Meeting in a hotel room upstairs from the Vitex fundraiser, Rose and the Doctor struggle for control. 2,925 w.
A/N: Written by psyfi_geekgirl & thenakedcupcake ,
The much-requested sequel to Getting Off On Hold!
After his knocking, Rose hardly has time to close and lock the hotel room door before he’s pulling her backwards into him. A surprised squeak falls from her lips as she feels his tongue on the back of her neck, licking into her hair as he curls into her. Whispering scratchy secrets of lust and longing, the crepe of her dress rustles as his fingers knead into her stomach, her breasts. His lips, hot and desperate for hers, are on her inflamed cheeks; she hears the low, enticing voice of the new Doctor—this voice she had only heard on the phone—now close, thick and ragged—velveteen lust…
“Rose Tyler, I’m going to shag you rotten.”
She’d giggle if she weren’t so desperate for him to touch her and she thrills at the moisture that oozes unbidden into the hollow of her thighs. Lowering her eyes to watch his lips, she rubs her legs together slowly, in delicious anticipation of the Doctor’s hands on her, in her.
He grabs her arm and in two swift moves pushes her into the door, pinning her arms over her head, covering her with his body, with his mouth, with his scent. Holding her still with one hand, his other snakes down her body, pausing to knead at her breasts and her belly before his hand slithers under the hemline of her dress.
“Naughty girl,” he growls into her mouth, feeling her knickerless arse. She groans as she feels the hard evidence of his need press into her thighs and she wriggles to position herself where she wants him the most.
“Just doing as ordered, Doctor,” she purrs as she continues the friction against him.
Tightening his grip on her wrists he steadies her against the door and brushes her knees open with his legs. “I think you should keep calling me Sir,” he orders, plundering her neckline with thick messy laps of his tongue.
She chuckles. “You would.”
“Oi, cheeky,” he remarks teasingly and steps back. Hands in the air, pinned to the door, her legs drawn slightly apart, she squirms for his touch; but enjoying her imposed constraint.
“Please, Docto--Sir” she intones breathlessly, “want your hands on me.”
“You want this, Rose?”
"Tell me. Say it. Where do you want me to touch you?”
Writhing with longing, her eyes flutter shut and she softly bangs her head against the door. Her breath growing ragged in anticipation, she finds she can’t give a coherent answer.
“Everywhere,” she whispers out, the word heavily laden with promise.
But it’s driving her crazy that she can’t touch him back…
And he stops. She knows it’s some teasing punishment her for speaking—since this is some sort of contest of the wills here—but she’s dying to be fucked. He leans forward—still infuriatingly not touching her—but his breath is hot on her cheek, blowing her hair. “Are you wet for me, Rose?”
“Soaked,” she chokes.
“Shall I make certain?”
He takes her plaintive cry as an answer.
Easily reaching down between them his fingers caress her abdomen, just along her pubic hair before he skims across her pelvic bones…
“And this Rose, is a place I’ve always dreamed of touching you,” he whispers as his hands find her inner thighs. Her body sparks and she jumps, her muscles tingling under his hand. With delight he finds that she is already slippery with need and his fingers glide achingly close to her sex.
But there isn’t nearly enough friction for her and she’s practically cross-eyed from desire. She hisses and tries to buck into him, shove herself down over his fingers, but he’s too quick for her.
Then she realizes he’s watching her. His chocolate eyes take in her frustration, her glistening tongue as she sweeps it over her lips, aching for his kiss, but her face colours again with her realisation of his gaze—pixelating her complexion from her chin to her temples. He licks his lips too, echoing her desire.
“I want to watch you, Rose. Watch your eyes when you feel me inside you.”
“How many fingers, Rose?”
“Two,” she gasps breathlessly.
“My pleasure,” he responds, his voice guttural and she moans as she feels his long fingers finally stretch her open without resistance; for a moment they are both rewarded, he with her dark-eyed, molten slipperiness and her with the delicious friction of him finally filling her. Very soon, the room fills with the sloppy sound of her arousal.
“Oh, Rose…” he groans, “you’re dripping… Is this what it felt like when you were fingering yourself on the phone? Did it feel just like this?”
“Yes… Sir… Unnnh,” Rose grinds her hips into his hand. “But this is… ah!”
He pumps harder, almost shoving, and she’s making these helpless noises that fall all around him and he’s so in love with it. “This is what, Rose?”
“Better!” she squeals, when he hits her deep.
“Really? Then I think perhaps… another finger…” and without so much as a by-your-leave he slips in a third, effortlessly. Instinctively, she moves her legs farther apart.
“Doctor…” Rose gasps. “Please…!”
“You’re right, Rose. I’m forgetting myself,” he says panting into her ear. Without another word—and still never breaking eye contact—he removes his fingers and brings them to his lips.
“Ohhhhhhhh,” she moans, her eyes rolling back into her head as she watches him take all three fingers into his mouth, greedily slurping her up.
“Ummmmm,” he groans, suddenly wishing he had his other hand free to rub his hardened cock through his constricting trousers.
Eyes still locked together, she’s panting and flushed and he’s staring at her from hooded lashes and licking sweet sugar from his fingertips, and in an unspoken moment that communicates as much as touch, they realise something…
They realise they are wearing too many clothes.
In a flurry, the Doctor releases Rose’s wrists and she takes her moment to turn the tables on him.
With a sly smile, she grabs him by the shoulders and slams him into the door in the space she so recently occupied. He yelps in surprise, and then she’s on him, but the urgency is too high–she’s got her legs spread and she’s grinding in to him, dribbling her desire on her expensive and frivolous dress, sending her musk tumbling out into the air. His breath catches as he shoves into her, delicious friction and the superb pinch of pain from the fabric.
All they want is more.
“Fuck me!” she begs into his mouth as her furious fingers work his zip and yank his trousers and pants down.
“Rose,” he chuckles hotly. “Patien—“
But she doesn’t care, and gripping his shirt she sends buttons flying. “I said fuck me! Not fuck me sometime in the foreseeable future,” she growls.
“What if I say no?”
She blinks as if she doesn’t comprehend the mere possibility, but then with a snarl she launches at him, and spinning him by his ruined shirt, they fall hard to the floor. The carpet bites into her knees and they both hiss in pleasure, everything feels good now, even and especially pain. Her thighs are slick like she’s got oil on them and she’s sliding dangerously near, but despite the intoxication of knowing they're so close, this isn't how he imagined it. He props himself up on his arms and watches her.
“Slow down, Rose,” he commands.
He’s not really surprised when she meets his eyes and all he sees is defiance.
He pulls back and regards her coyly. “What if I say no?” she challenges, and then lifts up and positions his cock at the one place he wants to be more than anywhere in his achingly long life.
No, he thinks to himself, this isn’t how he wanted this to go. He wanted things like begging, and screaming, and that finger in her ass—
And just like that, he grabs her hips and lifts her off, and she cries out at the loss. Scrabbling at his arms and wrists she curses his half-Time Lord strength.
“Vixen!” he hisses, and bites her shoulder deep enough to leave impressions, holding on with his mouth then wetting her skin with his tongue even as they wrestle for dominance.
She puts her hand fully over his sternum and shoves him back down, and it’s his turn to marvel at the power in her lithe frame.
“Wolf,” she returns proudly, and his cock twitches.
Eyes burning so gold why does it hurt come to dust—
“Yes,” he says, in reverence. “And you’re bloody beautiful like this.”
He reaches out with his other hand, threading his hand through her golden hair. He is Rumpelstiltskin, miserly fingering his spun gold.
For a moment, he revels in the feel of her, the taste of her—her tongue twirling in his mouth and her lips sucking at his makes him hiss in delight—but the game is far from over. Fisting his hands into her hair he jerks her head back, taking out his frustrations on her exposed throat. He sucks and nibbles and bites and has her gasping for breath while glistening, scarlet marks pepper her skin. She matches him, taking revenge as she ruffles his hair, raking her nails across his scalp, momentarily reducing him to incoherent rumbling noises as she mingles pleasure with pain.
“Turtlenecks to work this week,” he mumbles into her, licking her stinging flesh soothed. Blowing on the wet, angry welts of skin send roots of tingles into her core.
“Don’t care,” she grunts. “More,” she whispers to him, a little desperate and a little demanding.
He groans exquisitely into her mouth, and a shiver of heat radiates from her nipples straight to her empty, wet pussy that clenches in frustration around nothing.
“Sir?” she murmurs brazenly, regarding him under her lashes, “I thought you were going to fuck me from behind with your finger in my ass?” Then she grins at him, and the play of her swollen lips is confident, smug. Her giggles do nothing but inflame his already overwrought passion. He wants to bite her, fuck her, mark her, own her—wants to wipe that grin off her face and watch it melt into a silent, quivering O…
He fists into her tresses again and pulls. Not hard, just a little yank. As she gasps, the desire flares in her golden eyes.
His chocolate eyes melt in the heat of her gaze.
He whimpers—and she thinks she has him.
With her hands on his chest she can feel his answer as well as hear it, a deep and gravelly “Quite right,” and he yanks on her hair again. Gathering strength, he bucks her off of him and onto her knees and he slips out from underneath her. “Rose Tyler, get up and let me fuck you.”
Now it’s her turn to whimper. He helps her to stand as he kicks off his shoes and once she’s stable on her feet he crushes her to him in another kiss. Hands in her hair and trousers and pants around his knees and his buttonless shirt hanging around him, he guides her backwards blindly through the room until the backs of her knees connect with something hard.
She yelps out in surprise.
“Now, turn around,” directs the Doctor and she sees they’ve come to the dresser on the far side of the room. She turns and studies him in the mirror as he slips off the remainder of his clothing with dark intent smoldering in his chestnut eyes.
“Not the tie!” she commands, tongue against her teeth, making his eyebrow rise up with the rest of him. He leaves it loose around his neck and threads his hand back into her hair, their fiery eyes connecting in the mirror with equal passion. He gives her hair another confident yank as he pulls her ear to his lips.
He sees that smug grin on her face again.
“Oh, you like that?”
“Then why have you fought me for control all night?”
“You’re taking too long to fuck me.”
“Bend over, then—there’s a good girl.”
As she bends, she’s still got that bloody poufy dress on.
“Where’s the zipper on this thing?”
She tugs it down and he’s able to pull the messy, gauzy dress off of her…
…And he can finally see her.
“Like that, do you?” she repeats, to him this time.
He rubs and works her bare arse with both hands, bending her over the dresser, and mapping her curves, taking her in. Their eyes meet in the mirror. “You are beautiful…”
He’s got a knee between hers, and he’s spreading her wide. She can feel hundreds of leg hairs like soft down slide against the silk of her skin, feel the entire delicious length of him press into her ass, and it feels bloody fantastic…
They’ve waited hours. And years. Time spent over a Void and centuries empty before he ever knew her.
“I know,” she whispers, seeing the hazy, unfocused look in his eyes. She knows he feels the same as her. She curls her little finger around his where it holds strong on the dresser top. She knows it’s finally their turn to write their names together in the stars.
Her eyes widen suddenly as he smacks her across the butt, the juicy THWACK echoes through the room. “Doctor!” she exclaims.
He finishes watching her flesh jiggle with the blow and quirks his eyebrow up, semi-innocently. “Whaaat?”
She grins at him again.
“Say it: You like the new new new Doctor…”
Her legs quiver. She absolutely does…
She straightens and pulls him by the tie over her shoulder towards her. “Now, I’m not gonna ask again, Doctor,” her hot breath curls around him, dropping the tie to slide her hand behind her to caress his cock. She latches around it and pulls him closer, urging him against her backside, tugging a guttural sound low and deep from him.
"Too long," he mumbles into her shoulder, biting an errant freckle. "Should have been doing this--"
Slick, with no resistance, the tip of him finds home. He pushes into her fire and it's like the world has stopped and won't ever stop moving, all at once. She's shouting and gasping, and he's never been so alive.
She trusts this man completely and wants him everywhere at once. Her breath and her soul leave her in one protracted groan, “Use me, Doctor… take me…”
Her words take his breath in a heady, primal rush. With a growl, he curls his fingers possessively around her hips and surges into her, hard, slamming her deep and bruising as she shouts out his name. His thrusts behind her wring several pitched squeals from her as she cantilevers herself out further over the dresser to take him deeper. Splaying forward, she knocks the paper cups and ice bucket off the dresser with a clatter. Remembering his earlier promise, he releases one of her hips. Another smack rings through the room as he slaps her arse again. Again, she gasps in surprise, and glimpses him through her fringe as he sucks on a finger before reaching it down to ease it into her, filling her completely. Slap and tickle indeed, she thinks and her keening grows wild as they knock together, battering the vanity mirror into the wall with a repetitious clanging as he rides her to a salty slick oblivion.
As one knee digs deliciously into the dresser’s brass drawer pulls with the rhythmic slapping of his body against hers, it occurs to her in her last coherent moment that this amusing tableau of contest for dominance is an apt metaphor for the patterns of their new relationship—hers with the new, new, new Doctor. Once an assistant, now an equal, he has relied on her to guide him through his new world and new circumstances and she’d happily done it. Now she finds she is reluctant to give up that role of the leader—and this game about sex, as much as anything, makes that clear—even though she still loves it when he takes control. It might be a contradiction, but it’s where they are now…
A sly grin plays on her lips and she blows a few itchy strands of hair off her face. Her eyes meet his in the mirror as he pistons behind her, perfectly filling her. Their looks are identical.
They’re both loving the struggle.
They always have.
But at least they’re finally together; and at the moment, what she really loves is the way he orders her to finger her clit—anti-clockwise—just the way she likes it. Eyes still locked on his in the mirror, face flushed and sweaty, her mouth a perfect O, she comes just for him—just the way he wanted her to—and pulls him down from the stars with her.
They’re right where they want each other, and they know the rest will come in time.
Shining like mad things in the dark, they lay wrapped in each other on the hotel carpet. He leans in to whisper sleepy words into her hair, some English, some Gallifreyan, and she answers each in kind, even when she doesn’t know the shape of the word as it falls to her from his mouth.
The sentiment behind each is the same.
“Next time,” she murmurs into his sternum, “I’m on top.”
“Oh?” and she can feel his lazy smirk as it ruffles her hair.
“Yeah,” she says confidently.
“We’ll see,” he chuckles, already excited for the struggle of limbs and love. But Rose is ahead of him, thinking of the stockings she still has stowed away in her purse from earlier....
And thinking of all the knots she’s learned…
“You will,” she promises. She isn’t quite done with him yet…
TO BE CONTINUED… Someday…