Rose Tyler was the biggest tease he'd ever met, and he had met a lot of beings in his 900 years in this universe. She walked around the TARDIS in her little shirts that didn't properly cover her stomach, in denim that hugged her in all of the wrong (right) ways, in her bath towels after she'd just come from the shower. Rose would sit and rub her hand along his arm, chattering away, and he'd have to sit there and pretend that her touch didn't set fire to his flesh, that he wasn't using every fiber of his being to stop himself from assaulting the poor girl.
Much to his own dismay, the Doctor was finding that this body was different, much different, than all the rest. He didn't have that helpful detachment from his hormonal impulses, didn't have that excellent self control when presented with pretty females, and didn't find the look of Rose Tyler's bare legs as she swung them from the edge of the jump seat unobtrusive. In fact, he found those legs very obtrusive and rather rude, and he wished they'd either wrap around his hips or just walk away. And that was the real problem—he couldn't stop thinking about her legs wrapped around him, her body naked and his to ravage. He couldn't stop picturing all the ways he'd like to shag Rose, and it was rather hard to carry about saving the world when his cock wouldn't stop throbbing, wasn't it?
Some days he doubted why he asked her to come. He knew from the start this would be a problem, knew this body was different, more savage, more angry, more noticeably sex starved than the rest. He wondered if it was a mistake to bring a beautiful little human girl aboard while he was like this. In other bodies-sure, why not, didn't seem to matter. But his other bodies weren't born of fire and rage, weren't walking war machines who destroyed everything they touched. But this body was in tune with every nuance in her skin, every dimple on her lip, every curve of her hip. And it was dangerous to have her around, always fighting with himself to stay off of her, keep his hands to himself, not throw her on the ground and rip her clothing to shreds, mark her body with his mouth. Yes, it was definitely dangerous.
But the other thing about this body—the thing he wasn't sure he liked one bit—was the way it was hell bent on destroying itself, and that wouldn't do. He really didn't fancy dying, hated it actually, and Rose Tyler seemed pretty capable of keeping him from doing just that. It had started pretty innocent, expected her to stay for one, maybe two trips, just keep him from blowing himself up or something, but then she kept wanting to stay, kept proving how much he needed her. And he grew to like her presence enough, liked the way she was rather brilliant here and there, liked the way she seemed to adore him. It wasn't really that he didn't return her affections, she was a girl worth fancying, but it was just so different for him. So much more complicated than simply liking her. He needed her for gods sake, and that need kept spiraling into something darker. Something he could only barely control. He needed her to keep him from killing himself, but also needed her flesh and her screams, needed her in a dark and demented and revolting way. Having Rose Tyler around was like swallowing fire, and yet he just kept gulping the flames down.
This particular day, the Doctor mused, had been the worst and best yet. She'd worn a little sundress thing, something she never wore, and he had enjoyed the way the fabric draped over that little arse of hers, and the way her shoulders were so naked to him. It was the best because he enjoyed milking every glance of her that he could manage. It was the worst because he'd had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from making his constant erection noticeable.
After the people of Nexilla 77 had bid them goodbye, and Rose had slammed the door of the TARDIS closed behind them, he'd thought he might get some rest. Sure that Rose would scamper off to whatever human needs she needed to take care of, he'd expected some time to himself. He nodded at her, gave her his tight lipped smile, and headed down the hallway. She'd skipped along behind him, he hoped to her own room, but her sweet fragrance was still right behind him when he made it to his door. He turned awkwardly, trying to make sure the bulge in his trousers stayed hidden, and gave her a questioning look.
"Whatcha gonna do?" She grinned at him, her tongue between her teeth, and he practiced deep breathing in his mind, trying terribly hard to resist capturing that tongue in his mouth.
"Uh, ya know. Get some rest. Do...you need somethin'?" His hand hovered over the knob, desperate to be alone.
"'m all keyed up! Thought I could come hang out wit' ya, yeah?" And those bare shoulders slipped passed him, opened the door, and strode right into his room. Groaning quietly, he'd followed her, hoping she would prattle on and he could slip away to the restroom to take care of his problem. The problem that was absolutely growing as he watched her sit on the edge of his bed, watcher her cross her legs and run a hand through her hair. The problem that was agonizing and delicious and disgusting all at the same time.
"Those Nexillan were jus' wild, yeah?" She laughed, tossing herself backwards on the bed, chatter spilling from her lips. "I thought we'd never get them to agree to tha'! But you're such a sweet talker, can't believe ya pulled tha' off!" Her voice was light and airy, girlish. He wished like hell she'd just leave, let him alone to his perverted ways.
"Sweet talker? Nah. Just common sense talker, me!" He crossed his arms, shifted, then sat awkwardly in the chair by the dresser. Crossed one leg. Why was she still there?
"Nah, you're a sweet talker. You could charm the pants off any dame!" She giggled, her stomach vibrating in a delicious way.
"Well, maybe a dame who wears pants." What was he doing? He needed her out. He needed an excuse, something to distract her, send her off so he could just take care of this... But she was being flirty, and he craved flirty Rose. And the image of her laying back on his bed, talking about what a charmer he was certainly added to the fantasy that he was brewing.
"Oi! D'you like it, then?" She sat up and smoothed her dress about her, and the Doctor had no idea what she was going on about. Get out, please!
"Sorry?" He shifted forward, clasping his hands together.
"M'dress! Do you like m'dress?" She blushed a little, and his cock twitched. He wanted to be the reason she turned that shade of red.
It was an absurd question. She never asked him things like this, but he humored her, half his mind planning his excuse to get her to leave. "'s lovely." He tried to ignore the delighted little smile she gave him. "Rose, I hate to ask, but I could really use a cuppa 'bout now." He gave her a half smile, and knew he was playing on her sweet side, that side that was anxious to please him, but gods if he didn't need her out of there. And it worked, of course it did. She smiled brightly and skipped out of the room, and the Doctor exhaled deeply.
Jumping up, he clicked the lock on the door behind her and unfastened his belt, dropping his trousers to the floor, shoving his pants aside, freeing himself. Images he had been saving up all day came flooding to him as he took himself in his hand: the way her dress clung to her chest, extra bits of very creamy white flesh peaking out if she turned just so; the mole on her shoulder that he somehow hadn't know was there and needed to taste; the way her behind had looked when the wind caught her dress and plastered it against her. He stroked himself greedily, knowing he had to be quick, knowing she'd be along.
One hand against the door, the Doctor steadied himself while he pumped. It was dry, savage, he wished he'd had some lube or lotion, but he didn't have time. He tightened his fist, squeezed, thrust into his own hand while he listened to her footsteps coming down the corridor. His mouth dropped open in pleasure as he stroked, heard her grab the doorknob, find it locked.
"Doctor? I've got a nice cuppa fo' ya!" Her voice just on the other side of the door, he squeezed his eyes shut and pumped harder.
"Just..." He struggled, stopped thrusting for a moment. "Just a second!" Managing to spew the words out, he resumed his movements. His cock pulsed and ached, his arousal deep from the long day of watching that tease run around.
"Doctor, open up!" She tried the door again, and he pressed more of his weight into it, so close.
"Yeah, one sec!" Just...almost there. He imagined her face if she knew what he was doing, imagined her dropping to her knees and finishing him off, no more silly questions, just his cock in her mouth and his seed down her throat. He came violently, his body shuddering as he milked the liquid into his hand.
"Doctor? Ya alright in there?" Her sweet voice, her innocent worry about him. He scooped his trousers up, hobbled over to his en suite, and set about cleaning up. He tried to be quick, and as he washed the soap over his fingers he scolded himself for being so filthy, so disgusting. Rose trusted him and here he was wanking off to images of her mouth.
His clothing mostly righted, his sanity mostly restored, he opened the door and revealed a concerned looking Rose. He shoved the guilt away, shoved the dark part of himself down, and forced himself to be normal, be kind.
"Ah! Perfect, thanks!" He grabbed the tea from her hand, strolled back to his chair, and plopped down, sipping away.
A/N: Hello folks! Thank you for taking a chance and reading this far, please leave me your reactions. I feel like I have to warn you, this is not going to be the same Nine that was in my other fic, Seducing the Doctor, but I do hope that you'll grow to like him.
More soon, xox Emmy B.
p.s. love to TARDIS-BadWolf for continued support and hand-holding!