobered her. She’d cried at first and asked to go home and, feeling more lost than he ever had before, the Doctor had complied. She’d spent two weeks with her mother, reminiscing as they flipped through photo albums. Meanwhile, he’d kicked around London, hoping for a crisis but finding only pigeons and kitsch. By the third week, he’d been introduced as “Rose’s Doctor” so often he’d started to think of himself that way. He’s settled into an easy routine with the trio of blue-haired old ladies two floors down. They’d meet him on the roof to watch the sunset each evening, all three of them complaining about rising prices and kids today. They always asked after his sweetheart.
Thankfully, Rose recovered her sense of adventure during the third week of their stay and they’d set off for ancient Alexandria. She’d enjoyed playing dress up so much he’d thought of other places and times they could visit where the costumes were fun rather than constricting. Rigel 12. Age of the Minotaur. Beachwear. Mars circa 2080. Eatable gelatin sheaths. Ed Sullivan TV studio. 1956. Pink flared skirt with sequined bodice. She’d actually squealed when she’d found the matching pink pumps.
The shoes were a huge success even in the wrong year. The Doctor watched Rose work her fashion-conscious entourage from the corner of his eye as he mingled with the neighbors. People welcomed him, told him stories. He spun out lies and half-truths and most delightfully full truths for their entertainment. Someone gave him a glass of tomato juice. He sat the orangeade he’d been nursing aside and fished the celery stalk out of his fresh drink. Crisp celery was just what he needed, something to suck on and crunch. His tongue had been tingling all afternoon. Ever since he’d swung Rose into his arms and around and around.
How long had it been since they’d kissed? Too long. Even if it hadn’t been long enough to be safe, yet. Certainly not the month he’d warned her was necessary. He counted the days off as he munched on his celery stalk. Twenty-seven? No, midnight…so twenty-eight, now. Close enough. He could walk over to her. Take her in his arms. Slide into her mouth and into her mind and…
Still, two more days would be safer. He could hold out for two days. They couldn’t afford to give in to lust. Rose could so easily become addicted to the neurotoxin. She’d been standing closer, giving him sidelong glances. And he was already too dependent on her. The wireless crackled with static as a new song started playing: Skylark, an instrumental rendition by The Glenn Miller Orchestra. The red-haired lad went in for the slow dance but the Doctor spun away from his congenial companions and arrived at Rose’s side in time to cut off the advance.
“Mine, I think,” he said.
“Yours,” Rose agreed, beaming up at him.
He handed the disappointed redhead the partially chewed celery by way of compensation before guiding Rose a few steps away. The boy opened his mouth to protest, saw the look on Rose's face and simply sulked off. Throwing open his arms, the Doctor happily welcomed her. She grinned and eased into him, fitting her body along his. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she snuggled close. He was desperate to hold her. It hadn’t been so very long since their last dance, less than an hour, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her. He’d been craving this, looking for excuses to have it, ever since they’d consummated their relationship. More and more often he was finding reasons to hug her. Hold her. Spin her around.
Her hands glided under his coat, around his waist and on up his back. Even through his suit jacket and shirt, he burned from her heat. He placed his own hands very carefully, one just below her ribcage, the other between her shoulder blades. They swayed to Miller’s seductive strings and horns. The Doctor sang along with the music quietly and very close to her ear. He sang about his love waiting to be kissed and a lonely bird flying through the night. Rose shivered, pressing closer. She found his wrist, then his hand and intertwined their fingers. She knew what it did for him, now. It was the Gallifreyan equivalent of a long, wet, deep kiss, the kind of thing that would surely shock the neighbors.
The Doctor drew in a sharp breath. Something stirred deep in his subconscious, something riotously primitive. Stepping slightly away, he turned his head just enough to stare down into her eyes.
“We should go,” he said, his lips barely moving. “Back to the TARDIS.”
Rose moistened her lips and said, “Yeah, alright,” far too quickly for his peace of mind.
They slipped away from the crowd. A few people noticed them leaving, called out goodbyes, but they made a fairly uneventful exit. The music faded as they traversed the alley leading to their ship. But they could hear other revelers further away. Rose kept her grip on his hand and cuddled his arm as they splashed through shallow puddles. They pulled one another along, both eager to be alone together. The moonlit streets were wet from an earlier rain. Black paving stones glittered underfoot. It was a beautiful night to follow such a chaotic day. Only that morning Rose had been lost. The Doctor recalled his fury, the possessive fire of it. He’d been so very angry. Nothing short of death would have stopped him from getting her back.
Now they were inseparable again. He had her back and the need to lock her safely away kept baying in his brain. That would be wrong. He kept telling himself how wrong it would be as he keyed open the TARDIS and they stepped inside. The warmth of home welcomed them. Their footsteps echoed as they walked up the sloping ramp to the console. Rose leaned into his shoulder.
“I had a lovely time,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“Is it over?” He asked, sounding blatantly seductive. “Your lovely time?”
“Unless we’re really going to see Elvis, now,” she spoke very matter-of-factly. “I should go change.”
Grinning up at him, she rocked back and forth against his arm. Her tongue teased at the corner of her mouth. They stopped at the console. He twisted a few knobs and smacked a lever to set the TARDIS in motion. As the rotor pulsed, Rose tried to pull free of his grip but he refused to let go of her hand. She tugged futilely, giving him a quizzical look before she jerked a thumb over her shoulders.
“Got to go,” she said and then, as if sensing his mood, in a far more timorous way added, “Change.”
Gaze fixed on the monitor, he held onto her, stretching her arm to its full length as she backed away. As their fingers started to come apart, he lost all interest in pretending he had anything but her on his mind. He stepped back and pivoted toward her, moving with a fluid grace. Reeling her in, he closed the small distance between them. She stumbled forward. He twirled her as they came together, passing his arm over her head, so her back hit his chest. She bounced and gasped. Before she could shrug him off, he caught her tight against him, grinding his pelvis into the yielding flesh of her bottom. She molded into him as he nuzzled his way to her ear.
“But I don’t want you to change,” he growled softly.
She dug her nails into the heavy fabric of his coat and gulped, “Doctor?”
His other arm came up to lock around her waist. After a moment, he slid the flat of his palm down her torso urging her closer. Her thighs quickly clamped shut when he reached them. But her lips were slightly parted. She wasn’t indifferent to him. The rapid pulse in her veins had her practically vibrating. He could feel her heart pounding wildly as he leaned into her back. She hadn’t been expecting this show of masculine ardor and it scared her just a little. But she didn’t want it to stop. Still, a gentleman would give her the option. For the first time in his nine hundred years, the Doctor wondered if he really was a gentelman.
“Tell me to let go,” he suggested as he drew his hand back up her body to her neckline and curled his fingers around one edge of her jacket front.
When his knuckles skimmed the velvet soft slope of her breast, Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Drawing the jacket’s shiny blue fabric to the side made the zipper crawl lower. She glanced down. “Or would you…rather…” he continued with a sort of breezy ease, “…I kept…” As he spoke, he released her hand to put all of his attention on her sliding zipper. He pulled evenly on both sides of it, easing the jacket’s tight sleeves down her arms until she was bound at the wrists by bunched fabric, “holding on?” he finished.
Hands effectively shackled behind her back, Rose swallowed hard. Once again they were in dangerously new territory. But she trusted him. He could tell she was more excited than frightened. She let her head loll against his shoulder as she said, “You just hold on.”
“Mhmmm…aren’t you brave?” he murmured before sweeping his tongue along the curve of her jaw.
She gave a little mew and quivered, expecting the cnidocyte sting. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t want to dream. He wanted to revel in this glorious aggression. It was new to him and utterly fascinating. He had no idea what he would do next. His fingers started popping the buttons on the side of her dress. A few sharp tugs later, the pink satin and her crisp netting slip were pooled around her ankles. As she stepped free of the tangle of cloth, the Doctor caught her and swung her around setting her on her feet again, facing him. She blushed pink all over when he swept his hungry gaze down her body.
He was hungry. It shocked him how much he wanted this, wanted Rose, naked, bound and under him. She should be craving this, craving the drug. But she wasn’t the one who kept initiating these encounters. He saw her struggling with the jacket, trying to work her hands free. He didn’t think he was going to allow that. He put a restraining hand on her arm.
“I don’t want to drug you,” he said. “Not yet. I know you need it.”
Surprised, she stopped trying to free herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, brow furrowing a little as she looked up at him. She wrinkled her nose as she said, very forthrightly, “I need you.”
“Me? What’s that mean, me?”
“You,” she said, enunciating as if he were exceptionally slow. “I’ve been out of body all day, floating on the radio waves.”
“Television signal,” he corrected. “A radio wave wouldn’t give you the same image quality…the frequency can’t transmit enough information to recreate…” He pressed his lips together to stop the babbling. “Right, sorry…probably not relevant. You were saying…?”
Grinning indulgently she leaned into him. “Now, I’m back, breathing and alive…I want to feel you. Touch you.”
“Me, too,” he said, surprised. “It’s all I think about.” He gave his head a sharp shake. “Not touching myself…obviously…because…I could…”
“I know,” she murmured. She tipped her head back, smiling provocatively. “That’s so sweet.”
“Am I sweet?” he asked, pulling her to his chest and dropping his chin so he could stare straight into her eyes.
“’Fraid so,” she purred.
He tipped his head a little, studying her. She had on thigh high black stockings and miniscule black knickers. Her strapless bra matched her pink shoes but was decorated with tiny black bows. Her skin had a marvelous luster. He wanted to touch it. So he did. First, drawing the flat of his palm across her belly and then slipping his arm around her waist. He flexed his knees and hefted her bottom up onto the edge of the console. She braced her bound hands behind her hips.
They slid along each other, interlocking. His fingers traced down her outer thigh to guide one leg around his waist. Noses awkwardly bumping, they brought their foreheads together. His mouth opened, straining toward hers, aching to taste. His tongue darted out to kiss against her lips.
As his hands stroked over her he grated out, “Rose?” and then, taking in a shuddering breath declared, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I feel so…so…”
“Randy?” Rose suggested, playfully.
“Yes,” he hissed into her mouth but then, breaking free of her spell, he immediately recanted, “No.” He nibbled along her neck, following her pulse as he offered up alternatives. “Territorial. Possessive. Quixotic.”
“Quixotic?”
“I want to storm your castle,” he growled between elaborate licks of her collarbone. “Slay your dragons. Do something daring…romantic…something impossible…" He pulled back to stare at her again as he breathlessly rushed out his plea, "Something hard and fast and manly. Is there anything I can do for you, Rose?”
“Hmmm, something hard?” she asked, the corners of her mouth curving up. Hooking her other leg around him, she hugged him in tight. He fell forward, spilled over her, giggling.
“Forceful.”
“Quick.”
“Mad. Reckless,” he breathed, skating his lips down her cheek to her mouth.
“Manly,” they murmured together.
His hands cupped her face, urging her to hold their kiss through several slow, synchronized breaths. Gradually, his fingers slipped down her neck to her breasts. Their tongues slithered over and under each other. She arched her back, bowing up into him as he worked blindly to unfasten her bra. Exposing her rosy pink nipples, he spared them a brief glance. They peaked on impossibly pliable, exquisitely firm globes. She had breasts like newly hatched Mitignites, his Rose. They jiggled when she moved. Pressed against him they always made him feel just a little giddy. It was unnatural for a Time Lord to feel this way about breasts. He ran his hands over them, fondling her, pleasing her, squeezing gently as his palm circled and his thumb caressed.
Rose moaned and rocked her hips in a figure eight. And for the first time in his life he wished he was human and had something phallic to give her. He had to give her something. Enslaved by her desire, he answered her summons the only way he could, licking his way back to her kiss-swollen lips. His fingers crept up her throat to comb the ribbon and pins from her hair. His teeth raked along her jaw line. Reaching her ear, he toyed with her earring, rolling the beads against her cheek with his nose. He tugged on the hook with his teeth and pushed with his tongue until he succeeded in sucking the bauble free of her ear lobe. The pink dangle skidded down the slope of her bare breast.
“I want to taste you,” he whispered, low and quick. “Everywhere. All over. Is that alright?”
She nodded and rasped, “Yes…yes, I thought you’d never…please.”
Adjusting their angles, he lowered his head and tentatively licked first one taut aureole and then the other. She tasted like bath powder and soap and sweat and Rose, her own blend of salty toxins. He caught hints of her cellular debris, the flavor of fragmented DNA and the chemical signature of every emotion she'd had recently. He could taste her earlier fear and her later satisfaction. There was a seasoning of passion from their reunion hug and a dash of exuberance from the dancing. He savored the tang of her desire for him. It effervesced. He’d never tasted anything more delectable. He met her gaze for a moment, letting her see how happy it made him to know her like this. Then, he returned his attention to pleasing her. He grew quite bold, suckling loudly, groaning when she did.
The scent of her escalating arousal filled the room. It worked on his nerves like rain pounding on a tin roof, a relentless drone in his head. “Mine, mine, mine…” it said, keeping time with his beating hearts. He agreed. She was his. He was hers. The possessive could go either way. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, he thought, and nearly laughed out loud. Rassilon help him he was losing his objectivity.
This was nothing if not subjective. His fingertips skimmed over her, picking up her thoughts, her feelings. Spiraling lower and lower in response to her need, he reached her navel. From there, he arrowed straight down to the scrap of soaked cotton between her legs. It was oily, slippery to the touch. He worked the drenched fabric in a series of tight circles, making Rose buck and writhe. He stroked her hard and fast. Hooking his other hand into the side of her briefs he waited for her hips to lift. When they did, a well-timed yank sent her knickers to her knees. She kicked free of them as he scooped her up and carried her to their chair for two.
Draping her across the seat, he took her the way he knew a man would. He shoved her knees open, thrust between them and ground against her, rocking his pelvis, mimicking the human sex act as they kissed. Climaxing from the friction, she said his name as if it were a prayer, letting each of the complex syllables melt on her tongue. And it struck him as a bit odd, her knowing it when he didn't. Though as soon as she'd said it he forgot it again.
He was the Doctor. She was his Rose. She’d been telling the truth. She didn’t seem to need anything but him. He stared into her eyes as he shifted his hips away from hers and slowly walked his fingertips up her inner thigh to the spongy, slippery mound between her legs. She opened a little wider for him, her mouth and her legs. He kissed her again as he cupped his palm over her sensitive flesh. Her skin felt impossibly smooth under the heel of his hand. Breaking off from her mouth, he lurched to the side, glancing down.
“You shaved?” he said, hitting a higher register than was, in strictly masculine terms, appropriate to their situation.
The look on his face combined with the loss of all physical contact acted like a spray of cold water on Rose’s mood. She shivered, pushing herself up on her elbows as she sputtered at him, “Wha…wha’s wrong?”
“You...shaved,” he repeated, forcing his intonation to a manlier rumble even as his bug-eyed, darting glance and bobbing chin nudged her attention in the direction of her offense. His upper lip curled in distaste.
Rose looked down, perplexed. Her brows lifted slightly. “Yeah? Well...waxed.”
“Waxed? Waxed?” Sneering, he drew away a little as if she’d transformed into something altogether garden-slug like.
"A Brazillian. While we were back home. I just thought...well...most men..."
“Is this done...waxing? Is it something you do? I don’t know…I mean you had hair before and now you’re…you’re bald.” Nose crinkling, he met her eye. “Bit of a shock!”
She glanced up at him and then down again, clearly at a loss. “If you say so,” she murmured, tilting her head to the side. “Pretty normal where I come from.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I’ve seen the adverts. Every second of everyday you’re bombarded with negative messages, someone’s always claiming there’s something wrong with your natural state. Cover your scent. Cover yourselves. Wear this. Buy that. What have you people got against hair?” He demanded. “You…you straighten it and curl it and dye it and stuff it under wigs and hats. Shave your head. Shave your legs. Wax. Whatever. Too much hair under your arms or on your upper lip? Burn it off. And you…you, Rose Tyler…you peroxide and pluck and powder and now,” he waved a hand at her, “now this…?”
“Look if you don’t like it, it grows back,” Rose huffed. “And you shave. I've seen you.”
“A beard, yes. Beards are status indicators on any number of worlds and you can’t keep reshaping them to fit the planet you’re on or the time you’re in. Tedious work and I'd rather be thought unmanly than aggressive. Time travelers need to be careful about beards…and hair length…and hats. You can usually get away with a scarf…but nobody sees your,” he waved a hand at her private parts, “…except me…”
“I know that," she sighed. "Look, it’s just…in a relationship…sometimes…” Red with embarrassment, Rose pinched her eyes shut. Dropping her head back, she did a slow count to twenty and then without looking at him said, “I just thought…with the month coming up that we might…”
She didn't want to spell it out for him. Tears of frustration glittered in her eyes as she bit down on her lower lip. It struck the Doctor anew how vulnerable she was, hands bound behind her, naked except for her stockings and shoes. A sharp pang, very like one of cupid’s arrows, struck the center of his chest. He moved closer to her, wanting to shelter her from his own rudeness. He felt like an obnoxious jerk, which, he reflected, he probably was.
“Might what?” He murmured, stroking her shoulder.
“Oh…what’s the use?” she puffed. “You know my mum says people who can’t talk about sex shouldn’t be having it.” Blowing the hair from her eyes with another strong exhale, she raised her head and met his gaze squarely. “Look, I’m usually like this…shaved or waxed, okay? If it’s shocking you, I’m sorry. But I wasn’t planning on…well…any of it, last time. We'd been flying about time and space for so long, no men onboard and no beaches and I'd let myself go a little.” She took a quick breath, looking beyond him and working the tension out of her jaw before going on, “But this time I wanted everything to be nice. Perfect…oh, alright…I know it was silly of me. Stop with the staring. I just thought..you know how you are? Like you said, you want to taste me. You have that thing…where you lick walls and windowsills and such?”
“A…tongue?”
“No.” She actually laughed as she shook her head, delighted by him again. She snorted, "Tongue?" unable to believe he'd suggested it. "No, the psychological thing. You know, like an obsession…only that's not the right word. Compulsion? Where you stick random bits in your mouth...you can’t help yourself. A…what’s it?” If her hands were free the Doctor knew she’d be snapping her fingers at him. He adored watching her work things out. Her eyes flashed when she finally did. “Fixation. Yeah? You got an oral fixation. And a copy of the Lesbian Kama Sutra and I just thought you might want to--” She glanced down, again, this time drawing his gaze with hers.
A slow grin swept the last traces of confusion from his face. He allowed his eyes to travel slowly up her torso and then turned his shoulder into hers and gave her a little nudge.
“You thought I might…fixate?” The way he hissed and tongued over the word made it sound very sexy indeed.
“Yeah,” she sighed.
He started nodding. “Alright, yes, I’m…” he said, continuing with the bobbing head. “Getting used to it. Takes a little mental adjustment…but…no…yes, now, I think on it…smooth…is…smooth is good…I like smooth things…jazz…and,” he paused and stilled, only his gaze prowling over her. He couldn’t think of any smoothness in the world he might compare to her skin, “and then there’s….glass, ice,” he swallowed as he stared at her slowly rising and falling breast, “smoothies…” He glanced down, boldly studying the new landscape as Rose blushed anew.
“Some people have it pierced,” she said. “I could get a rose stud and…”
“I’ve obviously been reading all the wrong magazines,” he murmured, grimacing slightly. Then, he met her eye again. “Up to you, of course, but I’d rather you didn’t. Pierce, I mean. As for the hair…you don’t have to, you know? Not for me.”
“I guess I know that, yeah,” she said. Pressing her lips together, she favored him with a tight little smile and then added, “But it makes me feel…better…”
He sighed. “Nothing is better than being Rose,” he said.
She gave a nervous little laugh as she asked, “Even if I’m bald?”
“Even if,” he said, dropping to the floor before her. His coat flared around him, reminding her of the disparity of their relative states of dress. “Bald is beautiful. It’s the new black. I embrace the bald,” he announced brightly, resting his cheek on the inside of her knee. A tremor shook her leg as his fingers dipped into her slick velvety folds. “Given some encouragement, I could learn to love the bald.” He used his fingertips to gently ease her open and then, leaning in, drew his tongue along her moist slit. She quaked and gasped. “That sort of thing, yes,” he said. “I feel encouraged already.”
“Less talking,” Rose ordered.
Mouth pressed into her, he snickered madly, gleefully. The buzz of light laughter made her shiver and squirm against his lips. “Your wish is my command,” he mumbled. “But be careful what you wish for.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to absorb every nuance of texture and flavor. Enthralled by the vibrations under her skin, the hammering of her pulse, he hummed a harmonizing melody as he gently sampled her secrets. He remembered what was like to be her. She liked to be touched, petted. He traced his fingertips over her. Her nerve endings sparked for him even without an aphrodisiac. He knew how to make her tremble. His tongue lapped and licked around the sensitive bud of her clit, teasing it to engorged delight. Blooming like a rose, she grew wetter, suppler. His long fingers slipped easily in and out of her.
“Oh, now that,” he whispered, genuinely awed. “That's beautiful. You’re like…warm honey inside…like…a candy cordial. Resisting just a little but then when I press in…" he pressed in, "Up…oh, you give way so easily and go all sticky, slick and slippery and…clinging.”
If felt so good inside her. She molded her flesh to his, gloving his fingers. He couldn’t help going back every few seconds for more. He stroked her all over, exploring her inner thighs, her bottom, her belly and her breasts. The skin around his mouth was soon coated with her juices. He reveled in her flavors and her varied responses. She gasped when he sucked on her right nipple, moaned when he nuzzled the left. She lightly drummed her heels against his back whenever his fingers teased the bundle of nerves at the top of her petal soft core.
When she clench around him, he paused to watch her pull him in deeper. His whole being seemed to sink into her each time. Breathlessly, he told her how it thrilled him. What it meant to him to be inside her, to be milked by her tight, slick walls. The cnidocytes in his tongue swelled into nubs but he refused to fire them. He sucked her swollen clit into his mouth again and ran the hard ridges of his own arousal over hers. She thrashed, yelping and bashing her head against the back of the chair as she crested through climax.
He kept at her, swirling and probing with his fixated tongue, needing to fire into her, denying his need and driving her toward a second orgasm and then a third. Kicking off a shoe, she braced the stocking-clad sole of one foot on his shoulder as she arched in rapture. His tongue could go deeper, now, reach every delicate fold. She bounced under him, groaning, straining at her bonds. Her nails clawed into the seat cushion. Varying pressure and speed, he used every trick he’d learned in his reading and brought her up again through another jolt of ecstasy. This time she just kept shaking. Three of his fingers twisted into her as she shattered for final time. It finished her. She ejaculated a thin stream of fluid into the palm of his hand and fell back, limp and panting.
“Now that,” he declared, with smug satisfaction, staggering to his feet, “That…is what I call encouragement.” He nodded erratically at her as he beamed with delight.
Despite her gasping exhaustion, Rose managed a weak chuckle. The Doctor sobered, stilled. Barely breathing, he stared into her eyes as he drew his hand passed his tongue and licked every trace of her from his palm. Rose felt instantly aroused again. Combing the clean hand through his hair, he broke up his ruffle. His fingers clutched at the base of his skull as he ran his heated gaze over her. Something glimmered in his mild, brown eyes, something predatory. He stepped closer. Gathering her to his chest, he reached around her shoulder and deftly freed her hands from her tangled jacket.
“I’m not through with you,” he said, “Not by a long way.”
He hooked his fingers behind her knees and guided her legs under his long coat and around his waist. She hugged his neck as he lifted her easily, one arm under her bottom the other around her shoulders. Another woman might have pulled back, scared of the smoldering passion in him and how unexpectedly strong he was but he couldn’t scare her. She buried her face in the curve of his throat, clinging to him like a small child might cling its father as he carried her deeper into the TARDIS.
END THIS PART
PART FIVE
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 05:50 pm (UTC)hee hee, i should introduce myself since i am being all creepylike and fangirl. i'm carla. :) found you through one of the tennant communities, but can't remember which. :P
this fic is so fantastic. <333333
SQUEE UPDATE!!! :D *goes to read*
Hello, Carla...you seem rather sweet...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:37 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the kind words about my fic. I very much appreciate your fangirlishness.
Rae
Re: Hello, Carla...you seem rather sweet...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 06:01 pm (UTC)Hee! Oh, well done. In particular, v. typical to have him breaking into a lecture right when things are getting interesting. And a celery nod!
Thanks for the update; I shall eagerly await the next.
Lightbulb over head!
Date: 2006-07-04 06:08 pm (UTC)Yep, they sure could...I love those ballads...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:41 pm (UTC)They were all over each other in Fear Her...if you ask me. And I didn't want people to think that Time Lord Sex was always this ritualistic event which left her out for two days. As we will see in Part 5...sometimes HE's the one knocked out by it all.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 06:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 07:05 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the kind feedback...
Date: 2006-07-07 12:16 am (UTC)I do thank you for taking the time to leave feedback.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 07:07 pm (UTC)I was grinning like a fool at this:
“I want to storm your castle,” he growled between elaborate licks of her collarbone. “Slay your dragons. Do something daring…romantic…something impossible…"
Love it. :D
Oh...you have our icon up...I was about to switch mine...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:34 pm (UTC)Oh, yes, I also love the Doctor's childlike wonder. Everything is new to him...all the time...he has to keep traveling because he hasn't seen everything yet...and this...love...it's like Christmas. I so enjoy that part of Ten/Rose and I will miss it terribly. I just imagine him...horny for the first time...really just wanting to have her. And it comes out in smut. ;->
And you liked the storming of her castles, hey? Me, too. Thank you so much for the feedback. Means a great deal to me to see you back for the new chapter.
Rae
Re: Oh...you have our icon up...I was about to switch mine...
From:Oh, yes...yes it is...
From:Re: Oh, yes...yes it is...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 07:21 pm (UTC)This fic is such fun to read. It's such a different take on the Rose/Ten relationship and you really do a good job fitting everything in from the shows. I think I'll be particularly interested in seeing how you incorporate the information from the Impossible Planet and Satan's Pit in this story.
I can't wait to read the next section, as I'm sure it will be as exciting as the last four.
Oh...and look at your icon...it's one of the love icons...
Date: 2006-07-04 09:30 pm (UTC)There will be another new part very soon...say...tomorrow or the next day...because I've already got both parts at the Betas. I'm afraid once I started with the visceral smut I didn't know when to stop and I thought everyone might like a breather.
And...oh, yes, I am going to deal with the whole moving in, settling down issue as well as the love thing from the Satan Pit. Because...I adore that arc.
Thank you, as always for the gracious comments about my writing.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 07:29 pm (UTC)Your wish is my command, baby
Date: 2006-07-07 12:17 am (UTC)Rae
Re: Your wish is my command, baby
From:Encouragement is always good...
From:Re: Encouragement is always good...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 08:15 pm (UTC)Freaking out...I love freaking out...
Date: 2006-07-04 09:31 pm (UTC)Thanks for the kind words. I shouldn't keep you waiting for long on the next bit.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 09:06 pm (UTC)Yes, but now I have tricked you into public confession
Date: 2006-07-04 09:27 pm (UTC)My comments...not unlike Penthouse Forum.
Actually, here I thought I was being kind to you...posting on a holiday so you wouldn't have to be on the train when you read it.
Thanks for the feedback. Go on then...tell us about the cold shower...
Rae ;->
Re: Yes, but now I have tricked you into public confession
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 09:15 pm (UTC)Brilliant as the other parts have been m'dear - I do love where you're going with this.
As before, can't wait for the next part...
So glad you are enjoying the trip...
Date: 2006-07-04 09:33 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the feedback. As always, it made my afternoon.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 10:01 pm (UTC)Oddly enough...you sound just like Rose in Part 5...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:26 pm (UTC)Rae
Re: Oddly enough...you sound just like Rose in Part 5...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 10:02 pm (UTC)i am so insainly loving this it's insane,
your smut rocks!!
see you in time:)
I'm so insanely loving your insane loving...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:27 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for the fun feedback. I'm happy you are enjoying the smut.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 10:14 pm (UTC)Good Lord...look how sexy your icon is...
Date: 2006-07-04 10:29 pm (UTC)Okay...phew...pant...back to the feedback. The fic...yes, you liked it. I'm very happy to hear that you enjoyed Part 4. It took a sharp turn away from the metaphyscial and went straight for the visceral. But I thought it was time the Doctor got a bit...horny.
Rae
Re: Good Lord...look how sexy your icon is...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 11:47 pm (UTC)great update now I have to take a cold shower hehehe
Gives you cyber-CPR
Date: 2006-07-05 01:48 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 12:36 am (UTC)Things I loved:
1) aggressive!Ten
2) bald is the new black *snicker*
OK, really I loved ALL of it, just wanted to point those two things out. Thanks for another amazing chapter!
Yes...a little bit of the TARDIS fireworks for you...
Date: 2006-07-05 02:02 am (UTC)1) My yes...aggressive Ten...and that he is enjoying it so...
2) It was funny. When I was working on this chapter I pulled up this FHM picture of Billie wearing...not much...so I could think about what the Doctor would notice. And *I* noticed she was bikini waxed. Then I thought..."Would Rose be?" And just about then the Ten voice in my head went..."Waxed? Of course she's not WAXED? Why would you even think...?" Which led me to...bald is the new black.
Glad you enjoyed the chapter. Thought we all might like some hot, console sex for a change.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 01:09 am (UTC)Guess this chapter's shagging is meant to be more human in nature, setting up for more alien kink. Are Rose and Ten going to include the use of props in their physical play? (Yes, I have a filthy mind...)
Also, is Rose going to conk out for a week this time around? I"m still getting a kick out of these extended naps functioning as a side-effect to the otter/hamster fun.
I think Rose and Ten should get a pet otter and a pet hamster. And, they should find out that they (the non-earth versions) can crossbreed, when they create otter-hamster babies.
The shave did take him off guard.
Date: 2006-07-05 02:15 am (UTC)Pets! Now there's an idea. ;->
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 01:27 am (UTC)This was a nice chapter and I can't wait to see what happens next. :D
Me <-- smiling...
Date: 2006-07-05 01:44 am (UTC)Re: Me <-- smiling...back
Date: 2006-07-05 02:30 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 02:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 03:20 am (UTC)Rabid looks at you squeeing and wonders if she should get a hose or help or something...
Rae
(no subject)
From:Some Doc/Rose Action
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 03:16 am (UTC)Hee...well...I do have more...
Date: 2006-07-05 03:19 am (UTC)soon...
At least this part inspired you to leave feedback. Welcome. Hug. Here's your lei (note the spelling). Thanks for the encouragement.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 04:20 am (UTC)Can't wait to read more!
Thank you for sharing your oral fixation icon...
Date: 2006-07-07 12:19 am (UTC)Appreciate very much your taking the time to leave feedback.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 06:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 09:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 09:19 am (UTC)