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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.
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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Was that spot on the soft flesh behind her ear still sensitive? He moved as if to brush her hair aside and let his thumb trace it, gauging her reaction.
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"Still haven't learned how to play fair, Doctor?" Rose rumbled out, letting her voice echo gravelly in her throat.
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Memories returned of touching her before. Kissing her neck and knowing how she would move. It had been too long.
"It's not a benefit to play fair if I'm not entirely certain that I'm going to win," he said, the smile returning.
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Nonetheless, she tipped her head back for him, baring her throat to his explorations.
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"Haven't quite figured that out, just yet," he said, though his words were more quiet. "You're far from a delirium, that's for certain."
He leaned forward just once, and pressed a slow kiss to that sensitive flesh behind her ear.
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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?"
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Then her mouth replaced her hands and she finally got a taste of what she'd been craving for fifteen years.
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"Rose." Her name came out in a gasp of pleasure.
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It was rude to talk with your mouth full, after all.
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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.
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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!)
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"Come here," he instructed. "My turn."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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."
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