A Sky Without Zeppelins: Chapter Nine

[amberfocus]

 

Chapter Nine

 

The strange little hitch in Rose’s chest does not go away as they drive to the restaurant. She keeps shooting Jonathon little sideways glances and wonders what the rest of the evening really holds in store for the two of them, if he’ll really carry through on the threat?—promise?—of more kisses like that. She certainly hopes so, but how on Earth will she keep a clear head if he does? She decides that it’s best to avoid alcohol with dinner. She is already drunk enough on his presence beside her.

 

She studies his profile realizing yet again how handsome he really is. She likes the outfit he has chosen for the night. It is a far cry from the mismatched burgundy jumper and blue suit he had been wearing the first day she met him. Not that either the jumper on its own or the suit on its own would have been too bad. It was simply the combination.

 

The dress shirt he is wearing now is a rich burgundy color, the sleeves rolled up to just beneath his elbows. The exposed skin of his arms is tempting to her.  She wants to run her fingers up and down it, feel the dark hairs tickle her hand as she does so. She swallows hard and moves her eyes up to his neck where the solid black silk tie sits just beneath his bobbing Adam’s apple. She has a rather strong urge to place her mouth just there, to lick and to suck and to play with that portion of his throat until he squirms from the want of her.

 

Her eyes drift down to his black trousers and without even thinking about it her hand moves to rest against his knee. He jumps a little at the contact. She has surprised him and the car swerves just the tiniest bit before he redirects it toward the middle of the lane. A small secret smile plays out over his lips and she’s sure if there had been better lighting he’d be blushing visibly. She likes that he responds that way to her touching him, but promises to keep in mind that he does and not tease him with it too much.

 

He has said he will wait for her but that does not mean she intends to make the wait excruciating for him. She’s seen that kind of girl in action at university and she will not be one. She wants to do what she can to make it easy for him without becoming easy herself, but she also knows that after that kiss she cannot refrain from touching him a little.  What she really wants is to move her hand onto his thigh, but that is far too forward for her just yet and perhaps too teasing a move for his self-control at the moment.  She can see the bulge in his trousers left over from their kiss.

 

The silence between them stretches on. It is not awkward exactly, more the existence of nervous anticipation. She wants this night to be perfect, not just for herself but for him. She supposes she’s putting too much pressure on herself and thinks that she just ought to relax and let the evening go where it chooses.

 

When Jonathon pulls the car into the parking lot she is a little surprised at where they are. The restaurant is rather more posh than she is expecting for their first date, but it also has its own dance floor which means not switching venues halfway through the night. Perhaps that’s why he chose it. She’s almost relieved not be going to some crowded night club or pub after dinner. The upside to that is it’ll be more private, more intimate dancing. The downside to that is that it’ll be more private and intimate dancing. Yes, she really is that confused.

 

He comes around and opens her car door for her like an old-fashioned gentleman and hands her out of the vehicle. His hand immediately reaches for hers the moment he closes her door, their fingers twining in automatic reflex. She grins at him and he flashes his heart-crashing smile at her and they walk into the restaurant and he gives his name to the maître de of Le Chat Noire. He’s made reservations and they are immediately escorted to a table with a view of the waterfront.

 

Rose is unfamiliar with most of the French cuisine on the menu and when Jonathon volunteers to order for her after getting a general idea of her likes and dislikes when it comes to creaminess and textures and meats and vegetables in general, she lets him. He orders fluently in French and for some reason it surprises her. He’d not done that in the Italian restaurant, but his pronunciation had been so accurate she’d asked him if he knew the language and he admitted that he did. Her own French is passable, she’d get by well enough in Paris if she ever got the chance to travel, but he sounds native, all trace of his Scottish accent gone while he speaks.

 

When it comes her meal is simple, beautifully arranged and delicious. He has ordered her poulet à la crème and she is pleasantly surprised by the creamy chicken, mushroom and onion dish. He offers her bites from his own dish of poulet à la diable and always one to be a bit adventurous she doesn’t turn it down as he holds out his fork and she gingerly tastes it. The flavor explodes on her tongue and she smiles at him. They alternate feeding each other bits and pieces from their meals and it feels almost more intimate than the kiss to be nibbling from his fork, though not nearly as thrilling.

 

She brings up wistfully how she hopes to travel to France one day, see Paris and maybe backpack around the back country a bit, going to all the places that tourists don’t generally see. He regales her with stories of the times he’s been there and as he finishes up telling her about nearly falling off the Eiffel Tower during a wind storm that she finds quite unlikely but very entertaining, she murmurs, “You sound like the perfect guide.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind guiding you anywhere, Rose Tyler,” he tells her. “Or being guided by you.” She swears he’s thinking guided into her body in that moment or maybe she just is, but she blushes fiercely. She reaches out across the table and strokes his arm, the exposed bit between elbow and hand and he closes his eyes at her touch and shivers a little.

 

Her hand eventually slides down to rest over the back of his and he opens his eyes and looks at her with sweet affection and the edge of desire. “Why do you always call me Rose Tyler?” Rose asks him. She’s been curious about that from nearly the time they first met.

 

“I don’t always. I call you Rose, too.”

 

“Yeah, but you use Rose Tyler a lot.”

 

He shrugs. “I like the way it sounds. I like the way it feels in my mouth, the way I have to curve my tongue around the L and roll my R’s, the way it resonates against the back of my throat. You have a very sexy name, Rose Tyler,” he says intently. His accent is making her knees weak and the hummingbird starts up its flight in her stomach once again.

 

Without thinking she responds, “You have a very sexy tongue.”

 

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” he comes back with without batting an eye, his voice lowering. “The things I can do with my tongue.”

 

She blushes hard and looks down at her hand on his, realizes her other hand is fisting the tablecloth and she is breathing hard when she thinks about what precisely he might mean. The idea is not unappealing. “Yeah?” she says shyly.

 

“Oh, yes,” he tells her a bit forcefully. “Some day,” he adds to take away the immediacy of it, “when you’re ready.”

 

There’s ready and then there’s ready and right now her body feels very ready indeed. “I think I’d like that.”

 

“I know you will,” he says boldly. “Care for dessert?”

 

“Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it?” she asks softly.

 

He laughs quietly. “I meant food, lo--.” He breaks off and looks slightly embarrassed and Rose thinks, though she’s not sure, he’d been about to call her ‘love.’

 

She smiles. “I know you did. Something chocolate would be grand.”

 

He orders them a chocolate torte with strawberries and crème fraiche to share and while they wait for it to come she asks him, “So where are you from, anyway? I’m assuming somewhere in Scotland from the accent. Near, but not in Glasgow. Paisley?”

 

“You’re good with accents?”

 

“Some.”

 

“Well, I was born in Kirkintalloch, and when I was five we moved to just outside Hamilton, a little town called Bothwell. I spent most of my time on the River Clyde, really. Always playing in one of the creeks that fed into it or when I was older, out on boats. I hated standing still like so much of the world around me. Being out on the water gave me a feeling like I was in motion, even if I was only going with the flow of the current or motorboating against it.”

 

“Weren’t you worried about the big boats?” Rose asks.

 

“They don’t really tend to come past Glasgow,” he says. “The ships certainly don’t. Mostly I was just dealing with other pleasure craft, so if I stuck closer to the banks it usually wasn’t an issue. The bigger the boat, the closer to the middle they like to stay,” he explains.

 

“So after you grew up, what’d you do?” Rose wants to know.

 

“I went to the University of the West of Scotland,” he says, “where I met my…” He stopped for a few seconds. “Where I met a lot of very different people and learned a lot about what I did and didn’t want to do with my life. I moved south a few years later, continued taking classes and earning doctorates in many of the sciences, one in history, and one in literature.”

 

“I thought you were all science geek,” Rose says with a smile, “from what you said before. Guess you’re a little better-rounded than that.”

 

“Guess I am,” he grins. “Though there’s nothing wrong with being a science geek, now is there Miss Tyler? You’re certainly not suffering from it.”

 

“Oi, I do other things besides technology!” she protests, but she’s not anymore insulted by it than he is by being called a science geek. “I’ve got a strong interest in fashion. Why else do you think I work at Temmel’s? I just don’t want a career in it. It’s not a very secure future.”

 

“And that’s important to you? A secure future?” he asks.

 

“I’ve never really had a secure life,” she says with a shrug. “So, yeah, you could say I want a life where I don’t have to worry about paying the bills on time each month or having the electric cut off because it’s three months behind. When I have kids one day, I don’t want them to worry about whether there’re even the ingredients for beans on toast or chipped beef with ramen noodles in the house because we’re out of money until the next pay cycle. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all up for adventure, but I want a safety net there to catch me if I fall.”

 

“So that’s why you study robotics?”

 

“Part of it. But I like it, too. No one was more surprised than me,” Rose admits. “Well, maybe Mum.”

 

The dessert comes then and Jonathon picks up a spoon and dips into it, holding the spoon out to Rose for her to taste. She eats the small bite with a soft groan of pleasure, then takes the spoon from him and proceeds to teasingly lick it off. His eyes widen a bit and he shifts in his seat. It is obvious to her that he is adjusting the fit of his trousers. In retaliation he picks up the other spoon, takes his bite and very thoroughly cleanses his spoon with his tongue. Rose lets out a very small whimper at his actions and does a bit of shifting in her own seat as heat begins to pool between her thighs.

 

Back and forth they tease each other until Rose is quite certain Jonathon won’t be able to stand up for any dancing if it doesn’t end soon.  Fortunately the dessert is soon devoured and they have a few minutes to calm down while they wait for the server to bring the check. Jonathon is holding her hand palm up across the table again and stroking the fingers of his free hand across it, giving her shivers.

 

“Before we go dancing,” he begins and then stops and looks almost nervous.

 

“Yes?” Rose asks.

 

“I’d like you to come out onto the balcony with me,” he says.

 

“Oh, yes? Why?” she asks innocently. The look he gives her is scorching and her face immediately flames red. “Oh,” she manages. He continues to hold her gaze before she realizes she hasn’t really answered his…well, it wasn’t a question exactly. Still, he’s waiting for an answer. “Okay,” she says in a tiny voice.

 

The check comes and Jonathon pays the bill and they step out onto the balcony and look up at the stars. Rose leans on the rail, her eyes drawn by the baskets of pink and purple flowers hanging there, the lush foliage of brilliant green ferns, and some trailing orange and yellow flowered vines. The sweet scent of their perfume fills her nostrils. They must take the baskets in at night, as it is far too cold in the late evenings for them to survive an early London spring.

 

She glances down at the water then back up at the sky. He moves up behind her and she leans back into him. “This is what I love,” he says voice close to her ear. “Being between the open water and the stars.”

 

There is something quite wistful in his voice that she catches despite the feeling of his breath behind her ear invokes as he speaks. He leans down and drops a kiss just below her hairline, his hands drifting to her hips, then up and around her waist, holding her to him. She feels the evidence of his arousal, but doesn’t shy away from it.

 

“Have you ever gone out on the water at night?” she asks him. “Seen the stars from the river or the ocean?”

 

“No,” he says. “Think I’d like that. Think I’d like you beside me if I go. Think I’d like you beside me no matter where I go,” he murmurs. His lips find her earlobe and gently pull it into his mouth. Her body jolts with desire as he does so, her backside pushing back against him, her breath coming in short little pants.

 

He releases her earlobe and she turns in his arms, her hands rising from his waist, across his chest with slow fingers and finally up to snake around his neck. “I think someone claimed he was going to kiss me as often as I’d let him tonight,” she reminds him.

 

He steps in closer so that his body is pressed fully against hers and her bum is up against the rail of the balcony. “I seem to recall making that statement,” he says softly.

 

Her hands pull lightly at the back of his neck. “This is me letting you,” she replies.

 

“I’d sort of figured that,” he replied inching a bit closer.

 

“Never slow on the uptake, you,” she half whispers.

 

“Nope. Quite clever, me.” His mouth is almost to hers.

 

“But not too clever.”

 

“Why’d you say that?” he asks pulling back just a touch.

 

“Because you’re still talking. Or is that what you meant earlier when you said you were very good with your tongue?” she wants to know.

 

“A little impatient are you, Rose?” he wants to know.

 

“Jonathon?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shut up.” His response is muffled by her lips meeting his and her tongue pressing through the seal of his lips to begin her gentle invasion of his mouth. She slides her tongue along his tentatively at first, unnerved by her own boldness. She gives him tiny, cat-like flicks as she explores his teeth and when the tip brushes the roof of his mouth his pelvis is suddenly pushing strongly into her, his erection hard and full against her.

 

He stays himself, pulling back just a bit with his body, and she surprises herself by following his hips with her own. He makes a noise low in his throat and then his hands drift from her waist down to her bum as she begins a long, gliding stroke against his tongue. Her hands slide into his hair and she can’t help but ruffle the gorgeous locks, her fingers kneading gently against his scalp.

 

A sudden image of them in a bathtub together, her behind him and washing his hair, flashes through her mind. Rose moans at the very thought, him naked before her, her naked and kneeling behind him, pressed against his back, hands soaping his hair then drifting to his shoulders, down his back, around to his front, lower and lower to that bulge that is currently pressing into her rather intimately. She loses control of her breathing and has to break free from him long enough to gasp in a deep breath of air.

 

His mouth claims hers again and his hands rise from her bum up under her cardigan and onto the bare skin the mostly backless dress provides. She presses her body into him again, feels her nipples pebbling against his chest and is sure from the sound he makes he can also feel it through the thin material of his dress shirt. He circles his tongue about hers slowly, and then pushes his way into her mouth with determination. Then suddenly the pace changes and he is plunging his tongue into her mouth, thrusting as if making love to her and she tries hard to keep up, but finally allows him to simply take full possession of the kiss. He is almost bruising her lips but she doesn’t care.

 

Her hands slide from his hair and down to his waist. She fists the fabric of his dress shirt and she’s suddenly pulling it free of his trousers, her fingers seeking to find bare skin beneath it. She is just about to achieve her goal when a soft cough behind Jonathon startles her.

 

They jump apart hastily and turn to see the maître de of the restaurant standing there. “You do realize,” he says, “that you are in full view of the other patrons?” Rose blushes furiously and Jonathon looks a trifle flustered. “Perhaps mademoiselle and monsieur would care to check into our inn? It is just upstairs and I am assured there is a vacancy.” He hands them a small brochure with a large special of 50% off emblazoned across it for the off season. “It would perhaps be a more discrete locale for your…rendezvous than our balcony.”

 

He leaves them then and they look at each other in slight embarrassment, but then Rose starts laughing and Jonathon soon follows and he takes her hand in his and they flee the restaurant and head for the car, dancing forgotten for now. She leans against her car door and he takes her into his arms and teases her mouth open for a short, quick caress of tongues before he nudges her aside and opens the door.

 

Rose climbs inside the car and tucks the brochure into her purse as a souvenir of the evening while Jonathon runs around to the other side and gets in. He runs his hand through his hair and rubs at the back of his neck for a moment before turning to look at her and again they burst into laughter.

 

“I’ve never heard anyone told to get a room before in quite that manner,” he says grinning at her.

 

“Me, either.” She smiles happily at him and then reaches for him and tugs him towards her and into another brief kiss. When they break apart she says, “Umm, I could do that all night.”

 

His eyes soften and he says, “If you want to…”

 

For a moment she’s seriously tempted. “I won’t lie,” Rose tells him. “I want to, but I’m not…I’m not ready, Jonathon. I really like you. I think that’s pretty obvious.”

 

“I didn’t mean sex. I told you, I’ll wait however long it takes for us to become lovers. I just meant…oh, hell, I don’t know what I meant.” He reaches out and threads his fingers through hers. “I want you. I want to be with you. I don’t want to push you. But when you’re ready, I’m ready. And if you ever…I don’t know, just want to spend the night without…I’m not saying this right…just, you know, stay with me without me expecting anything you’re not ready to give…well, you can. I want you to feel safe with me, Rose.”

 

His reward for that little speech is a kiss that leaves them both speechless, breathing hard, and Rose questioning her judgment for not asking him to take her home and make love to her for the rest of the night. Instead her voice, with a mind of its own, says, “Well, since we really can’t go back in there, how about this club I know for dancing?”

 

“Just point the way, Rose Tyler,” he says. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Ch. 10:  http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/127871.html