written for a prompt on tumblr. also a bit of an homage to the wonderful fic "Always in the kitchen at parties" by sap1066 (on teaspoon)
Rose shook her head as Shareen flounced off with a boy she'd met fifteen minutes ago. The wink she'd gotten had assured her she wouldn't see her friend until the next day and Keisha had already disappeared with someone ages ago.
Rose's lips quirked up in a fond smile as she wove her way through the crowded flat to find the kitchen and a new drink. This happened at practically every party she went to with them. Occasionally they tried to set her up with someone before they disappeared but thankfully they'd been too busy trying to pull blokes of their own to worry about Rose tonight.
Finally, she reached the kitchen and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh. The room was blessedly quiet and empty.
"Not havin' fun?" A low, Northern-accented voice asked, smile evident from his tone.
Rose opened her eyes and found a man in a leather jacket leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen. So apparently the room was not empty, but Rose could work with this. One person she could handle, thirty something drunk people she couldn't, not when she was still mostly sober.
Plus, this bloke looked far more interesting than anyone else had all night with his very blue eyes and striking features. Yeah, Rose could work with this.
"Oh, I'm having plenty of fun, that's why I'm in the kitchen," Rose replied, deadpan.
"The kitchen's always the best place at a party," the man said with a nod and an upward quirk of his lips.
"Do you make it a habit of hanging out in kitchens at parties, then?"
"That's why they're the best place, I'm always in them," he said with a wink.
He winced as Rose giggled and he looked down at the drink in his hand before making eye contact again. "I might have had one too many of these."
Rose walked over and plucked the drink out of his hand. She took a sip without ever breaking eye contact and winced a bit as the burn of whiskey hit her throat. "I haven't had enough, yet," she said as she handed the drink back to him.
His eyes flicked down to her lips when her tongue flicked out to lick them and Rose grinned. "I'm Rose, by the way."
"John," he answered, eyes snapping back up to meet hers. "Most people call me the Doctor though."
Rose's eyebrows moved closer together, forming a wrinkle between them as she puzzled out his introduction, trying to figure out if it was a line or not. "Do you want me to be most people?" she asked finally.
"No."
"Well then, John, why don't you make me a drink?" Rose asked, hopping up to take a seat on the counter, swinging her legs slightly.
"You here on your own or are there friends waiting for you outside of the kitchen?" John asked as he poured a healthy measure of whiskey into her glass from a bottle he'd grabbed from the top of the fridge.
Rose's smile widened at the question, which she was sure was supposed to sound nonchalant. (He missed by a mile.) "My friends disappeared already with the blokes they pulled for the night so I'm on my own. No," she paused, letting her eyes run slowly over him as he turned to face her, "attachments for the night."
"Me neither." He handed her the drink he'd made.
"Good," she said decisively. Rose tipped the drink back and took a couple healthy swallows, prepared for the stringent burn this time. Warmth settled in her belly and started coursing through her veins.
When she looked up, the heat she was feeling was outstripped by the heat she found in John's eyes. It didn't matter that she barely knew him, she wanted him, badly.
He took a step closer. Both of them had the vague feeling that they were being drawn together by more than just the approaching stroke of midnight and cultural traditions and too much alcohol. This felt like more as his hand reached for hers and their fingers laced together – a perfect fit.
The countdown to midnight started in the other room and John lowered his head.
"This okay?" he rasped out, breath hitting her lips and sending a shiver running through her body.
"More than," she replied. "I'm thinking you were right about the kitchen being the best place to be."
A chuckle escaped him and, as the countdown hit four, he made a space for himself to stand in between Rose's legs.
Rose wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and her arms wound around his neck as the shouting announced two seconds to the new year.
Their eyes met in an electric moment for a single second before midnight struck and their lips crashed together. It wasn't chaste for a second. They kissed like lovers who'd been separated for years; long and deep and wet.
By the time Rose pulled back to suck in a breath John's hands were up the back of her jumper and their tongues were intimately acquainted. She was barely given a second before John reclaimed her mouth to continue ringing in the new year.
They both tasted like whiskey and the fire running through Rose's veins had much more to do with John's hands clutching at her bare skin than with the alcohol.
They were still attached at the lips when the door to the kitchen slammed open and a few people spilled in. They greeted the couple with wolf whistles and calls to get a room.
Rose raised an eyebrow at John who grinned in return. He grabbed her hips and helped her off the counter before taking her hand and leading them out of the party as fast as they could manage through the crowd. They were nowhere near done celebrating but it was time to move the party out of the kitchen.