rude_not_ginger | for doctorsplusone: A What-if for RS Verse (AU)

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for doctorsplusone: A What-if for RS Verse (AU)

It had been twenty years.

Twenty years since they first landed in London with the communicators. Twenty years since he'd re-met his Rose. Twenty years since he'd entered this universe.

And no escape. Not yet. Oh, there was a brief reprise, five years earlier, when he'd taken one last trip back to France. But other than that, it was London. London all the time. Traveling to find clues to figure out how to save the universe, but the universe wasn't having any of that saving business.

And there he was. In London. In his silver-tree-shaped TARDIS. Alone.

Reinette had died. Five years earlier. Lived much longer than they'd expected, and as she started to wither, he and Louis took her back to France, to die in the palace. Where she wasn't supposed to die, of course. Being a non-noble. But she was loved by a King and a lonely God. That was enough of a title for them. Louis stayed in France to tend to her. To make sure her grave was not lost in their universe as it was in the one the Doctor returned to.

Suzie left far earlier. Found her own calling or some such nonsense. Or maybe she was simply tired of the domestics. Now, he was simply alone. He'd gotten used to it, by now. It had become the norm these last five years as dressing in French silks had become the norm in the three years he spent in France before coming here.

He sat in a chair outside the TARDIS, looking over new information. The neverending war against the cosmic apocalypse that seemed to never come. The sonic screwdriver twirled in one hand. A gift from Reinette to the Doctor many, many years earlier. Helped made by Ted. How long had he blamed Ted for Reinette's death? Too long, he decided.

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Rose groaned at the little kiss -- and why wasn't she putting a stop to this? she had some perfectly good 'just friends' intentions for this leg of their relationship and he was bloody dismantling them before her very eyes -- and guided him to sit down on the bed. To rest his leg. (Right.)

She perched beside him, untying the little ribbon that kept his queue tidy and pulled back and ran her hands through his hair. She missed his crazy stand-straight-up short hair, but this would do.

"Let me know when you figure it out, hm?"

He nodded. "You'll be the first to know." She was always disarming, and always brought out the rather roguish brute in him. Not that he wasn't a rogue in general, but he was even more so when around her. He'd long since convinced himself he was a master at the art of seduction, but Rose made him feel as if he needed a bit more practice.

He purred out his own Gallifreyan endearment. Her fingers through his hair, his hand touching her skin. They were never very god at staying out of trouble, the two of them.

"That sounds like a growl," Rose observed, grinning and growling out her own attempted echo of what he'd called her. (She liked it when he growled: it just did things to her.) And then again, to try and get it right. "What's it mean?"

If this had been the last time they were together, she'd have crawled into his lap. Now, she wasn't sure she could do that without hurting him.

"It's a complex word," he explained, saying it again against her neck this time. "It's the equivalent of 'lover', but with the added notation that the lover has a certain mark of control over the speaker. Basically I'm telling you that you drive me mad."

He slid a hand down to her hip to lead her towards him. He'd been so long with his leg that he'd forgotten she didn't know about it.

That, Rose thought, was one of the most deliciously sexy things she'd heard in a long, long time -- and that was really saying something. "Say it again?" she begged, following the motion and allowing him to draw her closer -- but holding herself back for fear of hurting him. He'd not really explained all the injuries to her...

He growled the word again, this time ending it with several syllables that added that the endearment was forever and turned the end growl into a purr.

But she was holding back. Too soon, perhaps? They'd only just re-found each other, maybe he had gone too far. He was never one for knowing boundaries or tact.

He said something he thought she might remember. The Gallifreyan equivalent of "I want you", purred against her ear.

Oh, she remembered, alright. And, as ever, hearing him purr like that went straight to her head, her heart and her groin. An age-old hunger, never saited, returned full-force.

But there was still the matter of his injuries...

And there were ways around them.

Dragging his lower lip sensually between her teeth as she pulled away, Rose slithered down his body. She ran her hands over his thighs -- one part copping a feel, one part testing him for injuries -- and then back up to the fastenings of his trousers. She didn't hesitate, deftly undoing them and slipping one small hand inside to firmly and tenderly cup him.

"I want you, too." Her Gallifreyan had mostly deserted her: she needed a refresher.

His left thigh was somewhat thinner than his right from muscle deformation, but he didn't jump or react to her hands touching him there. The pain was a throb if anything at all, and he'd long since learned to suppress it.

As for her next motion, the rest of the lower half of his body jerked to life in response, and he growled again---not a word, just a growl. He cupped one of her breasts with a hand and pinched a nipple between two fingertips.

How long had he desired her, like this? So long, though before many things kept them apart. Now, it took one trip into his bedroom before they fell into bed together. Years and years worth of want.

A wicked gleam in her eyes as she looked up at him -- briefly diverted as his touch: she groaned deeply -- her quick, clever, careful hands pulled his trousers down his hips just enough.

Then her mouth replaced her hands and she finally got a taste of what she'd been craving for fifteen years.

At another point in his life he might've cried out in surprise, might've tried to woo her rather than give into primal desires. As it was, he let his head drop back and his hand tangle in her hair at the feel of her mouth.

"Rose." Her name came out in a gasp of pleasure.

She smiled up at him -- well, twinkled impishly -- and said nothing, preferring to roll her tongue against the length of him, seeking out the places that would make him gasp. Her eyes remained on his face, but still, she said nothing.

It was rude to talk with your mouth full, after all.

Every beat of his hearts sent waves of sensation; every move of her mouth burning into his memory. His fingertips touched the edge of her temple, and he let the pleasure he felt slide into her. Mixed with raw desire.

How long had they wanted each other? Too long. A dam had been broken and they weren't going to be able to stop, not after all this.

Edited 2008-01-10 02:02 (UTC)

She should have expected that. (There was no way to really have expected it: this was the closest they'd ever gotten, but nonetheless, she should have expected it. Somehow.)

It was utterly dizzying to feel each movement of her lips, each flicker of her tongue echoing through the filter of him -- but an excellent cheat. She'd never exactly been a slouch at this, but this was the perfect way to absolutely perfect head. (If she could only keep her concentration!)

She was amazing. Absolutely. He'd never---and she was driving him mad, completely. But it wasn't enough. Not that it wasn't completely amazing, he just wanted her.

"Come here," he instructed. "My turn."

No, she thought at him, one eye dropping shut in a wink. She wanted to drive him mad. She'd wanted to for so, so long. She wanted to not just yield so utterly to him, the way she always seemed to do -- or, or if she was going to, she wanted him to work for it. She was crawling out of her skin with lust and utter want but she wanted -- she wanted everything.

But more than anything, she wanted this to be worth all the pain. She wanted their coming together to be as fierce, undeniable and shattering as each time they had come apart at the seams. She wanted his desertion of her and her desertion of his absolved in skin and desire and the deep and abiding love that flourished under everything like night-blooming jasmine, growing even in the darkness and imbuing everything it touched with an unforgettable perfume.

No?

He couldn't imagine pulling away, so he, instead, poured more desire into her. Decades of want and need and loss and pain and love that they hadn't let themselves touch before, pooled around her the pleasure centers in her mind.

In the physical world, he tugged at her shirt, which seemed a pathetic move in comparison to what his mind was giving to her. But he wanted her. He didn't want a lust-filled moment against a wall or touches on a dark bench. He wanted to know every inch of her, taste every inch of her.

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.

His name. He often forgot it himself, but she never did. She was one of only two humans who ever, ever knew his name. It made her special. It kept him connected to her---not that he could stop that even if he wanted to.

She moved up his body and his hands moved to her wrists, taking hold of them and moving them. He wished he had full access of his legs, he'd simply flip her over, like he wanted to do. Instead, he had to be more creative.

Which was good. It was worth it, the extra thought.

"Rose." Her name came out as another growl. Part affection, part a curse. She drove him mad, but he loved her. That was Rose.

She met his eyes, faintly dazed, when he spoke her name and returned her to the present. A smile, cat-like and lazily sensual, curled her lips, even as she tugged against his grip on her wrists to test him for the hundredth time. She knew she couldn't break his grip, and yet...

"Yes, Doctor?" she purred back, enjoying his growls, his touch, the warmth of him, the staccato of his dual heartbeats pounding out a rapid pulse.

She did always tease. They teased each other, danced around each other. Too long, he decided. So much friction they were both a bit raw. Which was far from bad, but it made more friction ache.

His hands already holding her wrists, he leaned upwards so his mouth could move to her throat again. But this was an area he'd already tasted. Wasn't enough.

"You're far too clothed."

She arched her back, tipping her head back for that wicked mouth. "Am I?" Slightly breathless. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

The sheer hunger in his eyes threatened to consume her. Rose smiled broadly, happily.

He growled again and flipped them both over so he could pin her against the bed. He put his weight on his right knee so he could lean over her.

"Well," he made a look of mock-thought. "I think I'll have to undress you, then. Seems only logical seeing as I don't really want you clothed."

He moved her hand over so he could hold both wrists with one hand and used the other to unbutton and unzip her pants.

Rose gasped at the sudden movement -- she hadn't been expecting that, given the injuries that she still wasn't fully sure of the extent of and perhaps she'd underestimated him a little. Her own fault, then, that she'd been caught and surprised.

Her breath caught in her throat, though, as he held her down and started on her clothing. It was really real and really happening and neither of them had pulled away, had reason to pull away, nor seemed likely to pull away. After all this time, and -- Rose swallowed hard against the well of emotion.

"If that's what you want, Doctor, then feel free." She dropped her eyes, mock-demure, and chose not to struggle against him this time -- one part concern for his old injuries and not wanting to hurt him, and one part trying something new to see how he'd react. "I'm at your mercy, aren't I?"

(There was a thrill in yielding to him and letting herself be swept away: she'd learned that long ago. She'd just never played that card like this...)

At his mercy. Well, in a way she was. She stopped struggling and that made him stop moving his fingers to undo her clothes.

Panic hit him. Did she not want this? Had he---well, he could've been mistaken. No, no, no, not from the way she looked up at him as she sucked on him. Or maybe he was wrong.

He moved over her again and tilted his head, studying her. How often had he wanted this? Wanted her? And now...well, now they didn't have responsibilities and emotions with others to think about. Just now.

"Rather, it is I at yours, Rose. But I think you know that." He pressed a kiss to her mouth and could taste himself on her lips. "Unless you don't want me to...?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" She bucked her hips and caught his narrow shoulders and rolled the Doctor onto his back. In a heartbeat, she was straddling him and looking down at him fiercely. "Yes. Yes, I want you to. I want you to do whatever wicked, filthy and wonderful bloody things occur to you. I want you to be you and possessive and wild and a little dangerous and still my Doctor and --"

Irritated 'ooooh!', accompanied with a teasing grind down against him. More friction and a pair of blazing eyes.

"I've always loved you. I think I've wanted you since we landed in Victorian Cardiff and you looked at me with Thete's eyes and a surprising amount of heat in your gaze when I was all corsetted up. I've waited for you for what feels like lifetimes. I've gotten over you and fallen for you again more times than I can count. So don't you bloody dare try to make me the reason why not! Not again!"

for doctorsplusone: A What-if for RS Verse (AU)

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