Smut Meme--Wash Day

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Swiped from lillibetm3 

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Title:  Wash Day
Genre:  Smut
Character/Parining:  Nine/Rose
Rating:  Adult  Semi-graphic

Wash Day

 

The first time they make love it’s wash day. Rose is bent over emptying the super capacity ten-minute dryer, a load of knickers and other frilly bits and bobs she notices absently, when she feels hands on her bum. She’s scared to death for a moment it might be Jack because honestly, who else is it going to be walking blatantly up behind her and caressing her backside? The Doctor might flirt, he might even dance, but he doesn’t dance despite his protestations and she’s settled reluctantly into the fact that she will only ever be his best mate.

 

“Get your hands off me, Jack,” she says. “Doctor’ll kill you if you don’t. And so might I.” When the hands don’t move, she flails backwards with one arm to whack him but her wrist is neatly caught and she’s pulled upwards and spun around and—“Oh, you’re not Jack,” she says dumbly because she did not expect it to be him.

 

“No, I’m not,” the Doctor says as his hands settle onto her waist.

 

“So what’s this then? Curiosity?” she asks. She’s not about to let her hopes rise. He’s crushed them before.

 

“Saw something tempting. Had to touch it.” He shrugs casually.

 

“Oh, so it’s a question of impulse control, is it?” she replies.

 

“Well, you do have a lovely bum,” he says. “I doubt any man presented with such an opportunity would be able to resist.”

 

“You’re not any man,” she says somewhat bitterly. “You’re the Doctor.” She pulls away from him and turns her back. “I have laundry to do.”

 

His hands reach out again and he pulls her back into his chest. His arms wrap around her waist. She’s confused and impatient and she struggles against him. “Laundry can wait, Rose Tyler. I’ve made you wait far too long for this.”

 

Her struggles cease. “For what?” she asks even though she has a pretty good idea now that his hands have started moving upwards, not just upwards but under and upwards, and she feels him against the skin of her stomach as his hands rise to caress her breasts through the barely there fabric of her least favorite, and up until the moment she’d emptied the dryer, only clean bra. He pushes what is a very obvious erection into her back and she says softly, “Oh. Why?” she asks him.

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why’d you make me wait?” she wants to know.

 

“Coward, me,” he tells her and she almost laughs because she thinks him the bravest man in the universe. How can he ever be a coward? “Afraid you’d send me away. Afraid you’d leave if I tried.”

 

“Never,” she says. She twists in his arms and then is wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and pulling his head down to meet hers. She brushes her lips across his and something in him, she rather thinks it’s his control, releases. He deepens the kiss, his tongue thrusting impatiently into her mouth and his hands are on her waist again and back up under her shirt. He seems to have taken a fascination to her breasts and she isn’t minding in the least.

 

He finds the little front clasp and she isn’t sure it won’t be bent out of all hope of repair as he pulls her bra open and moves onto her skin, his thumbs ghosting over the two little nubs that have risen to immediate attention at his caress. He backs her up against the dryer, the little door swinging shut, and kicks the laundry basket out of the way. His hands slide down to her waist and he lifts her, her startled, “Oh,” nearly lost in the battle with his tongue.

 

He sets her on top of the dryer and breaks their rough kiss. With trembling fingers he raises her top and she lifts her arms, letting him pull the shirt right over her head. He slides the loose bra off and pitches it somewhere behind him. He bends his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She notes with a small smile that she is at the perfect height for other activities, but then all thought leaves her head as he begins to swirl his tongue around the little bud. One hand begins to knead and explore the breast his mouth is not making love to.

 

His touches run the gamut from whisper soft to nearly painful squeezes but nothing quite hurts and it rather turns her on, this little bit of roughness. She becomes aware of the fact that his other hand is not idle as she finds it slipping up underneath her skirt. It slides along her thigh and she thinks he might hesitate but he doesn’t. His fingers brush against the edge of her knickers.

 

She remembers she is down to a pair that is sexy and flaming red; that she’s never actually worn them before, but had bought shortly after the Doctor claimed he danced. It is ironic she is wearing them now, not with the expectation of sex, but because they are the only thing clean. She never thought he’d see them, but as his fingers brush across the scrap of silk, she’s certain that he will, if only for long enough to remove them.

 

His fingers slip under the fabric and brush against her sex and she jerks. It’s like fire meeting ice and she feels that she might be the one to melt despite her heat. His finger drifts lazily up to stroke her clitoris and his lips drop away from her breast, moving back to reclaim her own. His rush to possess her mouth seems to have vanished and this time his tongue glides against hers slowly, sweetly, gently.

 

Rose realizes then that she has been rather an inactive member of this team and her hands reach out in search of his belt buckle, find it, and begin the suddenly far more difficult than it should be task of unfastening what she is now sure is a complex and annoying alien device. But under her insistent fingers it does open and she manages the button and the zipper with far greater finesse.

 

As she reaches inside his jeans to find his masculinity he slips a finger into her opening and she throws her head back and hisses. She hadn’t been expecting that yet, though she was definitely ready for it. The Doctor chuckles at her response but she manages to elicit a hiss or two from him herself as she touches his penis and pulls it free of its confining prison. He responds with a few quick pumps inside her then pulls out, slipping his second hand up underneath her skirt and grasping the top of her knickers.

 

She lets go of him reluctantly and lifts herself enough so that he can pull her knickers down to mid-thigh with one quick yank and then he is sliding them slowly the rest of the way off. “Pretty,” he tells her as he holds them up in front of her with one hand, the other returning to work against her sex.

 

“Bought them for you ages ago,” she grinds out. “Given up hope you’d ever see them.”

 

“Oh, Rose,” he says on a gust of breath. He drops the silk, pulls her closer to the edge of the dryer, and shoves at his jeans. His boxer briefs go with them and once he’s kicked them off, she is able to see him now, his penis as ordinary for all outward appearances as any other man’s. Not that there is much for her to compare him, too. There is nothing to show that he is an alien. He is definitely a man, though and a quite healthy specimen at that.

 

She squirms to get her skirt up and out of the way and then widens her thighs for him and he steps between them. He nestles his penis at the entrance to her body and looks up to meet her eyes. He watches her for a moment and then plunges inside and her eyes close involuntarily for just a few seconds. But then she has them open again because she wants to watch his face as he makes love to her.

 

He has the same idea, his steel blue eyes focused on hers as if he is trying to read what is written on her heart and finds her own eyes widening when she realizes her name is stamped upon his soul. He thrusts into her and she realizes his pace is erratic, like he can’t quite find his rhythm. Then she remembers something he once said about being from a telepathic race and with only a little apprehension asks, “Is there something else you need?”

 

He nods at her. “Mind,” he says on a grunt. “Need your mind. Please.”

 

“Yes,” she tells him and he presses his forehead against hers and suddenly she is inside him thrusting into herself and she knows that he is inside her feeling his own actions and her response to them. It is overwhelming and yet she doesn’t want to stop it, wants to make the most of this connection because it is unlike anything she has ever experienced before.

 

Colored lights swirl through her thoughts and she feels his restrained pain and torment from his past and his unrestrained longing and desire to be whole again inside her body. Images of horror and beauty flash through her and she is barely able to discern where one ends and the next begins and she is afraid she is going to lose herself so she focuses on who she is and she becomes a shining beacon of soothing thoughts, sends a balm to him of kindness and compassion, of hope and of love, and it seems to wash over his presence in her mind and suddenly she is aware again of his movements within her. He has found his rhythm as he shelters in the peace she gives him.

 

Her skin begins to tingle as her nerve-endings fire and she wonders if this is part of alien sex or simply part of her reaction to him. It is a pleasant burn and she wishes it would never end. Her orgasm begins to rise on a sea of red and gold and she can sense it turning around them as the spiral tightens ever inwards. She feels his hand make its way in between their bodies and his fingers find her clitoris again, circling insistently against her as the passion swells. She senses he is close, that he is afraid he will release before she does and she can see his own readiness holding back, a solid wall of blue.

 

The combination of his thrusting and stroking finally sends her into a series of clamping spasms that wash them both in color and heat and then she is slammed nearly to pieces by the wave of blue that explodes into her mind, followed by a violent wave of orange as his seed explodes deep into her body with enough force that she grunts from the impact. It is cold and she shivers, but the contrast is amazing and she floats in blissed out space on a second lingering orgasm of mind as the sensations finally overwhelm her and she leaves reality behind her for several minutes.

 

“Rose. Rose?” The word is gentle and insistent in her ear as he seeks out her sanity moments later. She looks around for it, manages to find it.

 

“I’m here,” she says. She sighs heavily as she meets his eyes.

 

“You okay?” he asks her.

 

“Yeah.” She pushes him back, hops off the dryer and nearly collapses on unsteady legs. He reaches out to steady her, holds her until she is and the strength of his arms around her feels good. He strokes her back lovingly and she smiles against him. “That was…amazing.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Think you can walk?”

 

“What are my options?” she asks aiming for cheekiness but finding only throaty huskiness in its place.

 

“Well, I could carry you.”

 

“That’d be quite nice,” she replies and he picks her up. She giggles against him as he heads for the door. “Wait,” she says. “What about Jack?”

 

“He’s not invited.”

 

“No, I mean, I’m still missing my top.” He glances down at her almost in surprise.

 

“Oh, right. Sent him out for TARDIS parts. We’re alone.”

 

“Ah.” She can’t think of anything else to say. He carries her down the corridors and stops outside her room. She reaches forward and turns the knob and he carries her inside and places her on her bed. He removes his shirt and her skirt with slow hands. The second time they make love it’s still wash day, but the laundry doesn't mind having to wait.

 

 

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