Unguarded (1-7/7)
Nov. 6th, 2008 03:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberfocusA/N: Since there will be no new fic tonight I thought I'd bring over another one I haven't put on my LJ before. It's got very short little chapters, each one a moment in their relationship where they are watching each other. This is Ten/Rose but the photograph in question is of Nine and he haunts the story, a lot of it being about how they each feel now he's changed. It was the first time I wrote full-fledged smut. There is angst and romance. Last chapter assumes there was no season 4.
1. Unguarded
She’s sitting there in the jump seat, curled up and reading a book. Her long blonde hair has fallen forward partially obscuring her face, but he doesn’t need to see it to remember every feature of her face. Her concentration is intense and he has to wonder what it is that has her so deeply entranced. Probably one of those trashy romance novels she is so fond of. Bodice rippers, she calls them.
He clears his throat but she doesn’t look up, doesn’t give any indication that she’s heard him or that she’s even aware he’s in the room. That gives him time to look at her and not worry that she might catch his eye and think…well, something. Something other than what is. And he couldn’t have that. Not him. Not a 900 year old Time Lord with no real future even if he had years of it left to live.
Her hand moves up and brushes her hair back from her face, revealing her jaw line and her ear. It’s a perfect ear, he thinks, perfectly shaped and delicately turned with earlobes that invited thoughts that…no, he isn’t going to think about taking one gently between his teeth and… ‘Stop it,’ he tells himself.
To distract himself he moves his gaze away from her ear and down to her jaw but then all he can think about is running his thumb down the line of it, maybe tilting her chin up so that those brown eyes look at him… ‘I said stop it!’ And he shakes his head violently.
It takes him a moment to get himself together and a longer moment to realize she hasn’t turned the page in several minutes. She’s just staring. Unable to resist a mystery he glides closer to her, comes up behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She shrieks, jumps and turns on him, the book flies across the room and a piece of paper slips unseen by her under the console.
“Doctor! You scared me half to death!” And for some reason a blush is staining her face. She gets up, retrieves her book and closes it. She gives him an unsteady smile. “What is it you wanted?” she asks, her voice almost steady.
“We’ll be landing soon. You need to dress for the beach.”
“Okay,” she says and scrambles out of the room. “Back in a few,” she calls over her shoulder. He waits until he can’t hear her footsteps in the corridor anymore and bends to retrieve the paper. He knows from the thickness it is a photograph. He turns it over.
It’s a picture of him.
2. Long Enough
He’s fixing something. She doesn’t know what nor does she care. Her eyes are fastened to his face watching the deep concentration there. The little furrow that appears just above where his eyebrows stop tempts her so much. Why does she want to touch it so badly, to run her pinky finger along it and smooth it from his brow?
He’s thrown off his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves and loosened the tie at his throat. She can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and again is drawn to another part of his body, though here she’d rather taste than touch. All she’d have to do is reach out and grab that tie and pull him closer and… ‘No, not gonna happen,’ she tells herself. They aren’t that way. At least they hadn’t been when he’d changed. They’d almost gotten there, at least she thought they had, but all of that had been gone in the space between heartbeats.
This new body has thrown her for a loop. She’d loved his old one, it’s rough, rangy comfortableness, but this one makes her react more aggressively. Younger, slimmer, and it seems to fit just right against hers when they hug. In places it maybe shouldn’t fit just right against.
And she always has the urge to ruffle his hair now. Never had that before, not that there was really any hair to ruffle. She’d have gotten a rug burn for her efforts. Though now she thought of it that didn’t sound so terribly unappealing either.
Her attention is drawn fully back to him when he moistens his lips with his tongue, almost drawing a soft sound of discontent from her when it disappears back into his mouth again. That’s one thing about him that really has changed. He likes to lick everything and that tongue of his causes so much temptation each time he does. What she wouldn’t give… ‘No!’
She can’t see his eyes really, they’re too narrowed, focusing on the object in front of him, glasses askew on his nose, but her memory sees them well enough. So much warmth in them, so much emotion. He always has felt things deeply but now she can see it. The little freckles scattered across his face make her want to play dot to dot with kisses, connecting each one to the one before it.
Even his ears are a temptation to her, though that hasn’t really changed. Despite everyone teasing him on the size of his former ears she’d always liked them, always wondered what it’d feel like if she… ‘Stop it right this minute.’ Her inner voice is wailing but she is choosing not to listen. And even now, it is the same. Different ears but the same desire.
He shifts and makes one last twiddle with the sonic screwdriver and a look of triumph comes over his face. “Have you fixed it then?” she asks him and he jumps.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks.
“Oh, not long,” she says. But long enough.
3. Through a Window
He watches from outside the chip shop, leans against a lamp post with his hands tucked in the pockets of his trench coat. He looks for all the world like he is a leftover from a bad B movie. Feels like maybe now he’s just a leftover in her life. She hasn’t looked at him the same way since he changed. And he’s been feeling the difference, been feeling it ever since he caught her staring at the photograph of him. The old him.
It was obvious she missed who he used to be, what he used to look like. He could feel it every time her eyes skittered from his, unwilling or unable to make lasting eye contact with brown eyes instead of blue. He has thought, well, he is embarrassed to admit it, but now that he is pretty he has thought maybe she’d fancy him. Now it appears she did fancy him. Just not this him.
His eyes focus on the girl in the window, watches as she eats chips. It should be illegal to eat chips that way. The way she just slowly nibbles at the tip to test that it’s salted enough before pushing it halfway into her mouth and biting down firmly. The second half follows and then she licks her fingers one by one before picking up the next chip.
Can she possibly know how mind-bendingly erotic she is in just this simple act? He doesn’t think so. It would embarrass her if she did and he has no intention of ever doing that. And it wasn’t exactly as if he wanted her to stop eating chips that way. Though he might offer to lick the salt off them himself if he was sitting across from her. Oh, what is wrong with him? He seems to have developed a streak of lust to go with his streak of self-torture.
She leans back a moment, stretches and yawns, and his eyes follow the curves of her body before she returns to her former position. She must be feeling hot because her hand sweeps back and pulls her hair off her neck, piling it on her head. His eyes are drawn to the lovely pink skin she has so unknowingly exposed to his dark gaze. He wonders how that skin would look, marked by his tongue and teeth and then curses himself for having such thoughts.
Then as if she feels the heat of his stare on her she looks out the window, sees him standing there and breaks into a beautiful smile. She raises her hand and beckons him to come inside. And he does so. Because until she says otherwise, her side is where he will stay, even if she no longer looks at him the same way.
4. From a Doorway
She awakens cold and scared. She’s had that dream again, the one where he doesn’t want her anymore now he’s changed and so he chucks her back home with her mum. Somehow she’s managed to throw the covers off in her sleep. She just needs reassurance from him, that even though his eyes have changed from steely blue to warm and brown, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see her as important.
She pads out to the console room, surprised to find it deserted. She searches the library next and then the kitchen, and even the wardrobe room before becoming distressed at her inability to find where he’s hidden himself. A soft hum from the TARDIS catches her attention and a light down the hallway flickers. As she approaches the next one it, too flickers. She follows them back the way she came until the one outside his bedroom door continues to flicker.
Slowly she puts her hand out and turns the knob. Her breath catches as she sees him sleeping. So rare is such a thing that she never even thought to look for him here. She is shivering now, the dream coming back to her so quickly now, his turning his back on her and walking away. She takes a deep breath, tries to let the fear go and lets her eyes fall fully upon him.
He is a beautiful man and in repose seems completely vulnerable. One arm is above his head and the other flung to the side. His chest is bare and her eyes wander over it in a way she would never allow herself if he were awake. The sheet covers him from the waist down and she wishes it were just a bit lower before she shakes off the thought.
She can’t be having thoughts like this about her Doctor. No, she corrects herself, about the Doctor. He’s not hers anymore, hasn’t been since the change and she can’t think of him that way. No matter how badly she wants to. No matter how badly she wants him. For that is the conclusion she has come to. She wants this man badly.
Her feet drift her forwards and she cannot seem to stop them. She stands there over him and for a moment she wonders what he would do if she were to simply slip under the sheet with him and snuggle up to his cool frame. Send her home, most likely. And that reality would be worse than any bad dream.
She swallows down a little sob and turns to leave the room. “Rose?” The Doctor’s voice is soft and gentle and for a moment it has the tenderness in it that she’d only heard a few times before the regeneration. “Do you need something?”
She turns back to him, moistens her lips and wonders why her heart is beating a million miles a minute. “Yeah,” she says. “I do.”
5. From Beside Her
“What is it, Rose?” he asks. He’s a little confused to find his strong, confident Rose standing there looking so unsure of herself and almost…scared?
She looks down at her feet and then back at him. He sits up and pats the bed next to him but she doesn’t sit down. “I…I was just… wondering…how long’s it gonna be?”
“How long is what going to be?” he asks. She’s playing with the neckline of her top and he suddenly becomes aware of how very little she’s wearing, that the tiny little strap of her camisole has fallen down one shoulder and the little pajama shorts leave the long expanse of her legs almost fully exposed. And there is a tiny gap between top and bottom, showing a narrow strip of skin across her belly that is making his oral fixation kick into gear.
“Until I go home.” She won’t meet his eyes.
“You want to go home? Rose, you can go home whenever you want to. All you have to do is ask. You know that. We can visit Jackie in the morning.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not…I’m not talking about a visit. I want to know when…when you’re going to…send me away. From…from you.”
“What’s brought this on? Rose, I asked you to come with me. Three times now.”
“But you changed. You’re not the same man and you’ve settled into this…this new…body now,” and the way she says body suddenly brings heat to his face, “and you don’t…you don’t act the same or…or look at me the same…and I…I know you don’t feel…you don’t feel the way you did…before…when you were…him.”
“Are you sure it’s not you who doesn’t feel the same way?” he asks a little sharply. “I know you preferred me the way I was, you wanted me to change back, but I thought we’d gotten past that.”
“No, I…I’m just--.”
“I’ll take you home in the morning.” His voice is flat.
“No, Doctor, no, that’s not…that’s not what I meant!” If he had thought she’d looked scared before it was nothing to the sudden fear that flashes through her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you. I love…being here. But it feels like…it feels like…you don’t want me around the way you used to.”
“Rose, I want you…around,” he told her. “If I look at you differently, it’s not because I don’t want you here. It’s because…I want you here too much.” His hearts are beating rapidly and he is sure she can hear them as he admits his secret.
“You won’t send me away?” Her voice is so little girl lost it chills him.
“Send you away? I’m not sure I’d let you leave if you wanted to!” he bursts out.
She sits down on the bed, her legs suddenly acting as if they are made of rubber.
“I’m really surprised you haven’t noticed, that when it comes to you, this new body has a mind all its own.”
She gasps in surprise. He’s a little surprised himself because he didn’t know his new voice could fall into that seductive tone.
“And that goes along with what this mind, my mind, old or new, has always wanted, Rose.”
“What?”
“You.”
“As mates you mean,” she says, still unsure, that he can tell by her face that yes, she is hopeful, she does see him, really sees him, and wants him, not who he was before, but him, just him, right here in front of her, right now.
“I think there will be some mating involved, yes.”
“You mean…you mean…you want to…be with me?”
“From Run.” She doesn’t say anything and he begins to wonder if he actually has misjudged what is going on between them after all. “If you don’t want to--.”
“Oh, I do!” she says then slaps her hand over her mouth.
His hand snakes out and pulls her towards him. “Then I can think of far better things you can do with your mouth than cover it with your hand.”
She tries to sound shocked but her “Doctor!” is drowned out by his lips coming down on hers.
6. From Beneath Him
Easily overbalanced, Rose falls backwards onto the bed. His lips are so soft as they press against hers without hesitation, with a gentle insistence. His lips open against hers, his tongue coming out to very lightly push against the seal of her lips. They fall open willingly for him and his tongue creeps forward slowly, as if afraid at the last moment it will be denied entrance.
But denial is not even in her realm of existence tonight. She wants this. She wants him. Her own tongue moves forward to greet his, the first contact between them slightly cold but soon warming as they dance happily against each other, in slow testing strokes that gauge what the other responds to. Her moan rises at his swirling his tongue around hers. His breath hitches at her long, languid strokes. All heartbeats race when a battle breaks out for dominance, yet too aggressive thrusting makes her pull back just a little. They read each other in that kiss and as their lips begin to part a sigh falls from hers.
His mouth moves along her jaw line, his hands brushing the hair away from her ear. Gently he takes the lobe between his teeth, lightly pulls at it and she shivers against him. His leg creeps over hers, his body resting lightly halfway on her. He releases her lobe, moves his tongue against the edge of it, following the curve around to the gentle roundness of the shell of her ear. She shivers as his tongue laves it and she feels him smile.
And then his lips move down to her neck, licking, kissing, lightly brushing with his teeth, before he settles on the pulse point. He sucks, lightly at first and then with a little more force and she knows he is marking her. She hasn’t had a hickey since she was fourteen and yet the way he’s doing it makes her wonder why she ever put a stop to such a thing. Perhaps because no one had ever done it quite like the Doctor.
Her hand creeps to his waist and she slides it against his skin, feeling him suck in a ragged breath as contact is made. His muscles are taut against her fingers and as they move over a nipple he gives an involuntary thrust forward with his pelvis. She laughs low in her throat, a sound cut off by the sudden movement of his hand sliding up under the camisole and onto her breast.
Softly he begins to knead the flesh before running his hand around it in slowly decreasing concentric circles. He touches every inch until finally her nipple stands up tall and begging, the only place he’s avoided. When he flicks his thumb across it, it is her turn to move her hips unconsciously.
The Doctor moves his hand to push up the fabric of her little top and exposes her breasts to his eyes and more fully to his hands. And then he is kissing down from her neck to the untouched breast and while his hand keeps the other one busy his tongue begins its work on the lonely one. This time he doesn’t hesitate, going for the nipple directly, soliciting a moan from her throat.
One hand comes up to tangle in his hair while the other fists the bed sheet as he works his tongue in tiny little swirls, the same swirls that have brought such pleasure to her tongue. Rose moans again a little louder. His hand slides from her breast, along the line of her waist and onto the curve of her hip and down her thigh as far as he can reach before sliding back up to her waist.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her pajama shorts and pulls his mouth away just long enough to say, “No going back, Rose. We do this now.”
“Don’t want to go back,” she says. “Not ever.” He lowers her shorts, taking her knickers down with them, leaning up on one elbow to reach down towards her feet. She bends first one knee than the other as he removes them from her feet. The he slides his hands up the sides of her body, pulling the camisole upwards. She lifts a bit and he gets it past her shoulders and up over her head. He tosses the garment across the room and his eyes fall upon her, drinking, feasting, wanting her.
“You still have clothes on,” she mumbles when he has spent more than a minute just staring at her body, bringing a rush of heat to her as he memorizes every curve, every line, every little scar or mark that graces her skin.
He looks down at himself surprised. “Well that won’t do at all, will it?” He says in such a low, throaty growl she shivers in anticipation. He kicks off his pajama bottoms and sends them flying towards the door with a fling of his foot. Naked skin presses against naked skin and she feels something hard and wonderful pressing into her thigh. She moves upwards in the bed and begins laying little kisses on his face. Bit by bit she moves across him, leaving tiny butterfly kisses against his skin.
He shivers. “What exactly are you doing, Rose?” he asks shakily.
“Playing connect the dots with your freckles,” she replies grinning against his skin.
“Ah,” he says. “Do you know how many freckles I have?”
“A lot. Could take a while.” She resumes her little kisses until she is convinced she’s covered every millimeter of his face. Then she slides down just enough to find his neck, her tongue reaching out to taste the Adam’s apple that has so tormented her with its frantic bobbing every time he speaks.
He whimpers and again she smiles against his skin, before working her way up to nibble on his ear, then back down across his shoulder, down the pectoral muscle and then to flick against the hard nub of his nipple. Her hand slides down the side of his body, across his hip, resting for a moment on his bum before sliding forward and taking his hard shaft in her fingers.
He groans. If it is possible, and it seems like it is, he hardens even more under her gentle ministrations. “Rose,” he says. “Rose.” He pushes her onto her back, his fingers sliding down her body and coming to rest on the insides of her thighs. Slowly he works down towards her knees and then back up towards the join of her thighs. Lightly, ever so lightly, he brushes his fingers across her softness, gently moving between the folds, seeking the slickness that means her body is ready for him. She could have told him she’s been ready from the first kiss.
Cautiously one finger slides inside her, reminding her almost of the first kiss as he tests the interior. Gently a second finger is inserted, joining the first one, carefully stretching her in preparation. “Are you ready?” he asks her, desire and a delicious warmth in his eyes.
“I think I’ve been ready since you first took my hand and said run,” she tells him passionately. His breath hitches and he locks onto her glittering eyes. He removes his fingers and raises himself over her body, his knees gently nudging her thighs apart and watching as they fall open, making a space for him.
Edging forward, she feels his manhood at the entrance to her body, feels the head press gently inside and then his sure steady slide forward and he sheathes himself within her. For a moment he does nothing else and she savors the feeling. She had thought it might be odd somehow, this transfer from friends to lovers but now she knows it will not be. There will be no awkwardness between them. It has always been about this. They’ve been running towards this moment since they met.
When he begins to move against her she raises and lowers her hips in accordance with his movements. The slow, steady progression of push and pull back, thrust and slide, in and out, is a pattern repeated over and over. On occasion Rose interrupts his rhythm by swirling her hips in a little circle that makes him whimper.
His stamina surprises her. She doesn’t know if that is a Time Lord thing or an age thing, or simply that he is doing his best to prolong their pleasure. Whatever it is, she glories in it. It feels as if he is worshipping her body in the simple motions, in, out, in, out. The weight of him against her, the way their bodies fit as well as their hands do, everything about it is so right.
Finally, finally the tempo changes between them and the Doctor’s thrusts became more forceful, driving towards a purpose now. Her eyes lock with his and she can tell by his expression that he wants desperately to come but is resisting it with all his might. She wonders why. What is he waiting for? And then it hits her. He is waiting for her. Oh. She wonders if she should tell him to go on, tell him that she doesn’t ever actually achieve orgasm during sex.
She opens her mouth but then he shifts his pelvis in such a way that it is rubbing against that tiny bundle of nerves. Her nipples harden and she feels heat rising in her groin and she thinks that maybe, just maybe she might actually go where she’s never gone before. She looks back up at his face, sees the intense concentration written across it, knows he is determined to hold on and she knows that she loves him more in that moment than she ever has before. That he cares that much that she receive ultimate pleasure during the act itself instead of later as an afterthought fills her with joy.
Faster and faster the Doctor thrusts into her body, and she is shocked to feel the heat building and focusing all on that little button as his pelvis grinds into her. And then she is rising, and rising, and rising, and rising until she hits the peak so hard that every muscle in her body begins to clench and she shakes and shakes as she contracts around him again and again and with a triumphant scream the Doctor lets loose, coming so hard against her she thinks he might never find his way back to sanity.
His body collapses atop her and she wraps her arms and legs tightly around his sweaty body, holding him to her, savoring his weight and knowing, simply knowing that this was what she’s been waiting for her whole life.
7. At a Distance
It has been so very, very long since he has seen her that at first he is uncertain as he hovers in the background. He stands behind a large plant, his eyes peeking through the branches as he studies her. She leans against the entrance to the gazebo, a champagne flute in one hand, but he hasn’t seen her sip it even once and he’s been watching for awhile. She carries it for show, her senses ever on alert.
He hears her laughter as her companion makes some kind of joke, but it rings hollow. He knows her laughter too well to believe in that shallow mirth she is projecting but not meaning. Her eyes scan the crowd. It seems a mindless habit and he isn’t sure she knows she does it. She never finds what she’s looking for; her eyes never alight on anyone. He hasn’t seen her truly smile all night. Not a smile that reaches to her eyes.
Her back is turned to him and he can see the soft falls of her hair, a more natural shade of dark blond now, as they curve against her shoulders and shoulder blades, reaching midway down her back. The dress she wears is red and skims her curves lightly, not clinging but still showing her body to perfection. His eyes drift down to the ground and take in the delicate arches of her feet inside the lovely strappy silver heels.
For a moment she turns her head again and searches, her eyes so lost it hurts his hearts. He thinks that maybe her heart still remembers him, maybe her eyes still search the crowds for him, maybe her real laugh and smile is saved for him. He takes a deep breath and steps out from behind the plant and makes his way towards the gazebo.
At first she doesn’t see him, doesn’t know that he’s watching her as he walks steadily towards her, his motions stealthy, almost like a stalking wild panther. She feels his steady gaze on her first and turns her head slightly in his direction. The moment she sees him the champagne flute falls from her hand unnoticed into the grass.
She takes one step forward, then two. Her eyes are wide and they tell him that she is afraid this isn’t real, that this is a hallucination, but she still moves towards him as if she is mesmerized by his very presence. The crowd stills, quiets around them, as if everyone is sensing that something monumental is about to occur.
The distance closes between them until they finally stop just an arm’s length apart. Her eyes search his face and her hand rises to touch it, hesitant, drawing back just a bit. “Are you real?” she asks as if she cannot believe her own senses.
“I’m real,” he assures her. The hand resumes its forward motion, touches his face and he moves into her touch, his eyes closing momentarily. But he cannot keep them closed for long because his eyes are starving for the sight of her; a sight too long denied him while they were trapped apart.
Her smile is slow to start but it takes over her entire countenance and then she is beaming and he returns the smile just as widely, his face aching with the use of muscles he’d forgotten he had. And they are laughing, deep joyous laughter and crying tears of happiness at the same time and then she is in his arms and they are holding each other so closely he can feel the heat of her body radiating against him.
He pulls back just a little from her and claims her mouth with his own and she opens for him, greedy in her desire to meet his tongue and tell him in something other than words just how much she has missed him. Again he pulls back, breaks the kiss and smiles at her. Then he sweeps her up into his arms and carries her out of the party to the hoots, hollers, cheers and laughter of the people gathered there.
He doesn’t care about them, just cares about the girl in his arms. He carries her hastily to the TARDIS who has opened her doors for him. He strides through the console room and down the corridor to his bedroom, what had been their bedroom, and places her gently on the bed.
“Rose Tyler,” he says, every emotion he has for this woman laid out clearly on his face, his heart completely unguarded, “I love you.”
“My Doctor,” she whispers, her eyes overflowing with emotion, no secrets hidden from this man, “I love you.” And as clothes dissolve and bodies join they know that love truly can do the impossible and that the word impossible will never have the same meaning for them again.
1. Unguarded
She’s sitting there in the jump seat, curled up and reading a book. Her long blonde hair has fallen forward partially obscuring her face, but he doesn’t need to see it to remember every feature of her face. Her concentration is intense and he has to wonder what it is that has her so deeply entranced. Probably one of those trashy romance novels she is so fond of. Bodice rippers, she calls them.
He clears his throat but she doesn’t look up, doesn’t give any indication that she’s heard him or that she’s even aware he’s in the room. That gives him time to look at her and not worry that she might catch his eye and think…well, something. Something other than what is. And he couldn’t have that. Not him. Not a 900 year old Time Lord with no real future even if he had years of it left to live.
Her hand moves up and brushes her hair back from her face, revealing her jaw line and her ear. It’s a perfect ear, he thinks, perfectly shaped and delicately turned with earlobes that invited thoughts that…no, he isn’t going to think about taking one gently between his teeth and… ‘Stop it,’ he tells himself.
To distract himself he moves his gaze away from her ear and down to her jaw but then all he can think about is running his thumb down the line of it, maybe tilting her chin up so that those brown eyes look at him… ‘I said stop it!’ And he shakes his head violently.
It takes him a moment to get himself together and a longer moment to realize she hasn’t turned the page in several minutes. She’s just staring. Unable to resist a mystery he glides closer to her, comes up behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She shrieks, jumps and turns on him, the book flies across the room and a piece of paper slips unseen by her under the console.
“Doctor! You scared me half to death!” And for some reason a blush is staining her face. She gets up, retrieves her book and closes it. She gives him an unsteady smile. “What is it you wanted?” she asks, her voice almost steady.
“We’ll be landing soon. You need to dress for the beach.”
“Okay,” she says and scrambles out of the room. “Back in a few,” she calls over her shoulder. He waits until he can’t hear her footsteps in the corridor anymore and bends to retrieve the paper. He knows from the thickness it is a photograph. He turns it over.
It’s a picture of him.
2. Long Enough
He’s fixing something. She doesn’t know what nor does she care. Her eyes are fastened to his face watching the deep concentration there. The little furrow that appears just above where his eyebrows stop tempts her so much. Why does she want to touch it so badly, to run her pinky finger along it and smooth it from his brow?
He’s thrown off his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves and loosened the tie at his throat. She can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and again is drawn to another part of his body, though here she’d rather taste than touch. All she’d have to do is reach out and grab that tie and pull him closer and… ‘No, not gonna happen,’ she tells herself. They aren’t that way. At least they hadn’t been when he’d changed. They’d almost gotten there, at least she thought they had, but all of that had been gone in the space between heartbeats.
This new body has thrown her for a loop. She’d loved his old one, it’s rough, rangy comfortableness, but this one makes her react more aggressively. Younger, slimmer, and it seems to fit just right against hers when they hug. In places it maybe shouldn’t fit just right against.
And she always has the urge to ruffle his hair now. Never had that before, not that there was really any hair to ruffle. She’d have gotten a rug burn for her efforts. Though now she thought of it that didn’t sound so terribly unappealing either.
Her attention is drawn fully back to him when he moistens his lips with his tongue, almost drawing a soft sound of discontent from her when it disappears back into his mouth again. That’s one thing about him that really has changed. He likes to lick everything and that tongue of his causes so much temptation each time he does. What she wouldn’t give… ‘No!’
She can’t see his eyes really, they’re too narrowed, focusing on the object in front of him, glasses askew on his nose, but her memory sees them well enough. So much warmth in them, so much emotion. He always has felt things deeply but now she can see it. The little freckles scattered across his face make her want to play dot to dot with kisses, connecting each one to the one before it.
Even his ears are a temptation to her, though that hasn’t really changed. Despite everyone teasing him on the size of his former ears she’d always liked them, always wondered what it’d feel like if she… ‘Stop it right this minute.’ Her inner voice is wailing but she is choosing not to listen. And even now, it is the same. Different ears but the same desire.
He shifts and makes one last twiddle with the sonic screwdriver and a look of triumph comes over his face. “Have you fixed it then?” she asks him and he jumps.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks.
“Oh, not long,” she says. But long enough.
3. Through a Window
He watches from outside the chip shop, leans against a lamp post with his hands tucked in the pockets of his trench coat. He looks for all the world like he is a leftover from a bad B movie. Feels like maybe now he’s just a leftover in her life. She hasn’t looked at him the same way since he changed. And he’s been feeling the difference, been feeling it ever since he caught her staring at the photograph of him. The old him.
It was obvious she missed who he used to be, what he used to look like. He could feel it every time her eyes skittered from his, unwilling or unable to make lasting eye contact with brown eyes instead of blue. He has thought, well, he is embarrassed to admit it, but now that he is pretty he has thought maybe she’d fancy him. Now it appears she did fancy him. Just not this him.
His eyes focus on the girl in the window, watches as she eats chips. It should be illegal to eat chips that way. The way she just slowly nibbles at the tip to test that it’s salted enough before pushing it halfway into her mouth and biting down firmly. The second half follows and then she licks her fingers one by one before picking up the next chip.
Can she possibly know how mind-bendingly erotic she is in just this simple act? He doesn’t think so. It would embarrass her if she did and he has no intention of ever doing that. And it wasn’t exactly as if he wanted her to stop eating chips that way. Though he might offer to lick the salt off them himself if he was sitting across from her. Oh, what is wrong with him? He seems to have developed a streak of lust to go with his streak of self-torture.
She leans back a moment, stretches and yawns, and his eyes follow the curves of her body before she returns to her former position. She must be feeling hot because her hand sweeps back and pulls her hair off her neck, piling it on her head. His eyes are drawn to the lovely pink skin she has so unknowingly exposed to his dark gaze. He wonders how that skin would look, marked by his tongue and teeth and then curses himself for having such thoughts.
Then as if she feels the heat of his stare on her she looks out the window, sees him standing there and breaks into a beautiful smile. She raises her hand and beckons him to come inside. And he does so. Because until she says otherwise, her side is where he will stay, even if she no longer looks at him the same way.
4. From a Doorway
She awakens cold and scared. She’s had that dream again, the one where he doesn’t want her anymore now he’s changed and so he chucks her back home with her mum. Somehow she’s managed to throw the covers off in her sleep. She just needs reassurance from him, that even though his eyes have changed from steely blue to warm and brown, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see her as important.
She pads out to the console room, surprised to find it deserted. She searches the library next and then the kitchen, and even the wardrobe room before becoming distressed at her inability to find where he’s hidden himself. A soft hum from the TARDIS catches her attention and a light down the hallway flickers. As she approaches the next one it, too flickers. She follows them back the way she came until the one outside his bedroom door continues to flicker.
Slowly she puts her hand out and turns the knob. Her breath catches as she sees him sleeping. So rare is such a thing that she never even thought to look for him here. She is shivering now, the dream coming back to her so quickly now, his turning his back on her and walking away. She takes a deep breath, tries to let the fear go and lets her eyes fall fully upon him.
He is a beautiful man and in repose seems completely vulnerable. One arm is above his head and the other flung to the side. His chest is bare and her eyes wander over it in a way she would never allow herself if he were awake. The sheet covers him from the waist down and she wishes it were just a bit lower before she shakes off the thought.
She can’t be having thoughts like this about her Doctor. No, she corrects herself, about the Doctor. He’s not hers anymore, hasn’t been since the change and she can’t think of him that way. No matter how badly she wants to. No matter how badly she wants him. For that is the conclusion she has come to. She wants this man badly.
Her feet drift her forwards and she cannot seem to stop them. She stands there over him and for a moment she wonders what he would do if she were to simply slip under the sheet with him and snuggle up to his cool frame. Send her home, most likely. And that reality would be worse than any bad dream.
She swallows down a little sob and turns to leave the room. “Rose?” The Doctor’s voice is soft and gentle and for a moment it has the tenderness in it that she’d only heard a few times before the regeneration. “Do you need something?”
She turns back to him, moistens her lips and wonders why her heart is beating a million miles a minute. “Yeah,” she says. “I do.”
5. From Beside Her
“What is it, Rose?” he asks. He’s a little confused to find his strong, confident Rose standing there looking so unsure of herself and almost…scared?
She looks down at her feet and then back at him. He sits up and pats the bed next to him but she doesn’t sit down. “I…I was just… wondering…how long’s it gonna be?”
“How long is what going to be?” he asks. She’s playing with the neckline of her top and he suddenly becomes aware of how very little she’s wearing, that the tiny little strap of her camisole has fallen down one shoulder and the little pajama shorts leave the long expanse of her legs almost fully exposed. And there is a tiny gap between top and bottom, showing a narrow strip of skin across her belly that is making his oral fixation kick into gear.
“Until I go home.” She won’t meet his eyes.
“You want to go home? Rose, you can go home whenever you want to. All you have to do is ask. You know that. We can visit Jackie in the morning.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not…I’m not talking about a visit. I want to know when…when you’re going to…send me away. From…from you.”
“What’s brought this on? Rose, I asked you to come with me. Three times now.”
“But you changed. You’re not the same man and you’ve settled into this…this new…body now,” and the way she says body suddenly brings heat to his face, “and you don’t…you don’t act the same or…or look at me the same…and I…I know you don’t feel…you don’t feel the way you did…before…when you were…him.”
“Are you sure it’s not you who doesn’t feel the same way?” he asks a little sharply. “I know you preferred me the way I was, you wanted me to change back, but I thought we’d gotten past that.”
“No, I…I’m just--.”
“I’ll take you home in the morning.” His voice is flat.
“No, Doctor, no, that’s not…that’s not what I meant!” If he had thought she’d looked scared before it was nothing to the sudden fear that flashes through her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you. I love…being here. But it feels like…it feels like…you don’t want me around the way you used to.”
“Rose, I want you…around,” he told her. “If I look at you differently, it’s not because I don’t want you here. It’s because…I want you here too much.” His hearts are beating rapidly and he is sure she can hear them as he admits his secret.
“You won’t send me away?” Her voice is so little girl lost it chills him.
“Send you away? I’m not sure I’d let you leave if you wanted to!” he bursts out.
She sits down on the bed, her legs suddenly acting as if they are made of rubber.
“I’m really surprised you haven’t noticed, that when it comes to you, this new body has a mind all its own.”
She gasps in surprise. He’s a little surprised himself because he didn’t know his new voice could fall into that seductive tone.
“And that goes along with what this mind, my mind, old or new, has always wanted, Rose.”
“What?”
“You.”
“As mates you mean,” she says, still unsure, that he can tell by her face that yes, she is hopeful, she does see him, really sees him, and wants him, not who he was before, but him, just him, right here in front of her, right now.
“I think there will be some mating involved, yes.”
“You mean…you mean…you want to…be with me?”
“From Run.” She doesn’t say anything and he begins to wonder if he actually has misjudged what is going on between them after all. “If you don’t want to--.”
“Oh, I do!” she says then slaps her hand over her mouth.
His hand snakes out and pulls her towards him. “Then I can think of far better things you can do with your mouth than cover it with your hand.”
She tries to sound shocked but her “Doctor!” is drowned out by his lips coming down on hers.
6. From Beneath Him
Easily overbalanced, Rose falls backwards onto the bed. His lips are so soft as they press against hers without hesitation, with a gentle insistence. His lips open against hers, his tongue coming out to very lightly push against the seal of her lips. They fall open willingly for him and his tongue creeps forward slowly, as if afraid at the last moment it will be denied entrance.
But denial is not even in her realm of existence tonight. She wants this. She wants him. Her own tongue moves forward to greet his, the first contact between them slightly cold but soon warming as they dance happily against each other, in slow testing strokes that gauge what the other responds to. Her moan rises at his swirling his tongue around hers. His breath hitches at her long, languid strokes. All heartbeats race when a battle breaks out for dominance, yet too aggressive thrusting makes her pull back just a little. They read each other in that kiss and as their lips begin to part a sigh falls from hers.
His mouth moves along her jaw line, his hands brushing the hair away from her ear. Gently he takes the lobe between his teeth, lightly pulls at it and she shivers against him. His leg creeps over hers, his body resting lightly halfway on her. He releases her lobe, moves his tongue against the edge of it, following the curve around to the gentle roundness of the shell of her ear. She shivers as his tongue laves it and she feels him smile.
And then his lips move down to her neck, licking, kissing, lightly brushing with his teeth, before he settles on the pulse point. He sucks, lightly at first and then with a little more force and she knows he is marking her. She hasn’t had a hickey since she was fourteen and yet the way he’s doing it makes her wonder why she ever put a stop to such a thing. Perhaps because no one had ever done it quite like the Doctor.
Her hand creeps to his waist and she slides it against his skin, feeling him suck in a ragged breath as contact is made. His muscles are taut against her fingers and as they move over a nipple he gives an involuntary thrust forward with his pelvis. She laughs low in her throat, a sound cut off by the sudden movement of his hand sliding up under the camisole and onto her breast.
Softly he begins to knead the flesh before running his hand around it in slowly decreasing concentric circles. He touches every inch until finally her nipple stands up tall and begging, the only place he’s avoided. When he flicks his thumb across it, it is her turn to move her hips unconsciously.
The Doctor moves his hand to push up the fabric of her little top and exposes her breasts to his eyes and more fully to his hands. And then he is kissing down from her neck to the untouched breast and while his hand keeps the other one busy his tongue begins its work on the lonely one. This time he doesn’t hesitate, going for the nipple directly, soliciting a moan from her throat.
One hand comes up to tangle in his hair while the other fists the bed sheet as he works his tongue in tiny little swirls, the same swirls that have brought such pleasure to her tongue. Rose moans again a little louder. His hand slides from her breast, along the line of her waist and onto the curve of her hip and down her thigh as far as he can reach before sliding back up to her waist.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her pajama shorts and pulls his mouth away just long enough to say, “No going back, Rose. We do this now.”
“Don’t want to go back,” she says. “Not ever.” He lowers her shorts, taking her knickers down with them, leaning up on one elbow to reach down towards her feet. She bends first one knee than the other as he removes them from her feet. The he slides his hands up the sides of her body, pulling the camisole upwards. She lifts a bit and he gets it past her shoulders and up over her head. He tosses the garment across the room and his eyes fall upon her, drinking, feasting, wanting her.
“You still have clothes on,” she mumbles when he has spent more than a minute just staring at her body, bringing a rush of heat to her as he memorizes every curve, every line, every little scar or mark that graces her skin.
He looks down at himself surprised. “Well that won’t do at all, will it?” He says in such a low, throaty growl she shivers in anticipation. He kicks off his pajama bottoms and sends them flying towards the door with a fling of his foot. Naked skin presses against naked skin and she feels something hard and wonderful pressing into her thigh. She moves upwards in the bed and begins laying little kisses on his face. Bit by bit she moves across him, leaving tiny butterfly kisses against his skin.
He shivers. “What exactly are you doing, Rose?” he asks shakily.
“Playing connect the dots with your freckles,” she replies grinning against his skin.
“Ah,” he says. “Do you know how many freckles I have?”
“A lot. Could take a while.” She resumes her little kisses until she is convinced she’s covered every millimeter of his face. Then she slides down just enough to find his neck, her tongue reaching out to taste the Adam’s apple that has so tormented her with its frantic bobbing every time he speaks.
He whimpers and again she smiles against his skin, before working her way up to nibble on his ear, then back down across his shoulder, down the pectoral muscle and then to flick against the hard nub of his nipple. Her hand slides down the side of his body, across his hip, resting for a moment on his bum before sliding forward and taking his hard shaft in her fingers.
He groans. If it is possible, and it seems like it is, he hardens even more under her gentle ministrations. “Rose,” he says. “Rose.” He pushes her onto her back, his fingers sliding down her body and coming to rest on the insides of her thighs. Slowly he works down towards her knees and then back up towards the join of her thighs. Lightly, ever so lightly, he brushes his fingers across her softness, gently moving between the folds, seeking the slickness that means her body is ready for him. She could have told him she’s been ready from the first kiss.
Cautiously one finger slides inside her, reminding her almost of the first kiss as he tests the interior. Gently a second finger is inserted, joining the first one, carefully stretching her in preparation. “Are you ready?” he asks her, desire and a delicious warmth in his eyes.
“I think I’ve been ready since you first took my hand and said run,” she tells him passionately. His breath hitches and he locks onto her glittering eyes. He removes his fingers and raises himself over her body, his knees gently nudging her thighs apart and watching as they fall open, making a space for him.
Edging forward, she feels his manhood at the entrance to her body, feels the head press gently inside and then his sure steady slide forward and he sheathes himself within her. For a moment he does nothing else and she savors the feeling. She had thought it might be odd somehow, this transfer from friends to lovers but now she knows it will not be. There will be no awkwardness between them. It has always been about this. They’ve been running towards this moment since they met.
When he begins to move against her she raises and lowers her hips in accordance with his movements. The slow, steady progression of push and pull back, thrust and slide, in and out, is a pattern repeated over and over. On occasion Rose interrupts his rhythm by swirling her hips in a little circle that makes him whimper.
His stamina surprises her. She doesn’t know if that is a Time Lord thing or an age thing, or simply that he is doing his best to prolong their pleasure. Whatever it is, she glories in it. It feels as if he is worshipping her body in the simple motions, in, out, in, out. The weight of him against her, the way their bodies fit as well as their hands do, everything about it is so right.
Finally, finally the tempo changes between them and the Doctor’s thrusts became more forceful, driving towards a purpose now. Her eyes lock with his and she can tell by his expression that he wants desperately to come but is resisting it with all his might. She wonders why. What is he waiting for? And then it hits her. He is waiting for her. Oh. She wonders if she should tell him to go on, tell him that she doesn’t ever actually achieve orgasm during sex.
She opens her mouth but then he shifts his pelvis in such a way that it is rubbing against that tiny bundle of nerves. Her nipples harden and she feels heat rising in her groin and she thinks that maybe, just maybe she might actually go where she’s never gone before. She looks back up at his face, sees the intense concentration written across it, knows he is determined to hold on and she knows that she loves him more in that moment than she ever has before. That he cares that much that she receive ultimate pleasure during the act itself instead of later as an afterthought fills her with joy.
Faster and faster the Doctor thrusts into her body, and she is shocked to feel the heat building and focusing all on that little button as his pelvis grinds into her. And then she is rising, and rising, and rising, and rising until she hits the peak so hard that every muscle in her body begins to clench and she shakes and shakes as she contracts around him again and again and with a triumphant scream the Doctor lets loose, coming so hard against her she thinks he might never find his way back to sanity.
His body collapses atop her and she wraps her arms and legs tightly around his sweaty body, holding him to her, savoring his weight and knowing, simply knowing that this was what she’s been waiting for her whole life.
7. At a Distance
It has been so very, very long since he has seen her that at first he is uncertain as he hovers in the background. He stands behind a large plant, his eyes peeking through the branches as he studies her. She leans against the entrance to the gazebo, a champagne flute in one hand, but he hasn’t seen her sip it even once and he’s been watching for awhile. She carries it for show, her senses ever on alert.
He hears her laughter as her companion makes some kind of joke, but it rings hollow. He knows her laughter too well to believe in that shallow mirth she is projecting but not meaning. Her eyes scan the crowd. It seems a mindless habit and he isn’t sure she knows she does it. She never finds what she’s looking for; her eyes never alight on anyone. He hasn’t seen her truly smile all night. Not a smile that reaches to her eyes.
Her back is turned to him and he can see the soft falls of her hair, a more natural shade of dark blond now, as they curve against her shoulders and shoulder blades, reaching midway down her back. The dress she wears is red and skims her curves lightly, not clinging but still showing her body to perfection. His eyes drift down to the ground and take in the delicate arches of her feet inside the lovely strappy silver heels.
For a moment she turns her head again and searches, her eyes so lost it hurts his hearts. He thinks that maybe her heart still remembers him, maybe her eyes still search the crowds for him, maybe her real laugh and smile is saved for him. He takes a deep breath and steps out from behind the plant and makes his way towards the gazebo.
At first she doesn’t see him, doesn’t know that he’s watching her as he walks steadily towards her, his motions stealthy, almost like a stalking wild panther. She feels his steady gaze on her first and turns her head slightly in his direction. The moment she sees him the champagne flute falls from her hand unnoticed into the grass.
She takes one step forward, then two. Her eyes are wide and they tell him that she is afraid this isn’t real, that this is a hallucination, but she still moves towards him as if she is mesmerized by his very presence. The crowd stills, quiets around them, as if everyone is sensing that something monumental is about to occur.
The distance closes between them until they finally stop just an arm’s length apart. Her eyes search his face and her hand rises to touch it, hesitant, drawing back just a bit. “Are you real?” she asks as if she cannot believe her own senses.
“I’m real,” he assures her. The hand resumes its forward motion, touches his face and he moves into her touch, his eyes closing momentarily. But he cannot keep them closed for long because his eyes are starving for the sight of her; a sight too long denied him while they were trapped apart.
Her smile is slow to start but it takes over her entire countenance and then she is beaming and he returns the smile just as widely, his face aching with the use of muscles he’d forgotten he had. And they are laughing, deep joyous laughter and crying tears of happiness at the same time and then she is in his arms and they are holding each other so closely he can feel the heat of her body radiating against him.
He pulls back just a little from her and claims her mouth with his own and she opens for him, greedy in her desire to meet his tongue and tell him in something other than words just how much she has missed him. Again he pulls back, breaks the kiss and smiles at her. Then he sweeps her up into his arms and carries her out of the party to the hoots, hollers, cheers and laughter of the people gathered there.
He doesn’t care about them, just cares about the girl in his arms. He carries her hastily to the TARDIS who has opened her doors for him. He strides through the console room and down the corridor to his bedroom, what had been their bedroom, and places her gently on the bed.
“Rose Tyler,” he says, every emotion he has for this woman laid out clearly on his face, his heart completely unguarded, “I love you.”
“My Doctor,” she whispers, her eyes overflowing with emotion, no secrets hidden from this man, “I love you.” And as clothes dissolve and bodies join they know that love truly can do the impossible and that the word impossible will never have the same meaning for them again.
