Note: Originally posted on AO3 on September 24th, 2012.
At first Rose doesn't notice.
She sees John and Jade and Davesprite and about a thousand consorts and carapaces waving from the bow of a bright, golden ship. Then everyone's kept busy with quite a bit of flying about as both groups attempt to get the meteor and the ship comfortably situated.
It's not until after Rose and John have both landed back on solid ground and he's got her wrapped in a rather impressive bear hug that she finally notices.
John is huge.
He is lifting Rose off the ground with arms that are roughly the same size as her thighs. He presses her against his warm chest that beats and breathes with the strength of an industrial turbine. She tries to return the hug, but her arms barely meet around the muscle and bone of his barrel chest.
After a rather wonderful moment he sets her back down and stands up to his full height. Her neck cranes back.
She supposes that the two of them must look like a stunning example of sexual dimorphism.
And then that's it for a while as Rose and John and everyone else are swept up in a wave of enthusiastic reunions, quick and dirty introductions, and yelling.
Lots of yelling.
The next time Rose gets the chance to talk to John privately is later that night, if any period can really be called night on this eternally crepuscular meteor. Close to the time she's come to designate for sleeping, anyways.
He stands in the doorway and knocks on her open door. He looks a little uncertain, a little cynical, and a lot older. But when Rose invite him he talks just the same and begins to catch her up on his three years at sea.
She's missed him.
John wanders around Rose's room poking curiously at the objects she's got scattered everywhere. It really is a mess. She nervously pushes a box full of amateur literary creations of the wizardly persuasion further under the bed with her foot. He picks up her copy of De Vermis Mysteriis from an end table and thumbs through it idly before making a face and setting it back down; even the thick grimoire looks small in his wide hands.
He stops again next to her violet divan (the one that took her forever to alchemize) and laughs.
"I can't believe you made one of these. Geez, Rose, can you get any more predictable? Maybe tomorrow you'll be dyeing your hair black and asking me about tunnels and trains."
Rose puts on her best serious face. "Perhaps I only wished to play into your stereotypes about me, while deep down inside I firmly believe that a cigar just a cigar. Perhaps I spent too much time with Dave's during this journey and now I can only derive pleasure from liking thing 'ironically'."
"Yeah right, Rose. But I guess I'll play along."
He sprawls on the divan. His long arms drape along the low back and his legs hang off onto the floor. He grins and tilts his head back so Rose can the lines of his strong jaw and the muscles in his neck. She swallows hard.
"Analyze me, doc."
She can't stand it anymore. She walks over and stands right in front of John, staring into his eyes. Even slouched over he's not too much shorter than her.
"What?" he asks, smile slowly disappearing.
Rose leans over and kisses him.
It's soft and a little wet and the best kiss she's had yet. The faint scratch of stubble against her chin anchors her to this moment.
Then he puts a hand on either side of her hips and lifts her up into his lap so that she is straddling him. Rose can practically feel her pupils dilate as she feels his warm belly between her thighs.
"That wasn't very professional of you, Dr. Pervert." His voice is deep - and a little breathless.
"Maybe I'm not so predictable after all."
He flips the two of them over in one smooth, easy motion. Rose is underneath him now and his body presses down heavy and so, so comforting.
"I guess you're not either," she says, smiling as he nuzzles her neck.
This time, he kisses her.