Oh, but that was cheating. Even with the Torchwood-provided psychic training she had, she couldn't project or connect with anyone the way he was with her right now. She was drowning in him and it was glorious and naughty of him and damnit, she was trying to --

Rose whispered his name -- his real name, told to her once a long time ago and remembered ever since -- stumbling a little over conjoined consonants against his throat and dimly realised she was moving against him, moving up and away from sucking him off and how did that happen, precisely?

-- what was she trying to do? She couldn't remember. Couldn't think beyond the collision of memoriesyearswant -- even hands and mouths and skin felt almost distant.