"Alright, Rose, allons-y!" The Doctor called to Rose as he emerged from the wardrobe room.
Rose turned around. "Rrread—" She stopped, stunned, and looked the Doctor up and down. Several times. "What are you wearing?"
The Doctor looked down at the tartan, confused, and wriggled his Converse-clad toes. "It's a kilt, Rose."
"Doctor, it's a skirt. You're wearing a plaid skirt."
"Rose, it's a kilt. An unbifurcated male garment originating in the Scottish Highlands as the traditional form of dress for men and boys," the Doctor indignantly informed Rose.
"You look daft. And you're not Scottish," Rose reminded him.
"Nonsense. And," he added, affecting the deep Scottish brogue, "how do you know?" The Doctor winked. "Besides, all my suits are in the wash."
Rose stared at the Doctor, blinking, still shocked from the sudden change in speech. "R-right. Allons-y, then." He offered Rose his arm as they left the TARDIS. "I'm not sure how...accepting Mickey will be, though. You don't just show up at a wedding in a kilt, even it is in Cardiff."
The Doctor glanced at Rose and raised an eyebrow.
Rose, as it turned out, was wrong about the Doctor's choice of clothing. He was by no means the most strangely dressed man there, least of all at the reception. By the end of the night, Rose had actually grown to like it, even if she was constantly fighting off bridesmaids. And, after he had a few banana daiquiris, Rose was able get the Doctor out on the dance floor. However, he would only agree to waltz. But the waltz was the most romantic of ballroom dances, allowing the leader to hold his partner very closely. The band happened to be playing "So Close"—an American song, but beautiful nonetheless.
Rose was snuggled against the Doctor, not quite holding the traditional waltz frame, and allowed her left hand to wander, trailing through the Doctor's hair, down his sides, and to his hips—where she stopped. "Doctor, you're not wearing—"
He bent to whisper in her ear. "A true Scotsman never does." He placed a kiss at her temple.
Rose tried to breathe and maintain the dance, but she faltered. The Doctor, noticing her distress, smoothly danced her off the floor.
In the lobby of the reception hall, Rose slapped the Doctor lightly on the chest. "Do you mean to tell me that all this time you've been out there without—"
The Doctor pulled her closer to him, trying to calm her. "Yes, Rose. That is the proper way to wear a kilt. And you know I always do things properly."
Rose glanced up at him, irritated. She then grabbed the lapels of his jacket and brought him down for a kiss. "We'll just have to put that to good use then, won't we?"
The Doctor grinned and raised both eyebrows. "Allons-y?"
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Rose was very glad the TARDIS was parked just outside the reception hall. She grabbed the Doctor's hand, dragging him toward the doors. He laughed behind her and she turned. "Did you want to stay?" Rose asked, returning the eyebrow from earlier.
"Wellll..." He gathered her closer. "I didn't get any cake," he admitted, kissing her.
Rose laughed against his lips. "I think there are sweets in the TARDIS," she promised with a wink. "There might even be some whipped cream left from the banana splits..."
The Doctor approved of this plan. Taking Rose's hand, he moved them once more toward the doors. "I think we could whip something up."
Somehow, they made their way to the TARDIS, kissing, bodies entwined, hands God-knows-where. The doors had barely closed before they were tugging at each other's clothes, Rose shoving the Doctor's waistcoat from his shoulders, him unzipping her dress. Coat gone and dress loosened, the Doctor pulled Rose to him for a deep kiss. Rose was trying to work his buttons as he pulled the knot of his tie. Rose succeeded in freeing his shirt just as he slipped the dress from her shoulders. The Doctor watched the material pool on the grated floor as he admired Rose—his Rose. Rose blushed under his scrutiny, still not accustomed to the intensity with which he looked at her—although she was more than guilty of the same. She heard his breath quicken as he thoroughly looked her over. "Doctor?" Her voice, a soft whisper, echoed around them in the chamber.
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, the emotion and passion in their depths turning them almost black. "Rose." He stepped back toward her, softly caressing her cheek with the back of his hand before thoroughly and leisurely kissing her. They finally parted—they needed air—and rested their foreheads together. Fingers came out of each other's hair and twined together. Rose belatedly realized she had snaked a hand under the Doctor's kilt, smiling as she placed it on his chest.
He tugged her toward the bedroom, but she stopped, pulling him down for a quick kiss. "I almost forgot!" Rose turned, leaving a confused Doctor. She looked over her shoulder to see him still standing there. "Go on."
The Doctor, for once, did as directed and headed for the bedroom. Waiting for Rose, he removed his shoes and tie, glancing at the rumpled remains of his shirt. Just as he was about to shrug out of it, Rose emerged in the doorway, a can of whipped cream in hand. "I did promise dessert."
The Doctor was immediately on his feet, snogging Rose senseless. She didn't notice as he deftly snuck the can out of her grip. Breaking their kiss, he shot a bit of cream into his mouth. Rose watched, her eyes wide. He smiled, swallowing. "Want some?" He turned the can toward her. Dropping a quick kiss on her lips, he said simply "open" before sharing the sweet with her.
He was teasing her! Rose leaned into his kiss, placing the can on the nearest surface. Running her hands up his bare chest, she freed him from his dress shirt. Completely aware she was clad only in lingerie and heels, Rose sidled against the Doctor, skin against skin. His eyes trained on hers, she followed his cheekbones, resting her hands in his hair. Rose came in for a kiss, tracing his lips with her tongue. "Sweet enough for you?"