A/N: My first completed explicit smut piece. Not the first one I've started, but the first one I've been able to complete and post. We'll see how it goes.
Rose was in the control room.
With all of the Doctor's extra, superior senses, knowing this wasn't unusual. From vibrations through the floor to minute changes in air flow, he could practically sense her presence before she even entered a room, except for those rare cases when he was injured or distracted.
Okay, so distraction wasn't so rare. But the main point was, this was a normal, everyday occurrence in the lives of Rose and the Doctor.
What wasn't so normal was the shudder that had just made its way down his spine, causing him to drop the part he'd been fixing. He crouched down to pick up the metal piece, swearing under his breath as he fumbled a few more times before finally getting a good hold on it. What in the world was going on?
He took a deep breath to try to steady himself, and staggered again. Standing and turning to face Rose, he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over the railing. When had it gotten so hot in the TARDIS?
"Rose, did you change your perfume?"
Rose looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through, eyeing him curiously. "No—same one as always. Why? Something wrong?"
"No. I just…no. Nothing." He rubbed the back of his neck. How could he explain that suddenly her smell, perfume and shampoo and sweat and hormones and all, were invading his nose, causing his hearts to beat double-time? Maybe he should run a few scans…
Apparently his disquiet showed on his face. "Are you okay, Doctor?" Rose asked, becoming worried. "Did the Rotchians do something, the other day? I know you said everything was okay, but—"
He shook his head. "No. Rotchians are scientists, researchers. They love to study other species, which is why they locked us in that room with one-way mirrors on every wall. But we must not have been very interesting, because they let us go after barely a day…"
He trailed off, mouth going dry. Rose had slid off the jump seat and leaned over to drop her magazine on the floor, and his eyes were magnetically drawn to her bum. There could not be a better word to describe that part of a person's anatomy (so much better than buttocks or arse), what with the short softness of its sound and the way one's lips pressed together at the end, allowing you to draw it out for as long as you wanted. And what a magnificent bum it was, high and pert and beautifully round and why was he obsessing over Rose's bum, all of a sudden? Scans were definitely in order.
"Yeah?" Rose prompted. She turned back to face him, and now his eyes were drawn to her front—were her tops always that low cut, or was he just now noticing?—and an instant later, a bolt of white-hot heat lanced straight through him.
And ended in his groin.
"Oh dear," he gasped, wavering on his feet, suddenly realizing what was wrong. "Or maybe they did do something."
"Doctor!" Rose cried, starting toward him, and her proximity made him shudder bodily and step around the console, trying to put more space between them.
"I'm fine! Fine," he said, voice going up a bit. "Nothing deadly or even life-threatening, really. So you can just stay where you are."
"Not until you explain what's wrong." She moved forward again, and the Doctor was forced to swallow down a moan.
"Rose, please!" Oh yes, definitely squeaking now.
She finally stopped, but looked at him expectantly, and he rubbed his forehead. How was he going to explain something so horribly humiliating? And how was he going to get through it? If he could just focus on the words, he'd be okay. Maybe.
"When humans fall in love, there are two aspects to it." Rose glared at him. "Not a tangent! This is related, I swear," he stammered, and her expression softened. "Right, so. There's the mental, emotional reaction, the 'you complete me,' 'we'll stay together even when we're old and gray,' blah blah et cetera. But there's also a physical, sexual attraction, correct?" He looked to Rose for confirmation, and she nodded.
"Well, it's not the same for Time Lords. We don't have that physical aspect—only the mental. I don't know if we ever had it, or if it got lost through evolution or science or both. Makes sense, though, with our mental acuity and telepathic abilities, and our life spans. Universe would be overrun with Time Lords. And children were genetically engineered, so there wasn't any need for reproduction the old fashioned way."
"So you don't…find people attractive?" Her tongue poked its way out of the corner of her mouth, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to maintain his focus.
"Yes and no. It's…it's a more detached process. More like how you'd find a piece of art attractive. Not like I can't have sex—" Oh God, why was this coming out of his mouth? "—all the bits and bobs are in the right place. And I most certainly have—" Why? "—in some civilizations intercourse is a more polite greeting than a handshake. It's just…not a biological imperative for me, like it is for you humans."
"But then we stumbled upon those Rotchians. I neglected to mention that their favorite area of study is sex and reproduction—raunchy little buggers. They have some practices that'd make even the writers of the Kama Sutra blush. And with as little as most other Time Lords traveled, I'm sure they've never been able to study one before, and then here I fall right into their laps. They must have been salivating. Well, as much at a Rotchian could salivate, since they don't have what you'd consider saliva…"
"Doctor…" Rose warned.
"Right. Tangent. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "They had to know everything I just told you. So they probably whipped up some drug—they really are quite brilliant, those Rotchians—to try to, for lack of a better term, nudge that part of me into action. Must have put it into the ventilation system of our room, because they couldn't have known which food tray I'd take. Explains why they looked so disappointed when they let us go—they thought their little potion had failed. But what they didn't realize is how deeply ingrained that aspect is in my biology. It just took a little longer than they expected." He closed his eyes and forced it out. "Until, say, right now."
Was that snickering he heard? The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose's lips spreading into a huge grin. "So in other words, you're saying that they turned on your sex drive?"
"It's not funny!" he protested. "Traveling with you these past few years, I've learned to live with the mental aspect, but the physical side of attraction is entirely new and quite discomfiting."
Rose's head snapped up, and she looked at him with wide, shining eyes. Confused, he mentally replayed what he'd just said. "Oh, shit. Fuck. Gah." He slapped his hands over his mouth before any more expletives—or confessions—could escape.
Rose looked like she was so happy her heart would burst. "You…?"
"Kill me now," he moaned, humiliated. "Just kill me now. I'm sure I could find a cliff somewhere in the TARDIS to throw myself off of. Or a length of rope to hang myself with."
Rose's happy expression suddenly turned mischievous, naughty even, and he could practically feel the atmosphere in the room change. "Oh, I don't think you need to go that far. I'm attracted to you, and now you're attracted to me…I think this problem has an easy solution." She started sauntering toward him, hips swaying with every step.
The Doctor tried to move backwards without stumbling over his own feet. "That…that's actually not a good idea. Horrible, even."
He tried to turn to run, but Rose was faster, having the advantage of being in her right mind, and blocked his escape, effectively pinning him with his back to the console. "Really?" she purred. "Because you don't seem to think it's such a horrible idea." Her hand strayed down to the front of his trousers.
He moaned, head falling back as his knees buckled. Rose took advantage of his distraction, first loosening his tie and throwing it aside, then starting the process of unbuttoning his shirt, placing a kiss on each newly exposed bit of flesh.
"Rose, we can't do this," he managed, proud of the fact that his voice hadn't reached the range that only dogs could hear.
She looked up at him. "Really? Cause I seem to remember you mentioning, just a few minutes ago, that you could, and have. Bits and bobs all in the right places, wasn't it?"
"There are many, many other reasons."
Another button undone, another patch of skin kissed. "Name one."
"The…I…it's…" His eyes closed in frustration. "I would, if my brain was receiving enough oxygen to function properly. What's the good of having a binary vascular system if it doesn't help in times like this?" he complained weakly.
Rose chuckled softly as she undid the last button. Task finished, she straightened, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and starting to pepper kisses along his jaw line.
Time to state the obvious. "Rose Tyler, are you trying to seduce me?"
"Yes," she whispered hotly into his ear. His eyes rolled back. "Is it working?" She lightly bit the skin right below the lobe.
And his control finally, mercifully, snapped.
"Yes," he answered, and tilted his head, and kissed her.
It was a truly magnificent snog, if he did say so himself. Tongues in mouths, hands in hair, noses bumping into each other, they staggered wildly for the hallway. The Doctor unfused his mouth from Rose's as they reached the corridor. "You have to know," he panted, "that it's been a long, long time since I've done this. Don't know how much—"
"S'okay," Rose reassured him, then smiled. "Besides—me knowing more about something than you, being the expert for once? Dream come true."
"Cheeky," he admonished.
"Horny," she retorted, and he had no comeback to that but to kiss her again.
"And as smart as you are," she said, pulling back slightly, "I'm sure you'll be a very fast learner."
"It's still pretty much Tab A into Slot B, right?" he teased, and he could feel her grin against his lips.
"Gold star," she cheered.
The Doctor decided it was high time Rose lost an article of clothing—it was only fair—and attempted to pull her t-shirt over her head, but it got stuck somewhere in the vicinity of her chin. Laughing, she managed to wiggle enough to help him remove it. Tossing the offending piece of clothing aside, he pressed her against the corridor wall and sealed his mouth to hers again, desperate to have as much contact as possible. Every nerve in his body strained to be one of the few that got to touch her smooth skin. All of his senses were attuned to her. How could humans stand this constant onslaught?
His musings were interrupted by Rose tugging on his hair, forcing them apart a few centimetres. "Little less tongue," she gasped. "Still need to breathe."
"Sorry," he murmured, abashed, and tried again. He must have done better, because Rose hummed in the back of her throat and reached for his fly.
They somehow managed to dispose of both pairs of trousers before stumbling into a bedroom—his, hers, or some random one, he didn't know or care; he would have been satisfied with a soft and horizontal surface at this point—and tumbling onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, trying valiantly to undo her bra. He swore under his breath as his first few attempts failed. "Forget space travel or curing cancer—humans need to invent a brassiere that's easier to unhook," he muttered as he fumbled with the clasp. "Are they always this difficult?"
"Always," Rose laughed, and her good humor made him feel immensely better.
The bra came undone after a few more attempts and the Doctor flung it aside. Rose leaned back on her elbows and he sat back on his haunches, admiring the view before him. "You are so beautiful."
Her cheeks pinked slightly. "For a human."
He nodded emphatically. "Yes. And for a humanoid. And for a life form that walks upright. And for a sentient being." He paused, raking his eyes over her form once more. "I want to touch you, Rose," he said breathlessly. "I want to taste you until I've memorized the flavor of every bit of your skin. Can I do that? Is that good?"
"That," Rose groaned, falling back to the duvet and bringing him with her, "is very good."
He started his exploration at her jaw line, licking and nibbling his way to one shoulder and then mirroring the route on the other side. If he got a little too rough in his ministrations Rose would simply tug on his hair, reminding him to soften his touch.
He traced his tongue around the curve of her clavicle, mapping the delicate bones, then drew a straight line down her sternum. Salt from her sweat, vanilla from her body wash—all that and more flooded his taste buds. It was indescribable, intoxicating—he could get drunk on the flavor of her skin. He licked the underside of her breasts, and smiled when she arched into his touch.
He'd barely dipped into her navel when he felt her hands on the backs of his arms, urging him back up to face her. "Impatient," Rose whispered. "You can finish later."
"Yes ma'am," he whispered back.
Pants and knickers were discarded with haste, and then Rose was guiding him into her. But right away the Doctor could tell that something was wrong. There was a little ping of pleasure, yes, but mostly discomfort—and he could tell from the not-so-well-hidden grimace on Rose's face that she felt the same. This couldn't be what humans were so entranced with. Something was off, the angle or some other such variable, and he couldn't seem to fix it, no matter how many adjustments he made.
After a few more awkward thrusts he finally gave up, resting his forehead on her chest in mortification and dismay. "I'm sorry, Rose. There's no denying it—I'm rubbish. I can save entire planets, but ask me to try my hand at shagging and I fail miserably. Can you even do that, fail at shagging?"
"Hey," she said softly, tilting his head until he was looking up at her. "None of that. It's never perfect on the first try, like they show in movies and on the telly."
Her expression turned devilish. "And besides," she said, surprising him by reversing their position with one quick twist of her hips, "maybe you should let the expert work her magic." And with that, she sank down onto him.
The effect was instantaneous. He moaned long and low, head pushing back into the pillows as his hips arched up to meet hers, some long-dormant instinct reasserting itself. Pleasure fuzzed his mind. His hands—what was he supposed to do with his hands? They remained by his sides, frantically clutching fistfuls of the duvet, until Rose took them and guided them to her waist.
And maybe they weren't in perfect rhythm, but oh, that didn't stop it from feeling amazing. It was like he'd said earlier—he wasn't affected by physical attributes the way humans were. He'd always known that Rose was an attractive woman, but never before had his pulse raced as his eyes were drawn to her body like a moth to a flame. He'd had sex, as he'd said, but never before had it been this intense, sparks of electricity running down his spine. He unconsciously moved his arms up her back as Rose leaned forward, running a hand through his damp hair—was he really sweating?—and kissing the pulse in his neck.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
His mind reeled. How could he ever put into words the multitude of emotions and sensations that were running through him? "I…I…"
Rose shook her head slightly. "No—I can practically hear you thinking. Stop all that. How do you feel?" she repeated, and brought her hips down hard against his.
A blinding burst of pleasure ripped through him, and the Doctor's brain finally shut down.
"Like I'm on fire," he breathed, arching into her. Everywhere her skin touched his it burned. Analytical thought was washed away. He clung to her as they moved, face in the crook of her neck as skin slid past sweat-slicked skin.
Rose's movements soon became erratic, the circling of her hips beginning to stutter and falter. He knew he was close too—lower back and stomach muscles tensing to just below the point of pain, knees bent, feet scrabbling for purchase on the silky sheets, trying to defy physics to merge their bodies together, and maybe then he'd never have to be alone again—
"Rose," he moaned desperately, frantically, "I…"
"It's okay," she soothed.
"No," he whimpered, trembling beneath her, hypersensitive, the pressure building and building. "I can't…"
Her eyes looked into his soul. "Yes you can. I'm right here with you. It's okay." She kissed him, and when she spoke again he felt the words as exhalations against his lips.
"Just let go."
He did.
And was consumed.
The Doctor wasn't sure how long they laid there in a daze, Rose collapsed against his chest. He was enormously hyper, nerves tingling beneath the skin, and yet completely sated and exhausted, the strange combination conspiring to hold him in place.
"That…" he finally said, and had to stop to moisten his lips. "If it always feels like that for you humans, I can see why you're so obsessed with it."
Rose chuckled softly and stretched languidly on top of him. "Yeah. And you weren't half bad, what with being so out of practice and all," she teased. "And I'm sure we can take care of that pretty—" She stopped, and looked up at him in concern. "Whatever the Rotchians did—how long is it going to last? Is everything just going to suddenly go back to how it used to be?"
His expression turned serious. "No matter what happens, Rose, I won't do that to you." A hint of a smile quirked his lips. "But I really don't know. Could wear off at any time. Rotchians aren't known for making mistakes, though—or antidotes. Might just be stuck this way."
"What a shame," Rose responded, eyes wide, voice full of false concern. "I guess we'll have to test out your hypothesis."
"Guess we will," he sighed, eyes bright with mischief. "Although not right now—even I'm not that impressive." He grinned at her as she laughed. "But later—yes. Most definitely."
"And of course, knowing you," Rose said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and working her way up his neck, "and your need for perfection, we'll have to keep at it until it's the best it can be."
"Well, of course," he replied, rolling her onto her back and kissing her deeply. "Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?"