This 'article' is based on an actual article from askmen dot com. I really have no idea now how I stumbled onto it (my browser history is a strange, murky place of weird google's), but the idea of poor Nine slowly figuring out he's in love by reading an article and then panicking about it just struck me as too funny. There's always a possibility for a smutty sequel, but it's just fade to black for this one (for now anyway).
It's a little Nine/Rose fluffiness with Jack thrown in to straighten out our poor, confused Time was not his fault.
This was not his fault.
It was absolutely, positively, 100% not. his. fault.
...Right?
The Doctor was prowling around the console, wearing an expression from which Jack would have scurried and at which Rose would simply have rolled her eyes, he knew. He collapsed heavily onto the jumpseat, crossed his arms and glowered at the Time Rotor. The TARDIS, by way of said Time Rotor, glowered right back at him and, if he wasn't mistaken, would have rolled her eyes too, had she eyes to roll.
The irony that she was reacting the same way Rose probably would was not lost on him, which only caused his scowl to deepen. When did his Timeship start taking a companion's side over his?
Well, that wasn't really a question he had to ponder long.
He knew when.
Probably about the time the TARDIS had, flat out, refused to go anywhere except back to Earth after Rose had rejected his offer to travel the first time.
Actually, he thought it may have started from the moment the girl had walked through his TARDIS doors (well, after the obligatory ape 'run around the outside and gape then come back in and say something predictable' trick), wonder, amazement and a bit of fear lighting her face, surrounded by something completely out of her realm of experience or even thought...and then proceeded to immediately get her head on straight enough to tell him off over Rickey the idiot's melting head.
Quite similar, in fact, to the way she'd just told him off twenty-two minutes, and oh, forty seconds ago, except this time she'd included calling him a 'grade A pain in the arse', a 'wanker' (and he did NOT need to go into any detail thinking about how that last one had become alarmingly accurate these days) and a 'bloody narcissistic misogynist' (she'd apparently been reading the dictionary again, as well).
Anyway, this was absolutely not his fault.
SHE was the one who had worn that completely inappropriate outfit onto Haringro V. SHE was the one who'd picked up (yet another) pretty-boy follower - who had then turned out to be involved in a blackmarket slave ring - and SHE was the one who'd ended up needing rescued from that slave ring just in the nick of time.
She was also driving him mental.
The TARDIS chose that moment to take a little dive into his brain, pointing out several key points from this afternoon he was choosing to overlook. Alright, so maybe, in his attempt to seem completely unaffected by her (lack of) clothing, he'd been a bit more aloof than usual today. And, perhaps, Rose had been investigating said slave trade while flirting with the boy. And, it might just have happened, that she'd ended up needing to be rescued only after she'd successfully set Jack free while the Doctor had been too distracted trying to ignore her (and, by extension, the leering Jack) to know that either of them had gone missing. And there was also a slim chance that he'd been a bit harsh and condescending once they'd gotten back to the TARDIS.
He huffed another heavy sigh and slouched down further on the jumpseat, knocking one of Rose's insipid magazines to the grating. And that was another thing! Her belongings seemed to have exploded all over his (the TARDIS made a derisive noise at him over that) Timeship. There were throw pillows on his furniture, there were shoes everywhere and he'd, quite disturbingly, found a tea cozy in the galley yesterday.
(He'd thrown it into the rubbish and then, just to be cheeky, the TARDIS had put it on his pillow one rare night while he'd been sleeping. Or at least, he'd thought it was the TARDIS who had done it. He was fairly certain that Rose had never been in his bedroom. Well, never outside of his...fantasies, anyway.)
He toed Rose's fallen, questionable reading material with his boot as though it was something dangerous that might suddenly crawl up his leg and bite him, scowling at the shiny print...until his curiosity got the better of him. Bending over, he picked it up by one cover, letting it dangle in front of him, prodding the bright glossy pages with his screwdriver.
How did she read this rubbish?
He flipped through it aimlessly, pushing back the memory of just yesterday when she'd been sitting exactly here, reading this, chattering at him happily while he'd worked under the TARDIS console. (And here we go, he had been right that first day in Jackie's flat, of course. Brangelina, really? C'mon Earth, figure it out. Gay and alien.) Rose had been flirting rather outrageously with him and he had, though he would never admit it, been flirting rather overtly back, the two of them pushing further and further, just to see who would give up first. In fact, Jack had finally just left the room in disgust, muttering about build-ups and follow-throughs - especially because both of them had forgotten he was even there.
The Doctor's thumb paused on an article that proclaimed 'Ask Men: Top 10 Signs You're in Love'. He snorted and grumbled to himself about silly humans but, for lack of anything better to do (he would claim), he continued to read.
10. You've forgotten about your ex.
Well, that one didn't really count did it? He presumed one had to have an 'ex' for that to apply and he certainly didn't have one of those. He'd never been in what humans would consider a relationship before and, in what had become his most recent metaphor for it, it had been many years since his curiosity had bested him and he'd even had a 'dance partner'.
Perhaps his wife on Gallifrey counted as an 'ex'...but that was over a thousand years ago and really, he couldn't remember much about her. Their families had arranged the match for political reasons and he'd run away from the planet before they'd ever really spoken much. He presumed that the wedding had been performed in absentia but he had avoided her any time he'd gone back to Gallifrey (an action she had mimicked), so he really had no idea. She must have used his genetic data to loom children at some point (Susan had to have come from SOMEWHERE) but other than that...huh. He couldn't remember much, really. Not even a name, he reflected, sadly.
Well, fine. Apparently he'd forgotten, not that it really mattered, because he was a Time Lord and anyway who could he possibly be in love with?
9. You don't notice other women as much.
Well, that one was ridiculous as well, as he'd never been one to really 'notice' women, at least not in the way that Jack seemed to perpetually be 'noticing' them (women and men and undecideds and lampposts). It was not that he was completely unaware of them...the majority of his companions over the years had been female, after all. Romana had once accused him of acquiring female companions, especially human females, for the sole purpose of feeding his 'distasteful need for the approval of lesser beings' and 'ridiculous propensity for shows of masculine dominance', but he'd chosen to ignore her then and, though even thinking about his now-gone friend burned, now.
He had also been known to admire qualities that others of particular species found attractive in the members of the opposite sex, both physical and mental, but in a purely anthropological way, of course. As a student of science and a pupil of wonder, he'd often taken to marveling at beauty around him, whether that beauty manifested in art or landscapes or life forms.
If pressed, he might also admit that, on occasion over the decades, he had used his considerable charisma and charm (both of which seemed to be a bit harder to come by in this lean, hard body - but the last him had been quite alluring) to obtain information or assistance from other lifeforms, some (most) of which have happened to be female.
And, all right, on the very, very rare occasion he did it...just because he liked flirting. There. He said it. Unbidden, his thoughts began to turn in an unexpected direction - probably as a result of the word 'flirting'.
Lately, it would seem that the focal point of his marvel (and his flirtation) had shifted almost unerringly to the external locus of one Rose Tyler. Stepping into a new landscape, he watched her instead of the horizon. When tasting a new food, he longed to know what the spices felt like on her tongue instead of his. His joy, his wonder, and his pleasure now seemed to come through the filter of her whisky-coloured eyes. Everything else, other women included, he supposed, had faded to the background when they were together, so focused was he on every breath she took.
Shifting slightly, he shook himself out of that odd reflection. Well, it made sense, didn't it, that he thought about other women less than he thought about Rose. He didn't live with any of those other women, he didn't have to survive their caffeine-starved morning grunting or ridiculous mood swings or (according to the TARDIS, occasionally quite justified) rants on his (apparently) sub-par behaviour.
A bit unnerved at the trajectory of his thoughts, he quickly moved on to the next number.
8. You care about her.
He snorted at that. Well, of course, if a man were, supposedly, in love, he would care about the object of his affections. According to his old friend Noah (oh, he should take Rose to go see the man since apparently she's been reading his work closely of late), 'to care' meant 'to have an inclination, liking, fondness, or affection for'. Inclination, liking, fondness, affection...he'd felt all of those emotions for his companions in the past, to varying degrees and in varying ways. But he had never been in love with any of them.
He'd know.
Right?
He was the Doctor. He cared about everyone! Or, well, at least he tried to care about everyone. So, of course, he cared about Rose, too. He cared about her health, about her safety and about her happiness. He cared what she thought (especially when she was thinking about how impressive he was) and what she wanted (especially when it was what he wanted, too) and what made her smile (especially when she was smiling at him).
But he lived with Rose, he ate with Rose, he ran for his life daily with Rose. Life was easier when she was happy. So that wasn't not love...it was….it was logic.
With another snort, he moved on to the next number. Apparently, now he really was turning into Rose's green-blooded Vulcan. And she wasn't even around to see it.
7. You like her quirks
Ha! Well, if they were inventorying quirks, he certainly had a multitude to discuss about one Rose Tyler (although, the TARDIS pointed out that people in glass houses really shouldn't throw stones - or, perhaps, that men who had worn decorative vegetables really couldn't pass too much judgement on eccentricities of others). Anyway, he had, quite unintentionally, created for himself an entire catalogue of Rose-Tyler-moods and expressions and something in him obsessively gathered more and more data each time they were together, hungrily searching to file away and know every single facet of her existence.
When he held her hand, his superior senses really couldn't help but take an inventory of her - Rose was dehydrated; Rose was .7 degrees cooler than usual; Rose really needed to moisturize her hands. But he had also very carefully created himself a docket of other data on Rose, information that he was much less likely to share and much more likely to ponder in his free moments.
Rose Tyler nibbled on her thumb when she was nervous.
And, more often than not, he'd like to do that for her.
Rose Tyler couldn't pass for a functioning humanoid until after her first cup of tea and couldn't do maths until after her second.
And wasn't she always adorable when she stumbled incoherently into the galley, sleep-tousled and groggy? Also, Rose Tyler would not hesitate to throw breakfast foods at him if he asked her maths at any point during their morning meal.
Rose Tyler smiled with her tongue in her teeth when she was being mischievous or flirtatious.
And it made his hearts race at an unnatural tempo when that dangerous grin was pointed at him. It also made his blood boil when it was pointed at anyone else.
Rose dropped the 'g's off her words, especially when she was talking to her mum or Mickey. Rose liked to paint her toenails on the jumpseat and often dropped polish on the grating. Rose drowned her chips in vinegar and couldn't stand yellow mustard. Rose crossed her arms and tapped her foot when she was exasperated with him. Rose would disappear sometimes to watch romantic comedy films when she was frustrated with him. Rose would always forgive him and would show it by bringing him a cup of tea and a stack of Jammie Dodgers. Rose twisted the beaded rings on her fingers when she was nervous. Rose often did not wear a bra under the vest tops she liked as sleepwear. Rose had an affinity for Douglas Adams and a love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Rose disliked cold toast and hated when syrup touched her eggs.
Just those few observations pulled from the plentiful supply his brain seemed to be constantly recording, made him blink in surprise. Anyway, it was still just natural, right? Rose lived with him and, big brain like his, he was bound to note all sorts of small details. His great propensity for detail-noticing was a life-saving habit, just like cataloging exits and knowing every poisonous snake in the galaxy. Anyway, he could probably list just as many quirks of Jack's.
Oh, that was very dangerous path.
And he didn't find nearly as many of those endearing.
6. You have great chemistry.
Well, he could safely assume (he thought) that the makers of this infernal magazine were not referring to the scientific identification and manipulation of the substances that compose matter (although, he and Rose did save an entire population of Vron'rin just two days ago by creating that compound...plus she lookedreally sexy handing him implements while dressed in that labcoat).
No, he figured they were referring to that indefinable physical and emotional interaction that exists between people. Like the way Rose just seemed to know which tool he needed before he asked for it. Like the way she could just tell when he wanted to talk about something and when he wanted to sit in silence. Like the way they seamlessly danced through wrecks and wealth as if they were simply made to complement one another. He trusted her implicitly, terrifyingly and completely and the way she would throw herself headlong into anything at the nod of his head or simply the look in his eyes, awed him to his core.
And physically, although most of the time he chose to ignore it, her touch set his body racing in ways he'd simply never felt before. Just the brush of her skin against his, even a hand on a hand or, he shivered, a finger to the back of the neck, like she did yesterday, on accident, he thought, sent blood pounding through him without destination (or rather, with a destination he'd rather not think about in her presence) and his hormones (fine, he had them, too, but he was never telling Jack) lit up his nervous system like a Christmas tree when she was around. If they were talking about chemistry, the air between the two of them was always thick with a chemical cocktail of potent hormones and desires. There was an undeniable undertow of passion and craving in their every action that made his hearts hammer just thinking about it.
Shaking himself from that thought, he forced his breathing to slow and reached down to adjust his jeans slightly.
Damn Rose (Bless Rose) and that ridiculously titillating labcoat.
5. You love spending time with her
He did, of course.
Any moment spent in Rose Tyler's company was better than a moment spent alone. Even when he was loathe to admit it. Even when she was driving him mad. Even when she was right and he was wrong. Even being thrown into prison was better with Rose along to laugh at his jokes and accept a boost up to climb through air ducts and out sewage drains.
The Doctor had spent almost his entire long life surrounded by humans. He enjoyed their company and their quirks, their compassion and their foibles. But he had also always treasured his independence. In fact, though he complained about it to no end now, those eight-to-ten hours of silence he always got to himself with them onboard had been crucial to his sanity among humans back when he was younger.
But now, he craved to be around this human all the time.
He had discovered over the last several months, the enormity of the way Rose had worked her way into his life, to his great surprise. She was typically in the console room while he worked, either sitting next to the hole in the grating, handing him tools (which he liked the best) and playfully shoving at his outstretched legs when he made disparaging comments about certain species or sitting on the jumpseat reading and chattering at him. If she was not in the console room, his desire to tinker diminished quickly and he, on occasion, accidentally, of course...sought her out. They ate all of their meals together (he didn't need three a day, with frequent tea breaks - but he took them for her), they read together in the library in the evenings (Rose had admitted a brand new love for Harry Potter and the way it sounded in a Northern cadence and he an (unadmitted) brand new love for soft leather couches and warm humans) and he had been known(only in secret - to himself and the TARDIS) to check in on her frequently at night.
And, most bizarre of all about this insane dependence…he liked it.
He really liked it. And he liked that she seemed to want to be around him constantly as well.
And when did he stop rationalizing thinking about her for each of these ridiculous numbers?
4. You don't mind compromising sometimes.
Unbidden, his thoughts flickered back centuries, thinking of his first companions. Poor Ian and Barbara...he'd never compromised on anything back then. Everything had been what he wanted, when he wanted it and, more often than not, they'd all suffered for it. But now…
Just a few days ago, he'd been thinking about how much he'd like to pop back and see if he could stir up a little trouble in ancient Egypt, while Rose had requested a beach or a spa vacation. They'd playfully argued (Rose hadn't wanted to try to run for her life in those ridiculous sandals, she said, and he hadn't wanted to have to try and ignore what Rose would look like in the bikini she would inevitably wear on the beach) and, at length, they'd decided on the seeing the Glass Pyramid of San Kloon instead. (He'd seen a pyramid, she'd had fun in the sand - wearing normal clothes, thank Rassilon, and, eventually, they'd ended up running for their lives back to the TARDIS, to their mutual delight.)
He'd been willing to adjust to her throw pillows on the furniture, as long as they were not pink. He'd been known to purchase chocolate biscuits to suit her, as well as banana to suit him. He'd even taken some extra pretty boys onto his ship at her whim (thankfully that moron Adam had proved himself to be a right wanker and Harkness was actually proving himself useful). Mickey the Idiot, however, wasn't coming anywhere near his ship even if it sounded like he and Rose were done.
And then there was the tiny little factor he liked to ignore of how often he'd visited 21st century London of late. (UNIT was probably wringing its hands in worry and watching the Powell Estate like hawks - which merely made him snicker. Maybe he could convince them that Jackie was a dangerous alien.) He couldn't seem to overlook, however, that he'd never allowed a companion to live this double life before; it'd always been either travelling with him or staying at home. No in-betweens. No superphone connections to mothers and ex-boyfriends. And certainly no frequent visits to crazy slapping mums.
But then again, he'd never asked a second time either, had he?
3. You can't stop thinking about her.
Well, he was already about seven numbers past being able to refute this one, even for a man who lied to himself on a daily basis. He did, of course, think about her a lot.
A lot, a lot.
Where would Rose like to go? What would Rose like to do? What was Rose doing right now? Would Rose mind if he went to find her? What was Rose thinking? What will make Rose stay?
And, of course…
What could Rose possibly ever see in him?
He thought about her when she was with him and he thought about her when she was not. He thought about her at entirely appropriate times, such as 'I hope Rose shows up to bust me out of this prison cell in the next ten minutes, before my tongue is cut out for telling the king that he should keep his bloody hands to himself!'.
He also thought about her at terribly inappropriate times, such as when he was in the shower, alone. Or when he was under the console, alone. Or when he was in bed, alone. Or…
Well, a lot of other places.
He'd better move on to the next number before he started thinking about any of those places too hard.
2. Other priorities take a backseat.
He snorted. This stupid magazine was probably referring to silly human priorities, like who controlled the remote for the telly (Rose) or who took out the rubbish (him - or the TARDIS) or whether they were going to the pub or someplace fancy for dinner tonight (a toss up...sometimes it was chips from London and sometimes it was pasta with Da Vinci). Simple human prerogatives that made his favourite little apes so decidedly fascinating and fantastically droll at the same time.
Most humans couldn't possibly fathom the daunting life-or-death situations that he lived, day in and day out, as he had for nearly his entire life. They couldn't comprehend the harrowing, often impregnable decisions he had to make (and he would never want them to face that burden, anyway).
A life for a life. A planet for a universe.
A species for a species.
He was the Doctor, the Decider. The Destroyer.
But...then again, 'I could save the world but lose you'?
That hadn't even been a month into this...partnership? Friendship? Relationship?
And he'd meant it. Every single syllable.
It was terrifying and humbling to think about, really. He would let regimes topple, he would let worlds fall, and he would, he knew, let others die so she would live. He might once have been different than this...although he was not certain how much different, but he wasn't now. He didn't know how she would feel(actually he did, probably), knowing that about him, but he also knew for certain, down deep in dark, dun caverns his soul that he would let worlds burn for her.
And that she would do the same.
So, yes. His priorities had shifted.
And they revolved around Rose. Rose and the TARDIS. His best mate and his oldest friend. His hearts and his home.
1. You start thinking about the future and she's in it.
Well, that was a tricky one, wasn't it? He did think about the future, more than any human. He could feel it, the passage of Time and the precarious pull of the tomorrow warring against the hazardous haze of yesterday. Timelines strained and toiled around the Time Lord, always vying for dominance, some effortless and some demanding, some blistering and some bleak. It was his birthright and his bane.
But Rose...
Time danced around her, capering with joy in her wake, waltzing around her every move. The first time he had looked at her with his battered and bruised temporal eye, he'd almost been blinded by her brilliance. He and Rose were so tangled up together, even now, that he couldn't see precisely where her future led and it terrified him to his core. Every single atom of his existence was pulling her toward him and so, every chance he got, he wrapped the flimsy, gossamer filaments of her resplendent Timeline tighter and tighter around his fist, weaving the cables of their lives together as best he could because without her...
He cannot guarantee a future, he had never been able to do that, and she was human, oh, so, so human. Every cut, every bruise, every close call, every winded-chase, he saw her alarming ephemerality and he wondered what he would do when he lost her.
He would probably die. Or, at the very least, stop living.
And so, he had decided do his damndest to keep her with him, for one forever or another. Because a future with Rose Tyler was the only future he would accept. No matter what he had to do to make it happen.
The TARDIS chimed at him softly, drawing him out from the dark corner where his thoughts had retreated. The Doctor looked down once more at the sleek, annoyingly lustrous pages of Rose's magazine, replaying his trip through this ridiculous article one last time.
So, that was...huh. 10/10.
Which meant…
Oh.
OH.
The Doctor crushed the magazine in his hand and immediately sprinted from the room, much to the TARDIS' amusement. She did, however, take pity on him and sent him directly to the place he needed to go.
"JACK!" the Doctor bellowed, running through the hall and slamming open a door which, thanks to his TARDIS, led him to the (formerly) sleeping Time Agent. "JACK!"
"Whuzzat?" Jack mumbled, struggling into a sitting position on the library couch.
"THIS," the Doctor said, thrusting the crumpled, shiny pages into the groggy man's face. "What the hell am I supposed to do about this?"
"7 Quick and Easy Ways to Experiment with Kink in the Bedroom?" Jack read, squinting at the rapidly moving page in front of him, suddenly much more awake than he had been just a moment before.
"What?" the Doctor roared, the little blood that had been in his face, falling rapidly away as he turned the magazine around. He started to stammer, "No! Not that, I -"
Jack, however, saw the golden opportunity to tease the Time Lord and leapt for it. "I'm flattered that you'd come to me for advice, Doc. Always knew you'd be a kink man...all that leather and getting handcuffed all the time, hard not to be. But seriously, you don't have to do that kind of stuff at first. I think Rose would be happy with regular old 'dancing' to begin with, although, if things start to get a bit slow, I'd be happy to give you both a stimulating class on the merits of - "
"Shut it!" the Doctor barked, but his ears were a distinctive shade darker than normal. "I am not discussing anything even remotely related to...to, any of that with you. I am talking about this!"
The amusement fell away from Jack's face as he studied the Time Lord in front of him. The Doctor was pale, his eyes huge and his normally steady hands were shaking as they held the glossy magazine. He looked unsure (and the Doctor never looked unsure), nervous (and the Doctor never looked nervous) and scared (and the Doctor never, ever looked scared).
Jack took the outstretched magazine, which the Doctor released quickly as though it had been burning him, and studied the article on the other side, his grin growing wider and wider the further he read. "What about it?" he asked, slyly, finally turning his attention back to the thunderstruck man.
The Doctor's jaw dropped open and he gaped at Jack. "What d'you mean 'what about it?' According to that I'm...well, I can't be. I don't, Time Lords don't, but they're gone. And I never really bought into all that higher being bogus anyway but... I don't deserve her...how can I possibly be? I - what do I do, Jack?" he stammered, the words falling over themselves in a way Jack had never heard before from the normally-reticent Gallifreyan.
"Tell her," Jack said, quietly, letting his amusement drop, replacing it with sincerity. This poor, brilliant, alien man was so far in love that he couldn't see the forest for the trees or, at the least, he couldn't see the beautiful, human girl right in front of him - who was just as arse over teakettle in love as he was. "Just tell her," Jack repeated, standing up to reassure him.
"I can't," the Doctor replied, dropping down to take Jack's place on the couch, his head buried in his hands, elbows on his bony knees. The sure defeat in his voice broke Jack's heart as he looked down on the Time Lord. He was searching for something to say, some words of comfort, when he looked up and saw just the person he needed, standing speechless in the doorway, unknown to the Doctor.
"She can't possibly feel the same, Jack, and if I say something, she'll leave me. What have I ever done to deserve her? What will I ever do? I can't...I don't think I can survive without her and if she knew I, I cared for her like that, then she would leave. She's young and gorgeous and, well, I'm just...me. Rose is the only thing that kept me alive at a time I wanted most to die. She's shown me how to live again, really live and she's the only thing I've ever really wanted. If she left...I love her, Jack, I know that now...probably always knew it, really, but it took that bloody magazine to point it out and now -"
"Doctor?" came a soft voice from right in front of him and his breath caught in his chest. He'd been so focused on his knees and his grief, he hadn't noticed when the Captain's scent had left the room and Rose's soft presence had entered it.
Drawing his head up slowly, he dragged his eyes to meet hers, stormy blue into wide hazel. She had showered, he could smell the clean scent of soap and the light balm of her shampoo and her hair was falling in waves around her shoulders. "Rose," he breathed, his voice a supplication and a benediction, offering her his hearts in that one small but powerful word.
"Did you mean all that?" she asked, her hand moving toward his cheek, stopping just millimeters away from touching him. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable and he didn't think she'd ever looked quite so beautiful.
"Yes," he answered, quietly, waiting for the gust of wind that would blow him over one way or the other with her next words.
"Good. 'Cause I love you, too," she replied, breathlessly and then he was on his feet, pulling her soft frame against his rough edges, her head on his wool-clad shoulder.
Cautiously, he pulled back to tilt her chin up toward him and he lowered his mouth to meet hers in a dance it felt as though they had been born to do. Eventually, he pulled back to rest his forehead on hers, both of them panting delightfully. This mouth had never kissed anyone before...perhaps because it had been waiting for hers, he mused. Just the way his hearts had been waiting to give to her all these years.
"Doctor?" Rose asked softly, just as she had a few moments before, although now her voice was tinged with amusement and quite a bit of thick desire.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, tracing his lips along her neck, just to feel her shiver. He wasn't really paying attention to her words, too focused on the salt of her skin and the beguiling curve of her neck to her shoulder.
"Did you get to the article about body language?" she asked and he pulled back, blinking at her in confusion, his face flushed and his pupils wide.
"No," he said, cautiously, eyeing her. Had he done something wrong already?
"Pity," Rose tsked, her tongue going to the corner of her mouth, drawing all of his attention to that little bit of pink flesh. "If you had, you'd be able to interpret this." With that, her hands snaked down to settle firmly in the back pockets of his jeans and then she gave his bum a very firm squeeze.
"I think I can interpret that just fine on my own, Rose," he growled at her, trying to cover up his jolt of surprise and pleasure.
"Oh yeah?" she said, doing it again, just to see him jump.
"Yeah," he answered and then he unexpectedly swung her up over his shoulder, to her giggling delight.
The TARDIS very happily pulled his bedroom right next to the library and then hummed to herself as she moved the Captain's room several corridors away. Her Wolf and her Thief were going to need some time on their own.
She also moved a few more of her Rose's magazines in a prime spot for him to notice...just in case they needed a little extra inspiration.
10/10 indeed.