*AUTHORS NOTE* This fic was written to include the line: "... and I was thinking... I've come into that mouth." As you might imagine from that line, this is a blow job fic. If that's not your thing, please don't read any further.
Pairing : Rose/Ten2, Rose/Nine
Rating : Adult
Warnings : Explicit Sex
Lipstick Kiss
Rose stares at herself in the bathroom mirror and she can't help but wonder if red really is her colour.
Her mother might have taken to her new life as if she'd been born to it, but Rose still feels a bit of a fish out of water sometimes.
Even though the dust has settled since her sudden arrival on the gossip pages as Pete and Jackie Tyler's 'secret' daughter, people are still curious. She has an iron-clad cover story neatly in place, of course; privately educated, hidden from the cameras, yadda yadda yadda. Most people believe it. The ones that don't, well, they know better than to ask questions.
All the same, for the most part – Torchwood assignments not withstanding – Rose prefers not to draw too much attention to herself.
Another look in the mirror and disheartened, she sighs. The red dress is an attention seeker. There's no getting away from it.
She knows that the usual 'little black dress' would have been a safer bet, but she'd been taken by a reckless impulse when she'd seen the elegant red shift. And the sales girl had of course gone to great lengths to encourage her. Not that Rose blamed her. She'd been a shop girl herself not too long ago, and she knows that the job's not as fun-tastic as the brochures make it out to be. Not that there are brochures.
So yes, she'd let herself be talked into buying the dress. Within only a few minutes it had been wrapped up in sheets of white tissue paper, slipped into a pink box and secured with a narrow black ribbon. Then of course there had been the shoes and matching bag to take care of.
And essentially, that had been that. No refunds. No returns. Commission earned. Please come again. Big smile.
She sighs again and lets her hand skim her hip as she watches her reflection do likewise. Her fingertips brush over the scarlet silk and she bites her lip. She's still not sure. Her doubts make her check her watch, and when she does her heart sinks a little.
Another quick look at her reflection and she makes up her mind. She's being silly. It'll be fine. And besides, she doesn't have time to change anyway. Not really.
She glares at the ridiculous feathery thing that she stuck in her hair ten minutes earlier and decides that she can at least get rid of that. And so she does. She pulls it out of her fancy up-do and her long blonde hair tumbles free. She runs her fingers through it, giving it a more tousled look.
Better, she thinks, but still not right.
She takes the diamonds from her ears and the gold bangle from her wrist, setting them down onto the bathroom counter amidst her lotions and potions. Checking the mirror, she sees something of the girl she used to be looking back at her, and she smiles with satisfaction. She knows that the spoon in her mouth when she was born had been made of plastic, not silver. And she thinks that she ought not to forget the kind of girl she is.
She steals another look at her wristwatch. Finishing touches are all she has time for now. The car will be outside in a few minutes and the traffic is always bad at this time of night, so they can't be late. Absentmindedly she hopes that the Doctor is ready and that he hasn't cut himself shaving. Again.
The Doctor. It's a strange name for a man with only one heart, but it fits him. It always did.
She reminds herself every day that he's the same man she fell in love with. He tells her he is. The same, but different, he explains, and she's learning to accept it, maybe even understand it a little.
But this life they share, it isn't how she thought it would be. She knows how the Doctor takes his tea and how he likes his eggs. She knows that he chuckles to himself all the way through old episodes of 'Star Trek', and that he hates pears. But she doesn't know what side of the bed he sleeps on.
Despite the kiss they'd shared, despite his whispered words of love, despite the expectations of her heart, they've somehow stumbled onto the slow road.
Whenever her mother asks questions, as she is prone to do, Rose changes the subject. When Jackie persists, Rose smiles and says that they're fine. Jackie knows that she's lying, and deep down, Rose knows it too.
Picking up a lipstick she carefully applies a deep, glossy red and her thoughts stray to the paperwork on her desk at Torchwood that really should have been filed already. Still not really concentrating on the here and now, she glances to the floor and her killer heels. No running tonight, she silently tells herself, and a wry smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she slips her bare feet into the shoes.
She straightens up and pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear she takes a final look in the mirror. She visibly jumps.
Over her shoulder, leaning casually against the doorframe, is the Doctor.
Rose doesn't turn around. She just stares at the reflection of the man standing in the doorway behind her and tries to ignore the sudden burst of butterflies in her stomach.
He's wearing a black tux with velvet lapels, a crisp white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons and his bow-tie is undone. His hair has grown a little longer in the couple of months since she kissed him on a beach in Norway, but it's still great hair. He's clean shaven – no cuts – and Rose can smell the subtle, woody tones of the aftershave that he's taken to wearing. His eyes are dark, darker than she's ever seen them. And the way he's looking at her… he hasn't ever looked at her like that. Except, perhaps… She pushes away the thought. No. He hasn't ever looked at her like that.
She sets the lipstick down, not sure why she's suddenly trembling. She still doesn't turn around. She takes a breath before she speaks.
"What are you doing?"
He almost smiles. "Nothing… I was just… looking at your mouth."
It's the most absurd thing Rose has ever heard him say, and in all honesty she has heard him say a lot of absurd things, so really she shouldn't be surprised. But this… this is something different. She can feel it.
She tries not to ask, but the temptation is too much. "Why?"
This time he does smile. "Well, it's beautiful, and I was thinking… I've come into that mouth."
Rose turns around and stares at him. She doesn't know what to say, so she settles for the blindingly obvious.
"No, you haven't."
"Yes, I have." His eyes grow darker and his voice lowers. "I remember."
"What do you mean, you remember? We've never…" Rose stops abruptly. The penny drops. She knows now what he means.
In a heartbeat her cool exterior crumbles. She glances away so that he can't see her face. She needs a second to collect her thoughts, to calm the tremor that runs through her blood. She stares hopelessly at her red shoes and for a moment she wishes that they were ruby slippers and that all she had to do was click her heels together and she'd be able to make sense of the world again. It's been a long time since anything made sense.
She lifts her head, meets his gaze and suddenly, she's nineteen again.
"What do you remember?" she asks, curiosity and apprehension colouring her voice.
"You wore a red dress then, too." His eyes skim her body and with blatant audacity he takes her in. "It was tighter, shorter – cheaper." He flashes a smile. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" he asks her. "What is it I'm doing, Rose?"
She shakes her head, refusing to answer him. "Don't."
He holds her gaze and continues softly. "You skinned your knees and ruined your shoes, but you didn't care. You'd been drinking, but you weren't drunk. You knew what you were doing."
"Stop it."
"You asked me what I remembered." His voice is sharper than he means it to be.
She darts forward, trying to push past him, but he won't allow that, not now. He catches her wrists, his fingers tighten around them and he holds her firm. She fights, then stills; knowing it's useless.
"Rose," he whispers her name on the charged air between them. He's so close that his breath is warm against her cheek.
She slowly lifts her gaze. The knots in her stomach tighten and she's almost afraid, but in that moment, the moment she looks into his face, she realises that this is what she wants. It's what she's always wanted – to stop pretending. It's the pretending that's killing her.
"You said it was a mistake," she reminds him. She can't quite shake the bitter tone that lingers in her voice like an aftertaste. She's not altogether sure that she wants to; she's nursed the memory like an old wound for too long, and maybe she has every right to be bitter.
"I lied."
The thorn in her heart aches from his easy confession. "Why?"
His thumb gently strokes the inside of one of her wrists. "Coward… every time." He lets her go. "Especially back then… with that daft old face."
Her eyes mist with tears, and she smiles as she touches his face. Seeing a memory she leans into him as a teardrop splashes to her cheek.
"I loved that face," she tells him. "I loved you."
His breath catches at her words. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He draws her into his embrace and she lets him.
He kisses away her fallen tear then finds the smile that's hidden at the corner of her mouth and kisses that too. He pulls back to look at her. "I didn't know. Not then. If I had…"
"You did know!" Her eyes shine bright with accusation. "Even back then – you knew."
He lets out a breath and with it he gives up the lie. "Yeah," he says quietly. He reaches out and gently cradles her face in his hands. "I did."
Her smile is sudden and fragile; forgiving him without the need for recriminations. A multitude of hopes and fears shine in her eyes as she looks up at him and places her hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat.
"Am I… here?"
He covers her hand with his and holds her gaze. "Always."
Her eyes grow dark and Rose holds her breath for a moment. Silence hangs between them for several heartbeats. Eventually she eases her hand out from under his and takes a half-step back.
"Tell me what you remember."
He stares at her, licks his lips and does what she asks.
"The club was dark, noisy, crowded. The music was loud – you could feel it through the floor. Jack had done his usual disappearing act and you… you were on the dance floor in a red dress and red shoes and…" He pauses, the details in his memory sharpening. "You had this… glitter-dust on your skin. It caught the light when you moved; made you golden."
"What else?"
His eyes grow dark and so does his voice. "Like I said, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I wanted you so much it burned. I knew it was wrong, but the more I watched you the more I wanted you." He licks his lips. "I was so hard, Rose. Just looking at you made me so bloody hard. And I knew I couldn't do anything about it except go back to the TARDIS and… take myself in hand."
Rose's cheeks flush pink as she imagines the Doctor doing exactly that, and a breathy sigh of want escapes her lips.
"Not like I haven't had to do it before." His mouth twists into a dark smile as he looks at her. "Do you know how many times I've come with your name on my lips?" he asks, and his eyes glimmer with something wicked. "Lying naked on my bed, thrusting into nothing, my hand covered in come, my eyes tight shut, imagining what it would be like to be inside you – to be fucking you. Do you have any idea how many times I've done that, Rose?"
She takes a step back and feels the edge of the counter hard against her hip. She shakes her head because she cannot speak.
The Doctor closes the small distance between them. He leans in close, puts his hands flat on the counter, trapping her. Rose's eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the soft notes of her perfume. He lets his mouth trail slow, exploring kisses up her throat to her ear.
"Think of a number between ten and a hundred," he whispers huskily. "Double it." The tip of his tongue licks her skin. He can feel the chase of her pulse. "Add the year you were born and… you're not even close."
She can hear the amusement in his voice and it annoys her just enough to bring her thoughts back to the here and now. She opens her eyes and puts her hands on his chest, pushing him back a little.
"I said tell me what you remember." There's a stubborn note in her voice.
He stares at her for a moment. "I finished my drink and took one last look at you. I was going to leave. I had every intention of walking away. But then I saw you were dancing with someone." He stops, his features harden and his jaw tightens as the finer details become just that little bit sharper. "His hands were touching you in ways I never had – and you were letting him. The next thing I knew, I was next to you. Your pretty boy had the sense to make a hasty retreat. I took hold of your hand and dragged you out of the club – you didn't go willingly."
"Damn right I didn't."
He looks at her and his smile does something to her insides. "I headed down an alley with you stumbling along behind me in red heels, and no matter how you squirmed I wouldn't let go of you." He leans a little closer, his breath warm against her cheek, his lips hovering beguilingly close to hers, but not close enough. Not nearly close enough.
Rose takes an unsteady breath, desire burning under her skin. She senses the cruelty in him, that he can take such pleasure in tormenting her like this, but she does not shy away from it; not when she has waited for this moment for so long.
She lets her hands fall away from him and her fingernails graze the velvet lapels of his jacket. She remains silent, waits, hardly breathing, for him to continue with his story.
"You pulled your hand free. I made a grab for you and you tried to run. I caught you, pushed you up against the brick, pinned you there. And you pushed back, Rose. Full of fire and brimstone, you pushed right back. I had to kiss you. I couldn't stop kissing you. And suddenly it wasn't just about me wanting you – it was you wanting me too."
Rose opens her mouth to speak, but there are no words, so she licks her lips and watches his gaze sharpen. He moves close and brushes his mouth to the apple of her cheek, it's a fleeting, barely there kiss that makes her breath catch and her heart race.
"You turned the tables Rose, you pushed me away and I thought it was over. But it wasn't." His lips are close to the corner of her mouth and when she turns her head to catch his kiss he pulls away to look into her cloudy eyes.
"You pushed aside my leather jacket, undid my jeans, dragged down the zip, and right there in that dark, dirty back alley you knelt down in front of me and took my cock into your mouth." His eyes are almost black now, and Rose can't look away from him.
"I remember that the moon was full," he continues. "I remember the dull thud of music seeping out from the club, the brick wall hard against my back and the threat of rain in the air. I remember my hands fisting into your hair and that you looked up at me with those big, brown eyes of yours and watched me come undone." He stops, takes an uneven breath and gently he strokes the apple of her cheek with one thumb. Rose leans her face into his touch.
His hand falls away. "What I can't remember, is how it feels to be in your mouth. I can't remember what it feels like to have you lick and suck me. I can't remember what it's like to pulse in your mouth and feel you swallow around me."
Rose stares at the Doctor, her breathing quickening as she holds his gaze. She sets her hands on his shoulders and leans in close, pressing her body to his.
Her breath is warm against his jaw, and he closes his eyes so that he might savour each and every delicious word that falls from her lips.
"I remember how it feels to have you fill my mouth, have your taste spill over my tongue, to swallow around you and feel your warmth coat my throat, feel you soften as I suck you and then let you go."
Rose takes a step forward, guiding the Doctor back a step, then another. He offers no resistance, moving with her until he finds himself backed up against the doorframe.
Her hands drift down from his shoulders, her fingertips trace over the crisp white material of his shirt. Her hands move lower and the Doctor groans in pleasure from her touch. He feels his cock harden and thicken; expectation rushing through his body.
A smile at her mouth, Rose cups him lightly and the Doctor instinctively pushes into her touch. He can't help but wish he had more control, more patience, but his desire for her is intense and has been chained too long.
He feels her fingers work to undo buttons and zip. He watches as Rose drops to her knees before him, her hand wrapped lightly around his shaft. She softly kisses the tip of his cock and as she does his eyes half close. She flicks the tip of her tongue to the taste of him and he shudders.
His jaw slackens and he is suddenly glad of the doorframe behind him. His eyes find hers ardently watching him and he reaches out, his hands brushing her cheek before he slips his fingers into her long blonde hair.
"You're so… beautiful," he tells her and he sees her smile.
She opens her mouth and takes him then, all of him. The Doctor closes his eyes, losing himself in blissful pleasures.
He doesn't know how long it goes on for; the soft, sure swirl of Rose's tongue, the insistent tug of her mouth, the stroke of her hand. He used to understand the subtle increments of time, but no more, at least, not right now, not when Rose is so wonderfully… doing what she's doing.
She hums around him and he groans. His eyes open and he watches her lips, painted red, take him deeper. He can feel his orgasm building, and he's torn between wanting to warn her, and just wanting to let it happen.
His breathing grows ragged and he knows that he won't last much longer. His body is demanding release.
"Rose," he whispers her name through clenched teeth. "Rose I…" he feels her swirl her tongue against his cock, then take him deeper into her mouth and it is nothing short of divine. He groans and pushes forward, hitting the back of her throat.
She lifts her gaze to his, permission in her eyes and his hands fist into her hair as his body shudders. He tries to hold onto some semblance of control but he can't. Instead he pushes deep into her mouth, over and over. He calls out Rose's name as his orgasm breaks, and he comes hard in her mouth.
She swallows around him, and when he's done, and spent, and breathless, she gently sucks him until he softens and slips from her mouth.
Then, almost as an afterthought she tilts her head and leans in close, breathes in the masculine scent of him and presses her mouth to his hip bone. She draws back slowly and smiles at the red lipstick kiss she has marked him with.
She lifts her eyes to meet the Doctor's. "You're mine," she tells him, her voice dark and possessive.
"Yes, Rose," he says with absolute agreement, "I'm yours." He takes her hand to help her up. "I always have been."
He draws her close, his hands moving to sit possessively on her hips as he kisses her slowly, deliberately, thoroughly. He can taste his flavour in her mouth as she opens to him and he feels himself begin to harden again. He groans as renewed desire begins to burn and he shifts his hip so that she can feel his urgency.
Rose slips free of the Doctor's hold and she takes a step back, leaning against the counter as she looks at him. Her tongue flicks to the corner of her mouth.
"You're undone," she teases.
He nods his head, his hands moving to make decent what she made indecent.
Rose turns to the bathroom mirror and her reflection. She has no reason to blush, but she does. She blots her mouth with a tissue and re-applies the red lipstick as in the mirror, she watches the Doctor fasten zip and button.
It is only when they are both presentable again that she turns around to face him again.
"You're still undone," she says, and her smile is playful.
Confused, he frowns. "But I…"
Rose closes the distance between them, her fingers taking hold of the Doctor's bow-tie, still loose around his neck. She wrinkles her nose a little as she concentrates, tying it into a smart black bow then stepping back to admire her handiwork.
"There," she says with satisfaction. "Perfect – even if I do say so myself."
The Doctor glances in the mirror and frowns again. "Bow-ties look stupid."
Rose shakes her head. "Not on you," she says. "On you… they look cool."
He reaches for her, his hands settle her hips again and he draws her close, leans in closer. "Rose…"
The intercom buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence, and the moment is broken.
Rose takes a step back, a rueful smile at her mouth. "The car's here."
"Yeah." He pushes one hand through his hair and looks at Rose. "You ready?"
Devilment shines in Rose's eyes and as the Doctor watches, she adjusts her dress, calmly stepping out of her red lace knickers. "I am now."
Leaving her knickers on the bathroom floor she brushes past the Doctor in the doorway, then stops, turns back to look at him and offers him a wide smile. "Come on, we don't want to be late."
She holds out her hand to him and he takes it, and they run, because they are Rose and the Doctor, and that is what they do.