In a moment of supreme smugness, Rose prepared herself for what she knew he would do next and was surprised once again when, instead of sliding his palm underneath the fabric, the Doctor continued to push at it until her left breast was completely bared., 8,146
A/N: my apologies in advance for the length :P
Her training has taught her to always be prepared – no matter what. So when his scream first shatters the stillness of the house like an air raid siren, Rose is out of bed and pulling her bedroom door open before she’s even properly awake. Heart thudding madly, she pads down the hallway to his room, dazed, eyes still half closed. She knows the mansion well in darkness, having taken more than one midnight stroll through its halls.
A door creaks open at the other end of the hall and when she turns, it’s to find her mother emerging in a pair of flannelette pyjamas, rubbing at her eyes. “Woss going on?” she stumbles a few steps towards her daughter. “Heard the Doctor yellin’. ’s he alright?”
“Go back to bed mum,” Rose says shortly, turning away from her. “I’ve got it.”
“If you say so...” Jackie is still mumbling to herself as she retreats, shutting her bedroom door with an audible click. In the sudden silence Rose comes up short outside his door but as she reaches for the doorknob she suddenly loses her nerve and instead presses her ear against the panelled wood to listen.
There’s nothing from within. Silence, thick and heavy swaddles the space between them like cotton wool and briefly she considers just turning around and tiptoeing back to bed. He’s probably just had a bad dream – nothing that he can’t handle on his own. He’s had them before back when she travelled with him (rarely, but they did happen) and doubtless he’s had them since he lost her and after all, he’s over nine hundred years old and he doesn’t need her mothering him.
But, she argues back to herself, he’s also just over a day and a half old, and what with being human now he’s a lot more vulnerable to his emotions than he ever has been before. And it’s not like he’s accustomed to asking for help – he’s got too much pride for that. And leaving him alone when she’d heard him screaming out like that would just be plain cowardly and selfish and...
Taking in a shaky breath, Rose shuts her eyes tight as she turns the doorknob.
It opens soundlessly and as she steps over the threshold she opens her eyes to the room that had once upon a time been Mickey’s. Despite his constant protestations that it was too grand for him, Rose thinks that he rather grew to like it in the end. It’s just as she remembers it from all her visits – spacious and comfortably furnished with antique mahogany pieces, luxurious burgundy velvet drapes parted just-so to let the moonlight shine in.
Rose has many memories of this room – the window seat where she’d sat with Mickey and they’d looked out at the familiar (and not so familiar) constellations together, the adjoining study with its massive roll top desk littered with mugs of coffee and all manner of Torchwood paraphernalia, the picture of the two of them that he unashamedly displayed on his bedside table...
His things are all gone now, taken over by a yawning expanse of empty personal space and by the fragile presence of the human Doctor who is sitting up in the bed, pale in the silver-blue light that’s spilling through the window. He’s bent over his knees with his head in his hands, still and silent. The borrowed pyjamas that he’s wearing are far too big, they swamp his slender frame and hang loose around his thin wrists.
Rose pauses for a moment to just observe the scene before her, skin tingling with goosebumps. This room – so rich with colour during daylight hours – always looks dark and sterile in the cold blue light of the moon. The scene itself feels awkward, almost staged. Somehow it just doesn’t seem real that she’s here looking at her Doctor, so small and sad and lost in this huge room and a half empty bed.
“Doctor?” she whispers breathily. He doesn’t hear her so she says it a little louder, her voice croaking awkwardly with nerves.
His head snaps up, obviously startled to discover that he’s not alone, and she sees the wetness on his cheeks before he can try to hide it.
“Rose?” he whispers back. His face crumples slightly and her heart tightens in her chest like someone setting to a loose bolt with a wrench. She’s never really seen him cry before and she isn’t anywhere near prepared for the flood of emotion that threatens to overspill her heart and pour from her mouth, her eyes...
“I heard...” she begins faintly before she loses her voice completely and has to clear her throat before she starts again. “I heard you calling.”
He shifts uncomfortably at the implications of her words. The unsaid leaves no chance for him to doubt that she heard him screaming.
“And...” she continues awkwardly as his eyes drop from hers in embarrassment. “Well I just wanted to...I mean...” she breathes in shakily and then lets her final words escape her in a flurry of concerned air. “Are you alright?”
He smiles tightly at her. Says “Oh I’m fine.” And it’s so automatic, so him that she has to physically bite her lip to catch herself before she blurts out something that she’s going to regret.
“D’you...wanna talk?” she offers slowly, already knowing that he’ll refuse.
“Just a dream.” he says dismissively and runs his hands over his face. She notices that they’re trembling slightly. “I haven’t dreamt in a long time. Although, I haven’t really slept properly in years, s’pose that has something to do with it. Time Lord’s don’t really need...”
He trails off awkwardly and Rose doesn’t say anything, merely hovers in the doorway. Presently the Doctor – the human Doctor – drops his gaze again. His hands are still trembling slightly in his lap.
“Didn’t sound like just any dream,” she offers finally, lamely into the silence.
“Nah,” he says, dismissive. “I’m fine. Forgotten what it was about now anyway. Funny how that happens isn’t it – how a dream can be in your head one second and gone the next? Did I ever tell you about the time I went to J’kewmchild – that’s on the planet Pol – and they had this fantastic hallucination machine. Even fooled me. Well almost. Wellll I say almost...”
“Doctor.” Rose interrupts him warningly before he gets any more carried away.
“Oh really.” he peers over the collar of his too-big pyjamas and blinks owlishly at her. Like somehow if he keeps on pretending then he really will be fine. Like she didn’t hear him screaming or see the tears on his face and his trembling fingers. “I’m fine. You should go back to bed. You’ll have a big day tomorrow no doubt. A real hum dinger of a day all lined up. Am I right?”
Slowly and deliberately, Rose turns, shuts the door and then crosses the room to sit on the corner of the bed – the one furthest away from him.
“You were screamin’ Doctor,” she manages and then stops herself abruptly before she loses it. She can see all too clearly from the look in his eyes that he’s teetering on the edge. He’s lost control of his own self and the situation like he never has before and Rose is more than a little overwhelmed by it. She’s not used to him being like this.
He regards her silently for a moment and then sighs heavily and shuts his eyes. She responds by taking a deep, steadying breath.
“What’d you dream about?” she asks, glad that her voice isn’t wobbling anymore.
“Doesn’t matter.” he mumbles.
“So you do remember what it was about then?” she says accusingly and his eyes pop open again.
“It doesn’t matter.” he snaps. “Just go back to bed Rose.”
“No.” she says stubbornly.
“Well I’m going back to sleep.” he huffs and then rolls away from her so that she can’t see his face.
“Doctor...” she almost rolls her eyes as he starts to snore as loud as he can. “God you’re worse than Tony. Would you stop acting like a kid and just talk to me?”
He continues to snore and now she really does roll her eyes as she stands and comes around the bed to kneel beside him.
He snores even louder, trying to block her out. In frustration she reaches out and places her palm against his cheek, threading her fingers into the wild tangle of his hair. He stiffens at her touch but the snoring stops instantly. Encouraged, she brushes the pad of her thumb across his cheek once, twice and then moves to gently take his right hand in both of hers. After several minutes of her kneeling there holding his hand, the Doctors eyes crack open the tiniest amount and he peers at her.
“You’re stubborn.” he tells her.
“You’re insufferable.” she returns.
“Well there’s just no arguing with you tonight is there?” the Doctor says, exasperated.
“Not when you wake up half the bleedin’ house screaming blue murder!” Rose bites back at him, similarly exasperated.
They fall into an angry, glaring silence. Rose’s feet go numb with the cold, then her calves, then the rest of her legs, spreading all the way up the trunk of her body until she begins to shiver.
“You’re getting cold.” the Doctor murmurs, brow furrowing in concern.
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m fine.” Rose mocks and the Doctor rolls his eyes before directing his attention to their joined hands.
He thumbs the soft skin on the back of her hand for a moment but it takes a while before he catches her gaze again.
“Are you really going to stay here until I tell you what I dreamt about?” he asks and she’s certain that what she’s seeing in his eyes is wonder.
“No.” She admits. “I’m gonna stay here ’til you get some sleep.”
“And you really think that I’m going to be able to sleep with you shivering away like that?” he scoffs when she shrugs but then his expression softens. “You’ll get sick.”
He almost laughs but stops himself, considers her briefly and then nods toward the empty side of his bed.
“Well if you’re going to stay then you’d better get in before you freeze.”
Rose stares at the empty half of the bed and a sudden terror clamps down on her as she considers the implications of sharing a bed with him so soon, so fast. This man is not a Time Lord with the physical restraint of the most prudish saint – he’s human. And judging by their kiss back in Norway she’s not so sure that she really wants to test the physical boundaries of their relationship so early on in the piece.
Not that it would be so terrible if they did do something together. In bed. She’s always fancied him after all, even when he was older and had ears big enough to rival Dumbo the elephant. But to sleep with this Doctor – this double or clone or metacrisis or whatever the hell he is – whether literally or figuratively so soon after...after...
“Loan us one of your blankets?” she blurts.
There’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes but he manages to extricate one of the many layers of the elaborate bedding for her without too much trouble. Rose determinedly drags an armchair from across the room to the side of his bed and upon her return the Doctor wordlessly hands her the blanket along with a pillow and Rose curls herself up in the chair before reaching out tentatively for his hand.
He takes it, his palm slightly cool against hers and in the dim light they catch each other’s gaze.
“Comfy?” he asks, an edge to his voice.
“Yeah.” she mumbles, glad he can’t see the heat rising in her cheeks. “Night.”
He doesn’t respond, merely blinks at her until his eyes fall shut of their own volition.
Rose doesn’t sleep that night, just watches him and prays that he doesn’t wake up screaming again.
Their linked hands create a fragile bridge between them.
They don’t speak of that first night for several weeks. The Doctor flat out refuses to tell Rose what he dreamt about and instead of sleeping at night he takes to napping at odd hours during the day and wiling away the dark hours of nightmares and shadows by staying up and reading.
Too soon though, he’s read every book in the mansion, including Jackie’s plethora of romance novels (much to the household’s general bemusement) and so he begins pestering Pete to let him at some of the alien technology that Torchwood has amassed. Despite his refusal to officially work for them, the Doctor is quite happy to identify and tinker with Torchwoods property – especially since he’s not-so-secretly working on some sort of crude sonic device and he’s depressingly low on parts.
Luckily Pete doesn’t really care what the Doctor pinches from Torchwood as long as he’s kept busy with something that doesn’t involve him making ‘improvements’ to the appliances in the kitchen. Or the laundry. Or anywhere else in the house for that matter.
But of course the day comes when the Doctor begins to tire of sorting endlessly through space junk and he surprises everyone by padding out of his bedroom in his barely used pyjamas to bid them all a good night. Those said he skitters back inside and shuts the door sternly, as if to prove to it that he is absolutelynotgoingtoallowhimselftohavean
Its past midnight when Rose hears him crying out – a series of short, sharp screams that jolt her like she’s being electrocuted. This time she doesn’t even hesitate in opening his door, she merely hurries inside quietly and sets the mug of chamomile tea she’d been bringing back to her own room down on the bedside table.
She’s not had a decent night’s sleep in years either.
By the time she reaches him he’s stopped screaming but is all but howling into the pillow, long fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically, his body wracked with sobs. He doesn’t hear her when she calls his name, doesn’t even register that she’s come into his room at all until she scrambles onto the bed behind him and gingerly touches his shoulder.
He jerks wildly at the suddenness of her touch and lashes out unthinkingly, knocking a clumsy blow against her shoulder.
“Hey!” she says sharply and once he’s realised who it is he’s been attacking, a desperate hand flies back to grip hers where it touches his shoulder. His body continues to shudder as he struggles to calm himself and she just squeezes his hand back helplessly.
“Shh.” she hushes him softly because she honestly can’t think of anything to say that could possibly make him stop. “Shh shh...”
“Rose!” he manages to gasp out, his hand cold and clammy and tight on hers. “Oh...oh Rose...”
She doesn’t even bother asking him what his dream was about this time – he’s in too much of a state, body still shuddering and juddering and jerking with sobs – and she’s too tired to try and coax him into telling her. Instead she goes to take her hand from his grip, to stroke his hair maybe, but he cries out in a wordless plea, redoubles his grip, and she freezes.
“S’alright.” she murmurs, feeling slightly ridiculous as she squeezes his hand gently. “M’here. I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
He nods but won’t let go of her hand. He doesn’t stop trembling for a long time but when he does he loosens his hold a little and the blood begins to flow back into her fingers. A little.
“D’you want me to stay here ’til you fall asleep?” she murmurs, strokes the nape of his neck with the hand he isn’t still strangling.
He’s silent and still and she waits for over a minute with no reply before she tries again.
“D’you...d’you just want me to stay?”
And there it is – the slightest pressure on her hand.
Sighing, Rose gives in and – still holding his hand – she slides beneath the covers with him.
The sheets seem to whisper as she carefully snugs her body up behind his, the fabric of his new cotton pyjamas smooth against the soft fuzz of her usual flannelette. As she settles in he finally relaxes his grip on her hand and she puts her arm carefully around his waist (where else can she put it?) holding him safe against her. He’s taller than she is and it’s a little awkward spooning him but he seems happier now that she’s here and holding him.
“Better?” she breathes, her chin on his shoulder and he nods as his body melts into hers with alarming ease.
This is an altogether new kind of intimacy for them – a sustained embrace beneath sheets, body pressed against body and warm breath against neck. Rose is pressed so close to him that she can feel his shoulder blades pressing against her breasts. The wrench is at work in her chest again too, tightening her up, winding her like a coiled wire. The Doctor, in contrast, seems to unravel in her embrace and his breathing slowly deepens.
When she whispers his name and he doesn’t respond she realises, dumbfounded, that he’s actually gone and fallen asleep on her. The temperature under the blankets begins to increase with their combined body heat and briefly she considers leaving, going back to her own room. Now that he’s asleep again he should be fine and really she’s not entirely comfortable with this. But he’s warm and he’s here and she’ll be damned if she pretends like she’s never dreamt about being able to hold him like this.
Considering her situation, Rose props herself up on her elbow and as she does so she captures his face in profile and it’s enough to give her pause.
Freckles aside, his face is deathly pale which throws the dark shadows beneath his eyes into sharp relief. His lips are parted slightly and there’s a strange sense of vulnerability in both this and the worry lines that are folded into the skin of his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.
He looks...beautiful she surprises herself by thinking. Beautiful and sad and she’s so captured by him that she can’t help but brush her fingers against his cheek, her breathing growing shallow. She’s never seen him like this before – never. It’s both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She discovers that the skin on his face is quite cool despite the warmth of the rest of him and she strokes gently until the lines on his forehead relax into submission. Only then does she lie down and settle in to sleep.
In the morning she wakes up spooning nothing but empty blankets and air but when she seeks him out to demand that he tell her about his dreams she finds him smiling and gathering her into an impromptu hug in greeting. He’s found a vital component of some kind amongst all the space junk and he’s so close to finishing the base of his sonic that he’s absolutely giddy with delight.
“Do you think.” he says very seriously when he’s finished hugging her. “That we can go downstairs and have jam on toast? For breakfast. With tea.”
Rose promises him just that and by the time Jackie has finished screaming at him for sticking his fingers into every jar in the pantry and Rose has smoothed everything over between the two of them and organised the toast and tea she’s forgotten all about being upset with him.
That night it’s him who comes to her. Unfortunately, due to a rather large amount of self defence training, Rose nearly knocks him out when he wakes her up.
“Whozzat?” she demands fuzzily as he ducks her flailing hands. “Oh...sorry.”
“It’s alright.” he says, still eying her warily, no doubt in case she tries to hit him again. “I was wondering...can I...?”
Rose waits as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, gesturing helplessly at the bed.
“What?” she asks, knowing damn well what but wanting him to just spit it out.
“Can I...can I...” he gestures again, hopefully now. “With you? Please?”
“What, sleep in here?” Rose guesses.
“Yes. Well.” His eyes dart away from hers as he speaks and he pushes one hand into the pocket of his dressing gown, rocking on the balls of his feet. His other hand creeps up his neck and into his hair and she aches with familiarity. “It’s just I can’t seem to fall sleep. By myself. And I was wondering...it’s just that I slept so well last night with you and I was hoping that maybe we could...that maybe I could...”
Rolling her eyes, Rose pulls her covers back abruptly, the invitation clear. The Doctor slams his mouth shut and offers her a slightly sheepish smile. After shrugging his dressing gown from his shoulders and toeing out of his slippers, he clambers on in and snuggles down. He ends up knee to knee with Rose, their fingertips barely touching somewhere in the space between them.
They lie there, awake and not looking at each other, until Rose finally decides to speak.
“You’re still quite cold.” she tells him in a whisper, her fingertips stroking the back of his hand. “I mean, not cold, just cool. Kind of like how you were...you know...before.”
“Still part Time Lord.” he shrugs and then changes the subject abruptly. “D’you mind if I...?”
He shuffles a little closer and Rose jumps when she feels his fingers come to rest lightly on her waist. Even through the thick flannelette of her pyjamas she can feel the press of each individual digit, the warmth of him seeping through. He pauses at her reaction and she can sense his uncertainty.
“Is this...is this alright?” he whispers and she surprises herself by choking back any protestation her brain might have been yammering at her.
“S’fine.” she tells him and his fingers slowly begin to worry the hem of her shirt. He continues to do this for a while before his hand slips – as though by accident – underneath the fabric and onto her skin. She chokes on a moan at the feel of his skin against hers and then instantly begins a struggle to control herself as he strokes a collection of spirals onto her side with just his middle finger.
It’s probably meant to be soothing but unfortunately it’s having the opposite effect with Rose feeling as tense and tightly coiled as if she were about to face down some terrible alien foe. His touch feels like electricity, her skin reacting in a way that is far too sensitive for what it is that he’s actually doing.
After a time he pauses and she breathes an internal sigh of relief before he decides to change the path of his fingertips – this time stroking short, lazy lines back and forth along the dip of her waist. Rose’s mouth turns into a desert and she has to force herself to swallow, amazed at how sensitive the sides of her tongue feel against her teeth and how short her breath is becoming.
Opening her eyes she sees that his are closed, his face serene. God she wants to kiss him. She shuts her eyes again quickly and tries to slow her breathing, to relax under his continued ministrations. Unfortunately, even as she tries to settle herself more comfortably she finds herself pressing her legs together, surprising herself with just how good the pressure feels. She bites her lower lip and breathes out carefully, doing her best to stop it from hitching.
This is ridiculous. A touch like this shouldn’t be turning her on so much – her waist is hardly a zone that she’d call erogenous. But somehow he has her so worked up that she’s actually holding her breath to stop herself from gasping out loud.
Biting her lip even harder she takes a quick breath and tries once more to relax but to no avail. Meanwhile, the Doctor’s ministrations slow and then still altogether. He lays his hand – flat palmed – against her side and softens easily into sleep.
She’s actually jealous of him then, but not for long. His fingers begin twitching – like he’s piloting the TARDIS in his sleep maybe – and it makes her jump, sending the electricity from his touch straight into the depths of her belly. When she’s certain that he won’t wake up, she slowly and desperately removes his hand from her waist and then scoots back and rolls over away from him.
She wakes within minutes to a frightened cry and desperately searching hands that find her and hold on for grim death. Once he’s calmed down and she’s facing him once again she asks him what his dream was about.
“Whu-?” he says eloquently.
“Your dream.” she says patiently. He frowns through the darkness and she waits, wondering if he might finally...
“Rose...” he says, confused. “I didn’t have a dream. I wasn’t far enough under to dream properly...”
Rose’s heart drops and she huffs as she goes to roll over, away from him. His voice stops her however, quiet and bleak and embarrassed.
“I started waking up and I couldn’t feel you next to me and I just...well I panicked.”
And just like that Rose finds herself kissing him.
He gasps into her mouth, shock quickly dissolving into ardour. He quickly matches her enthusiasm, groaning a little as she pushes her body up against his. For a while there are hands scrambling desperately at cheeks, shoulders, arms as they open their mouths frantically to each other and in time they pause for breath, both panting slightly.
“Well!” he manages. “That was...”
“Yeah.” Rose breathes in answer and for a long time they just hold each other in the darkness before they fall asleep.
The next morning Rose kisses him on the cheek as she leaves for work like she usually does. Instead of rushing off like usual however, she hesitates and then darts in to touch her lips delicately to his as well, prompting a pair of raised eyebrows from Jackie who is trying to coax Tony into eating his cereal.
After Rose has left he sees Jackie’s expression and flushes a radiant shade of crimson.
“What?” he demands.
“Didn’t say anything.” Jackie says innocently, taking a sip of her tea.
“Your face said it all.” He mutters and Jackie purses her lips and narrows her eyes at him.
“You know I think you’ve actually gotten ruder?” she comments.
“Oh probably.” he grumbles. “You haven’t changed a bit though. Still a busybody.”
It isn’t until after she’s smacked him quite viciously across the head with a rolled up magazine that he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have been rude to Jackie of all people. She always had been a bit tetchy towards him.
After three days of him sneaking into her bed every night and touching her with those maddening hands of his before he fell asleep draped all over her, Rose finally decided to give the Doctor something to think about. After her shower she swapped her usual flannelette pyjamas for a simple satin nightdress that her mother had bought her and that she’d never really had cause to wear. After an inordinate amount of time spent dithering and trying not to chicken out of diving back into the safety of her trusty old flannies, she jumped into bed with a book and waited.
When the door cracked open she didn’t look up. As was their routine, the Doctor made a beeline to the bed and shrugged out of his dressing gown. “What’re you reading?” he asked conversationally before clambering in with her.
“Isabel Allende.” Rose flashed him the cover briefly. “It’s about Zorro.”
“Ooh the man with the big Z’s? He was quite the buckler of swashes so I’ve heard – not that I haven’t swashed my own fair share of buckles in my time eh? I wonder where that term came from...swash buckling. It sounds like some sort of disease. You know I didn’t see this book in the library...” he tugged at the book until he could read the blurb. “...back when I read every book in the house. That’s weird. Why didn’t I see this book? It’s got quite a colourful cover, you’d think I’d have remembered reading it if...”
“That’s cos it wasn’t in the library.” Rose interrupted him and tugged it back into her own possession. “I borrowed it from a friend at work.”
The Doctor looked inordinately amused at this. “Since when do Torchwood employees swap book recommendations? Ooh do they have a book club? Who’re their top ten authors eh? H.G. Wells, Douglas Adams, K.A. Applegate?” Rose rolled her eyes at him and he grinned. “Go on then, can I read it after you?”
“I’ll have to ask Marion if it’s alright first.”
“Tell her I’m a committed bibliophile.” the Doctor yawned, pulling the covers up to his chin. “I’ll take very good care of her book about Zorro.”
“It was a joke.” Rose told him as though he were thick – which of course he very often was. “Of course you can read it.”
“Oh.” he blinked and then grinned. “Brilliant. You know what I should do? I should go to a bookshop and buy some new books for the library. Or old books. I’ve always loved second hand book shops, they smell lovely – all dusty and papery. Not too keen on the smell of glue though – boiled down animals hooves – eurgh. D’you think your mother would mind if I bought some new-old books for the library? It’s not like she ever reads anything except those horrible Mills and Boons things. Of all the books that would still exist in a parallel universe eh? Although I did like that one where...”
He continued on in this vein for quite some time before Rose finally gave up on reading any more of her own book and resignedly turned out the light.
“Oh.” he said. “Night Rose.”
“Night Doctor.” she returned, leaning across to kiss him delicately before settling down beside him under the covers.
As expected he rolled onto his side towards her and reached to place his hand on her waist, pausing slightly when he touched the unfamiliar fabric.
“Oh.” He said, surprised but not displeased. He rubbed the fine fabric between his fingertips and then smoothed it down flat against her belly. “This new?”
Rose hummed in affirmation. “I’ve never worn it before. Like it?”
“Hmm...” he hummed behind his teeth as his fingers continued to alternatively worry and smooth out the fabric. “It’s quite...delightful.”
Despite herself, Rose blushed in the dark and then caught her breath as his hand dipped lower, slowing cautiously as he discovered that she wasn’t wearing a top with pyjama bottoms like usual, but rather a nightdress that had left her legs altogether quite bare.
There was a long moment where he ghosted his fingers along the hem of the dress and then she felt his hand flush against her hip and Rose shivered deliciously as he ran the flat of his hand slowly down the side of her thigh and then back up again. Suddenly, the dress was hitched up and then his hand began to move daringly from waist to hip to thigh in broad, possessive strokes.
Rose swallowed and bit her lip and tried not to let herself get too carried away but his fingers had a way of trailing along her skin in just the right way to make her squirm. She didn’t even realise how aroused she was until he reached just a little further over her hip and grazed his fingertips over the crotch of her knickers before pressing lightly against the fabric.
“Oh!” she gasped at the feel of the suddenly damp cotton, only just realising how wet she’d gotten. Her hips bucked slightly and the Doctors hand flew away from her as though he’d done something wrong.
“S’alright.” she insisted breathily and opened her eyes to his. He looked uncertain, tongue darting out against his lips and Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Really.” she told him.
He gazed at her a moment, brown eyes black in the gloom and what he said next surprised her.
“Can I...try something?”
She blinked but then nodded, curious. The Doctor put his lips against her ear and Rose shivered as he whispered to her.
Obediently she rolled onto her back, her legs awkwardly straight beneath the blankets, hands clasped and resting on her stomach. The Doctor shuffled closer, still on his side, watching her with dark, careful eyes.
After a long moment of anticipation, he dipped his head to kiss her. His lips were soft and undemanding against hers and she sighed winsomely until there was the feel of his hands pushing the blankets down to expose her shoulders. She barely had time to wonder before his hand was slipping underneath the fine strap of her nightdress and easing it over her shoulder.
In a moment of supreme smugness, Rose prepared herself for what she knew he would do next and was surprised once again when, instead of sliding his palm underneath the fabric, the Doctor continued to push at it until her left breast was completely bared. His middle finger then began to dance circles around her rapidly hardening nipple.
Of the few men that she had been with, Rose Tyler had always been acutely aware that they were usually more interested in her breasts as a whole. They liked to look at them, to cup them in their palms, to squeeze them as if they could somehow own them. Generally they didn’t even bother all that much with the nipples or the delicate skin on the underside of them.
And with that thought she almost stopped breathing because the circles the Doctor had been administering to her nipple had grown into a spiral that was now tracing the sensitive outer curves of her breast and it was just divine...
She exhaled shakily, slowly becoming aware of his nose and lips nudging at her neck, the side of her face. How long had he been kissing her for? Turning her face to him she affected a demanding kiss that he almost immediately made her soften. Frustrated that he didn’t seem to be sharing her apparent enthusiasm, she let one hand trail down between her legs but quick as a flash he stopped her and she let out the most amazing keening noise.
“No, no, no.” he told her, taking her hand gently away. “Let me.”
She felt him crook his fingers gently and then he began to stroke her through her knickers using not the pads of his fingers but the other side. The unexpected sensation, the edge of his fingernails against her sensitised skin – even through fabric – as well as the speed of his ministrations had her swallowing like a mad thing within seconds.
When he touched his tongue to her earlobe however she nearly went completely through the roof.
“God, god, god.” she groaned quietly as her hips bucked suddenly. “Oh...help...”
He didn’t say anything, uncharacteristically, but he took his mouth from her ear and instead focused on what his hand was doing, all while watching Rose as she touched herself in much the same way as he had earlier. Her nipple had softened slightly but it went hard again very quickly at her touch and she thrummed it between her fingertips briefly before squeezing the soft flesh around it.
When his hand disappeared from between her legs she protested instantly but the Doctor kissed her into silence and then worked on pushing the blankets down further. Once he was pleased with the circumstances again, he aligned his body with hers and smoothed his palm slowly over her stomach before sliding his long hand beneath the waistband of her knickers, pausing for a moment until he heard Rose’s breath hitch before pressing his fingers lower.
Rose groaned in earnest as he finally touched her, warm and slick and soft beneath his fingertips.
“Oh yes.” he said softly, sounding quite pleased with himself and more than a little bit smug. “Oh now this is quite excellent.”
“More.” she begged suddenly, almost panting and he looked at her in surprise. “P-please...just touch me.”
He looked surprised a moment longer and then a crafty grin grew on his face. “You mean like this?”
Again he was only using one finger, but every slow slide of his hand against her was making her shudder with the kind of pleasure Rose hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Is it nice?” he wanted to know, his voice rough and somewhat harried at her ear. “The way I’m touching you? Is it...pleasurable?” the last word rolled over his tongue deliciously and her hips bucked up with a suddenness that surprised both of them. “Oh it is.” he said joyously and began circling her clit with his thumb, even as he continued the long slow slide of his other finger against her.
She did her best to relax into a climax but Rose’s body seemed to have other ideas. Having forgone this kind of physical intimacy with another person in a long (long, long) time, she was shocked at just how easily her body was responding to the Doctor’s attentions. Her fingers and toes had actually gone out in pins and needles and they were spreading slowly up into her limbs.
Sex hadn’t felt this intense since her first clumsy efforts with Jimmy Stone back when she was in her teens. But now with the Doctor’s fingers moving against her and his lips breathless against her ear, she began to realise that she was so overwhelmed with sensation that she seemed to have forgotten how to have an orgasm.
“S-stop!” she gasped, the pressure against her clit suddenly unbearable and he pulled his fingers away instantly.
“Am I hurting you?” he breathed anxiously, recoiling from her as though ready to bolt. “I didn’t mean...I thought that...”
“No.” Rose said quickly. “No, no you didn’t hurt me. S’just...”
He waited patiently as she tried to put the experience into words and then she pulled his face down to hers for a quick kiss.
“That was so good it was unbearable.”
A Cheshire grin spread across his face like lightning.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” she demanded. “If I’d known that you could do that then I would’ve jumped you when we were travelling together!”
He actually blushed, pleased. “Would you believe me if I said that I’ve just got very good instincts about...well. That?”
Thinking back on all the compromising situations they’d found themselves in during their travels that had led to nothing Rose had to raise an eyebrow. “No.”
“Fair enough.” he put his arm around her waist, slippery fingers resting against her hip. “Well you know how I read all the books in the library a while back?”
“And everyone laughed at me for reading Jackie’s romance novels?”
“Yeah but what does-oh. Oh.”
“Oh yes.” he said smugly. “They were very informative,”
“You’re seducing me with Mills and Boon techniques?” she asked incredulously.
“Is it working?”
“That’s what I thought.” the Doctor continued on in the same smug tone and then bought his hand from her hip and up to his mouth, making sure she could see him. “D’you mind if I...?”
Rose shook her head, nonplussed, and then nearly choked when he began to lick each digit clean in turn.
“You know you taste divine Rose Tyler.” he told her with a wicked smile. Rose squeaked but once he had finished cleaning himself up he settled down on the pillows and curled into her like a cat. “Time to sleep I think.”
Rose didn’t ever tell him, but after that finale to his rather spectacular performance on her, she was so wound up that she didn’t sleep a wink.
He didn’t seem to tire of touching her and Rose was loathe to refuse him. After three nights of experimentation, he finally got it all just right and Rose gave him the fright of his newly human life when she bit down on her own hand to muffle her cries as she came.
As far as they seemed to be progressing physically, their relationship as a whole was anything but sturdy. The time they spent together outside of the bedroom was usually filled with arguments or awkwardness, as well as a large amount of just plain confusion. Rare moments of laughter regularly segued into melancholy or – worse – bitter fights.
And of course there was the fact Rose couldn’t bring herself to touch him – even when they were in bed. He hadn’t said anything about it but she was certain that he had noticed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to – it was simply that she was terrified. Letting him touch her was one thing but if she let herself properly reciprocate...she knew where it would lead and she didn’t feel quite ready. Yet.
It took her almost a fortnight after the first time he had touched her before she worked up the nerve to reach out to him. As was their routine, he had begun to stroke her skin with his long fingers, covering her lips with soft, messy kisses and entangling their legs together. When he reached down to pull her leg over the top of his hip however, Rose stilled him and then worked a hand quickly down between them, pushing it underneath the elastic waistband of his pyjamas and...
This time it was his turn to tense underneath her touch. His breathing grew choppy for a moment before steadying and he licked his lips. They were so close that his tongue touched her lips as well as his own. Rose took a deep breath and then let it out into his mouth as she kissed him, moving her hand ever so slightly against him.
“Rose.” he breathed out anxiously as she cautiously set to a rhythm. “Nghfff...”
Her own breathing was shallowing now, excitement coiling in the pit of her stomach at the strangled sounds he was eliciting at her touch. She kept her rhythm steady and familiar, feeling him thicken and grow harder against her palm as she watched his dark eyelashes flutter in the pale light from the window, his mouth slightly ajar.
“D’you...” she whispered, feeling silly, then tried again. She’d never really gone in for the whole ‘talking during sex’ thing but for some reason she felt like she should be talking to him now. “D’you like it?”
A tiny thrill went through her at his affirmation and she refocused her grip slightly before bending her forehead to touch his.
“D’you want me to keep doing this?” she wanted to know.
“Yes.” He said breathlessly, beginning to pant. “Just like that.”
“Cos you know,” she said softly. “I could always put my mouth on you instead...”
“Ahh!” the Doctor’s hips bucked off the bed at this suggestion and he moaned earnestly.
Suddenly feeling slightly frantic, Rose rolled him onto his back and eased the elasticised waistband of his pyjamas up and over him.
After a moment he finally seemed to gather his wits enough to realise that she wasn’t doing anything and the Doctor cracked open his eyes a slit. Rose was staring openly at the lower half of him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and frankly he was more than a little worried at being so exposed with her staring at him like that.
“Rose?” he said anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She said hoarsely before looking up and caught his eye. “Just...you’re gorgeous.” She rested her palms on his thighs. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
He couldn’t help it – he blushed his relief and then beckoned her up for a kiss. Rose gratefully accepted it, using the time productively to undo the buttons on his shirt. When he pressed her hips gently down against his she moaned quietly through gritted teeth and he touched her hair reassuringly.
“Go on.” he said softly and Rose bit her lip and moved back so she could wriggle out of her knickers. When she returned she settled over his lap and then, eyes on his, she reached between them and took him inside her by the smallest amount.
They paused there to breath for just a moment, both shaking slightly, and then with a slight shift of her hips, Rose sank slowly down onto him, gasping sharply at the pulling and stretching of muscles tight from misuse. She moaned aloud when she couldn’t go any lower and the Doctor panted beneath her, hands fluttering at her hips as though wanting her to move but unable to articulate just how. She took the cue anyway, carefully rocking her weight against his slender frame and crying out softly at the sensation.
Of all the times she’d imagined it, she’d never thought it would feel so damn good.
It felt like home, like love, like he was filling her up entirely, filling up the cold emptiness that had settled into her like a decaying organ so many years ago – when she’d lost him. When the Time Lord had run out of time and she’d vowed then and there to find a way back to him because if he loved her back (and she was beyond certain that he’d been about to tell her just that) if he really loved her back the way that she loved him then...then...
She realises, latently, that she’s sobbing even as she fucks him, as she makes love to this man, her lover, who loves her but is not the same (he is not the same because he said he loved her), this man who is so much the same and who she both loves and despises because of it (because he can say that he loves her).
“I loved him,” she sobs out, still rocking against him and her hand finds her clit, the pleasure an agony as she gasps for air, barely breathing. “I l-loved...I love...”
“Rose...” he reaches to touch her and she knocks his hand away, grinds frantically against him, keening and arching.
“Please...please...I need...please let me...”
He reaches for her again, plucks her hand from between her legs and touches her face with the other as best he can when it’s close and far as it is, as she moves, as she fucks him, as she makes love to him.
“Rose,” he says and his voice is crystalline. “Rose stop.”
She does, panting and sobbing with the loss as he lifts her gently off him and cradles her against his chest like a child.
“Rose Tyler,” he sighs and he strokes her skin gently as she sobs. “And here I was feeling guilty that you’ve been putting yourself out for me with all these bad dreams I’ve been having and then you go and have a meltdown on me.”
“S-sorry.” She hiccups.
He shushes her and kisses her forehead. “Don’t be.”
“B-but I’ve been so s-selfish.” She admits, more to herself than him. He chuckles softly and kisses her again.
“What, you think I’ve never been the selfish one in this relationship?”
“I’ve b-b-been a selfish l-lover.”
“I suppose so. But so was I, once upon a time. I wouldn’t even kiss you, wouldn’t tell you what you meant to me. Would I?” Rose stills as he speaks, sniffs and listens closely. “And it was only because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. I never thought about whether it was making you unhappy, us being the way we were, me holding back all the time. I just assumed that if you didn’t like it then you’d tell me.
“But you were unhappy, weren’t you? Deep down you wanted more – even if you never went through with it because you knew I’d never let you. Because you knew as well as I did that I’d never be able to give you what you wanted. So we pretended, the both of us. Pretended we didn’t want it, danced around like a pair of fools until it was too late and then it was all regret, regret, regrets...”
“D’you regret it?” Rose interjected. “Staying here?”
Instead of blurting out an answer, he considered the question carefully before answering.
“I guess...yeah sometimes I wish I’d clung onto the TARDIS and refused to let him leave us behind. But,” his lip curved against her temple and his arms tightened around her as he whispered. “This life has certainly had its moments so far.”