A/N - My first smut attempt – please be gentle:). Much love to aihbinn and roquentine for their support and suggestions.
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The chill tears through him, despite the warm breeze that rustles through the trees. Looking to the sky, he sees joy and community reflected in the bright firework balls illuminating the London skyline. But from within, the chill tells him otherwise.
"A storm's coming," he whispers.
"Doctor?" Rose Tyler's eyes shine in the light of the fireworks, but they dim slightly in concern at his visible discomfort. She follows his eye line to the sky, beyond the mixtures of colored chemicals, into the blackness of space. "What is it?" she asks again.
"I'm not sure," he replies, his attention turning to her. "Just a feeling. No matter – it will wait."
"We've got all the time in the world, yeah?" She grins broadly, wrapping her arm around him in a playful hug.
He smiles back, somewhat forced, and returns the squeeze. He knows better than to worry Rose further due to a mere hunch. He watches her as her attention returns to the sky, her face shining with childish excitement as the firework display continued. Sighing softly, he lets the last remnants of that eerie chill flee his body. No use worrying. Besides, it's a beautiful evening, surrounded by beautiful celebrations, and he's here with a beautiful young woman.
Why ruin it with idle thoughts?
He shrugs out of his overcoat and spreads it wide on the grass, smoothing out the edges. "Rose? Want to sit down?" He pats the coat and offers her a hand.
She nods and joins him, lying flat on her back so she can continue watching the display above them. She stretches her arms and legs, releasing a relaxed groan as tension leaves her body. "Thank you, Doctor."
He raises an eyebrow, turning toward her. "What for?"
"This." She gestures to the coat, to the view to the sky. "We didn't swan off this time. Crisis averted, but we still stayed what we came for."
The Doctor frowns and stretches out beside her, propping his head up with his right arm. "Do I swan off?"
"Well, yeah. We tend to leave pretty quick."
"Usually when we need to go."
"Perhaps." Her voice is far away, full of untold doubts and regrets. "I…" she trails off as she pauses to phrase her words correctly. "I just feel like we travel for the intention of getting into trouble. Like 'oh, crisis averted. Nothing more to see here. Might as well leave,' yeah? We've been to so many worlds. Fantastic, beautiful worlds. But I haven't done the tourist tour on any of them." She stops, frowning. "Or are tourist tours just a human thing?"
He laughs, shaking his head. "No. Fairly universal, I'm afraid. And all with the same kitschy souvenirs." Before his logical restraint is able to kick in, he reaches out a hand and delicately brushes unruly tendrils of hair from her cheek, smoothing them back behind her ears. "We can go back on some of those tours if you'd like. Do you need one of London, though? I mean – you live here. It's not that much different than it was six years ago."
"No, not needed here. But next stop – can we stay a bit?"
The Doctor observes her for a few moments before he finally answers. "Of course," he murmurs, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently. His hearts flutter as she budges closer to him in pleased response, snuggling in the affectionate, misdirecting way that always perplexes him. He knows she loves him. She's never said the words, but her body language, her expressions, the way she defends him to her mother, to Mickey… her love awes him. And it confuses him.
In the past, he'd been careful not to indulge in such feelings with his companions; their travels with him, their very lives were so fleeting, and the idea of losing someone he loved to old age – when he could not grow old with them – terrified him. He'd made a point of remaining slightly detached. He welcomed the company, but he'd always viewed his relationship to his companions almost like a trusted collegiate advisor – friendly, a confidante, and a bastion of encouragement to excel, to expand.
And then the war happened.
And then he met Rose.
Wonderful, nurturing, loving Rose – barely more than an aimless child when he'd first met her in that shop two years ago, but full of so much strength, so much potential – and completely willing to experience without hesitation. Her zeal for adventure helped him rediscover his own.
Somewhere along that journey of rediscovery, he'd let his intentional distance guard down. Rose had managed to dig herself into his hearts. Despite every internal warning not to, he'd allowed himself to fall in love – a concept that terrified him even more than he could have imagined. And he could not find it within himself to say the words aloud, for fear that they would shatter the wonderful illusion that this could work. That Rose would be with him forever.
A small snore breaks him from his thoughts. He chuckles silently to himself, turning over toward his companion. Sometime during his mental wanderings, she'd drifted off to sleep. The sky, now dark after the conclusion of the Olympic festivities, had begun to cool for the night. A faint mist was creeping over the highest hills at the edge of the park as a smell of late summer dampness trickled into the air. Most of the remaining people in the park were busy packing their belongings to head home. Only a few couples stay behind, their giggles and whispers barely breaking the nighttime quiet as they cuddle together, enjoying the first evening of warm weather in several days.
The Doctor strokes the tips of his fingers across Rose's hairline, brushing back the unruly long fringe that once again has escaped to drape over her nose. She looks incredibly young when she sleeps, an innocence long buried by life's experiences spreading through her subconscious to relax her through dreams.
He leans over, and with the faintest touch, kisses her lips. It takes every ounce of his willpower to resist deepening the kiss. Her lips are incredibly soft and warm – so much warmer than his own. He pulls away immediately upon feeling her stir, quickly leaning back to hide any evidence of his faltering.
But her stirring is only temporary. She twists over onto her side, pressing herself closer to him, forcing him to stifle a groan as her abdomen leans against parts of his anatomy that were beginning to react against his better wishes. Her forehead rests against his chin. A soft warm breeze of breath flutters against his neck.
Finding no better alternative, he drapes his arm around her waist, hugging her closer than perhaps he should. His fingertips fall against a small strip of naked skin along the small of her back. Instinctively, he skims them along the soft flesh, cataloging ever sensation, every miniscule reaction. So soft… skin that rarely was exposed to the sun, covered by the lightest smattering of fine, protective fuzz. He lets his fingers dip lower, admiring the curve where her back ends and her backside begins – such an odd little area, much less noticeable when she stands up. Yet here, in the darkness as she sleeps, it is amazingly delicate, intricate… and perplexingly intoxicating.
And apparently slightly ticklish. He feels Rose squirm away from his touch, wiggling her pelvis away from his fingertips, but in oh, such a…
No. Better to stop that train of thought and move hands away. Reluctantly, he removes his hands from the bare flesh, placing them instead upon the wrinkled rolls of jersey fabric along her ribcage. He curls around her, allowing her head to roll into the crook of his neck, leaning his chin against the crown of her head and breathing in the earthy mixture of her shampoo and the ground beneath them.
It's incredibly domestic, he muses. Lying here like two lovers in the park. Almost like a street corner, two a.m., he jokes to himself, smirking into her hair, remembering the soon-to-be-married couple at the church the day the Reapers came to London. Here he is, living that impossible life, if only for a moment. And it is wonderful.
Without realizing, his right hand has begun to wander again – snaking under the open flap of her hoodie, tracing over the flatness of her diaphragm, following the curve of her lower ribs up toward her breastbone, and finally cupping her right breast. He sucks in a breath nervously as he feels the slightly heavy weight against his palm. He strokes the side of his thumb in slow, wide circles over her nipple and the upper curve of her breast, closing his eyes and letting his touch create an image within his mind. The bumps of underwire and lace seams of her bra become his drawing's boundaries as he debates whether to add a pinkish or brownish tint to the unseen, pebble-hard nipple beneath his fingertip.
Her soft sigh snaps him out of his mental artwork. She snuggles herself even closer to him, wiggling herself closer to the warmth of his body, unintentionally teasing his now very alert erection that rests in the curve of her back.
He leans in for another kiss, landing on the tip of her nose as she turns her head at just the last moment. She wrinkles her nose at the tickle and opens her eyes.
"Doctor?" Her voice is slow and slightly scratchy from drowsiness. And then, her eyes grow wider – her brain has started placing the sensations and scene together.
The Doctor's hand stops, and he leans back up on his elbow, leaning over her with a sheepish smile. "Caught?"
She chuckles. "I guess so. Having fun?"
"Oh yes. You don't mind, do you?" At the slight shake of her head, his fingers drift over her stomach again, tracing the swirls of symbols upon her skin that he hasn't written in decades, that she will never understand, but he feels the need to express. His eyes widen as he felt the slightest sigh of approval tickle his cheek. She can't know, can she? Emboldened, he leans back and pushes the layers of clothing up her back, exposing her skin to the nighttime air. He feels her tense for the briefest of moments before her entire body relaxes at his massaging touch upon her shoulders. "I think you like it," he whispered, bemused.
"Hmmm… maybe a little."
"Just a little?" He plants a series of tiny kisses along the protrusion at the bottom of her shoulder blade, his eyes twinkling at the shiver he feels against his lips. Daring further, he opens his mouth at the next touch, tasting the saltiness of her skin. She squeaks and quickly turns around to face him, failing miserably at the scolding expression she's attempting to give him.
"You're licking me! But – I'm not one of the science experiments you seem so bent on doing by taste, Doctor!"
"Yes you are. You're the most important one," he replies, having to bite his lip to prevent himself from bursting out laughing at the wide-eyed shock that shoots over her face. "What?"
She pushes him away, bursting into laughter as she readjusts her clothes. He finally breaks as well, waggling his eyebrows to break her further. Her eyes glow with laughter and joy and… oh yes… so much love as she mutters a string of expletives about how obnoxiously adorable he is.
He rolls to a sitting position and then pops to his feet, reaching out a hand to Rose once he rediscovers his balance. He pulls her up, taking hold of her free hand and wraps her into a close embrace, slowly beginning to move.
"I do dance, you know."
"I'm proud of you. Only took you about a year to find your legs, yeah?"
"I did fine that night. And besides, I'm not like any other bloke you've danced with. I'm unique."
"Well, Jimmy Nevins – he has a TARDIS and all, but he just tossed his dirty laundry on it. Too busy watching telly to go traveling," she says, failing at an attempt to deadpan.
"Blue box?" he replies, playing along anyway.
"Yeah – funny that. All of them that way?"
"Most are orange. I wanted something more subtle."
"Ah." Her thought is cut short with another kiss. This time, he doesn't resist his instincts, deepening it, relishing in it. He opens his mouth, seeking, hoping – and Rose responds, allowing him to explore. He groans, letting all worries go as he embraces her closer. He runs his hands across her back, returning to the spot on her shoulder blades where his tongue had left off before he'd stood up, and proceeds to map every bump and divot along the span of her skin.
Rose rolls her back upward toward his touch, contentedly stretching her shoulders. Her fingers trace lazy circles on his forearms, but otherwise she merely rocks with him in the slow, beatless dance he leads – allowing herself to get lost under his delicate explorations. Occasional sighs escape her lips, encouraging him.
"Rose?" he whispers quietly in her ear. "We probably should take this back to the TARDIS."
"Mmmm… do we have to?"
"Well, as much as I don't mind a bit of public affection, I'd rather this be just the two of us," he replies, bringing both of his hands to her face, lifting it gently toward his own. "I think this is leading to something a bit too important, well – a bit too… personal." Her eyes drop from his as her smile turns shy, embarrassed. And was that a trace of pink that just spread along the tips of her ears? He lifts her face again, claiming her lips in a deep, long kiss, letting his hands fall to her own, grasping them firmly. Then with a final beaming smile, he leans down, swings his coat up from the grass, and leads her back to the waiting TARDIS.
"Can we talk first, though?" she asks quietly, leaning into him for support as they trudge over the damp grass.
He pulls out his silver TARDIS key from his coat pocket as they reach the sturdy old police box, needing to jiggle the key a couple times before it turns in the lock. "Nervous?"
"No - I just… yeah, I am, actually. Can we have a cuppa?"
He nods as he pushes the door open, scooting aside so she can enter ahead of him. "I'll put the kettle on."
&&&
A few minutes later, they're both in the kitchen, where all of the more personal conversations between them have taken place. Tears over her father and Mickey, laughter over memories of Jack and the countless adventures they've had, philosophical conversations about her thoughts and beliefs – they've all permeated this kitchen. It's the official TARDIS Cozy Spot, complete with infinite tea and all the time in the world.
Rose pulls one leg up onto the solid chair, leaning over her knee and smiling appreciatively as the Doctor carefully brings her favorite mug to the table.
"Milk and two sugars."
"Ta." She sips gingerly, breathing in the steam, staring into the mug. "Pretty fireworks, yeah?"
"Hmm?" He adds a bit more water to the kettle before placing it back on the range. "Oh yes. Very nice. Fascinating thing, fireworks – another one of those universal things. Just like souvenirs. Usually look the same, too."
"What was your favourite display?"
"Oh, I don't know. They tend to blur over the centuries, honestly. I suppose the first ones you see are the best, aren't they? Although those ones in Boston for their Independence Day celebrations are quite spectacular, I must say… Those smiley face ones were a bit unique." He grabs a bright green lopsided mug from the cabinet shelf, placing it carefully on the counter before he turns back to her, his expression wiped to neutrality. "Is this really what you wanted to talk about, Rose?"
She flashes him a tight-lipped smile and then looks away. She's clearly embarrassed that he's noticed her stalling tactics. But he gives her the time to move to the next step of their conversation, smiling encouragingly when her eyes dart up to meet his momentarily.
"So, is there anything I should be aware of?" Rose asks, curling her fingers around the warm ceramic mug. She stares down at her tea, watching the smallest of steam wisps trail upward into oblivion as she waits for his answer. But finding none, she meets his eyes again.
He leans against the kitchen counter, eyebrows furrowed as he ponders her question. "Not to sound rude, Rose…."
"That's you. Rude," she interrupts a bit too quickly. Her nervousness is overwhelming her. She feels like an inexperienced teenager. But then again, how can one feel experienced when confronted with the hormonal interest of a 900-year-old alien? His sexual knowledge spans across galaxies, with undoubtedly dozens of species and customs.
"And not ginger," he completes her thought with an amused smile. "But seriously – I figured you know how sexual coupling works, Rose."
"Well, I do, but it's not like I have much experience past the human idea of sex."
His eyes grow wide, and then settle into comprehension. "Ah. I see. Fair question, actually. Hadn't thought of that." The kettle clicks off, and he pours his own mug of tea, spooning a small amount of sugar into the cup. He stirs the liquid slowly as he makes his way to the open chair at the kitchen table. He carefully places the mug down upon a waiting coaster, and then rolls into the chair. His hand reaches across the table, taking her slightly shaky hand in his own. His grasp is strong but affectionate – careful, encouraging, loving.
"It's the same basic principle across most bipedal species, Rose. Me included. No surprises there. The universe keeps some designs pretty constant because they work well."
"Male appendage A goes into female slot B?" she suggests, laughing.
"Something like that, yeah. But…"
"But what?" Again, she's too quick to jump into these little breaks. She's so nervous. Why? He doesn't understand. It's Rose. It's him. It's not like he's a stranger to her. Yet all of a sudden, it's like she doesn't know who he is. Doesn't trust him.
"Rose, if you're not comfortable," he says, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. "You just sound so incredibly nervous."
She stares at him a moment, disappointment morphing into something unreadable. "No, it's not that," she replies. "It's just a bit overwhelming. I mean – yeah, I've been with guys before. Not exactly aliens, though. Well…" She rolls her eyes, choosing not to relive old, soured relationships. "I just didn't want us to be enjoying ourselves, and then you do something that's completely natural to you – but completely weird to me, and I do something to ruin the mood."
He pulls her hand up to his lips. "Oh Rose…" he starts, then stops, realizing that this is not the time to laugh amused. "It's a good point, actually. But not really, no. Well… there is this one thing. It's a telepathic link of sorts… but I honestly don't even know if you'd be able to as a human, Rose. It's not like Time Lords have a lot of sex as it is. And it's not like I've really had much experience with sex at all. And I definitely haven't had the telepathic connection in, well, centuries really. So I honestly don't know…"
"Doctor." She interrupts his rambling. "I think I get it. You'd be in my mind?"
"Yes."
"So what is it like?"
"Intimate – honest and complete. Touching another being's thoughts with your own, allowing your emotions and sensations intertwine with another living soul. It's completeness, Rose. Absolute unity. Body, mind, and soul. I'd feel exactly what you do. How my fingers feel as they run across your shoulders." He mimics his words, trailing his fingers along the lazy curve of her shoulder. "How horribly ticklish you are, even when I'm not remotely trying anything of the kind." His eyes flash quickly, switching from teasing amusement to something uncharacteristically subdued. "And exactly which nerves I need to find to drive you mad."
Her eyes widen at his directness, but she sees the smoldering behind his eyes, wanting, pleading for them to find out. ."It sounds wonderful," she sighs.
"Oh, it is," he says, trailing off into unspoken, meandering thoughts. They sit for a few minutes in silence, sipping their tea, pondering the myriad potential roads ahead of them. Occasionally, the Doctor flashes her a gentle smile, observing her reaction. He watches as she relaxes, accepting what they both want to do but have been terrified to commit to. He can see her thought processes working – her eyes shift around the room, occasionally settling on him and watching his actions.
She takes a deep breath. "Doctor, I just want to know one thing…"
"Hmm?"
"Would it hurt? You know… that mind thing."
"Rose, it's love. Why would it hurt?" He stares at her genuinely confused. In that moment, she realizes just how alien he is. Beneath the physical body that looks and acts so human is a being who has not experienced the extent of human relationships. Sure, he's familiar with human customs, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to joke about them at every opportunity, but he isn't one of them. His morals, his beliefs, his concepts of the Order of Things is completely different than her own. The idea of love never hurting thrills her, yet she cannot believe it.
"Love does hurt, Doctor – often a lot. It's a completely different level of trust," she says, suddenly afraid to look at him. "I trust you with my life. I'm afraid to give you my heart, though. I guess… it's just the guys I've dated. Not – not Mickey. But Jimmy Stone did a right foul job of screwing me up. "
He listens intently as she explains her fears, based on the events that have happened in the past. They've had conversations like this before, but never quite on such a deep emotional level. They've talked about her father and how she grew up idolizing him, and then how she felt after meeting him and realizing he was a human being with all of the faults that Jackie would never dare tell her growing daughter. She's shared the dreams she had about a career, about going back to sit her A level exams, to get out of working at the shops. But this is the first time they've talked about their own relationship, beyond the argument they'd had months ago when Rose had met Sarah Jane.
He'd meant it at the time – how he couldn't get attached. How he dared not get attached. He hadn't been quite truthful about getting old and dying – he would age within his regenerations. But the process was so slow compared to human beings that he could never hope to experience a life where he grew old and died with one of his companions. He understands that such a life is important to most humans – a lifetime of growing and learning together. Because he could not provide that, he felt it was unfair to attempt such a commitment.
Until now.
He moves around the table, leaning over her in a big enveloping hug.
"Rose," he murmurs into her ear. "I trust you. I want you to trust me. Let me show you."
She stares at him silently for nearly a minute, her eyes racing as she processes her fears, her concerns. And then she nods, inhaling and exhaling a shaky breath. "Okay."
She feels his fingers touch her temples, the top of her cheek bone, and the flesh of her cheek in a memorized pattern. She recognizes it as the same pattern he'd used on Chloe Webber earlier. Instinctively, she closes her eyes, focusing on the coolness of his touch.
And then she feels the tiniest of nudges – somewhere in the back of her mind.
"Rose…"
She gasps and pulls back, jerking to a sharp stop when she feels the pressure of the Doctor's fingers press harder, trying to hold her still. "Sorry, so sorry," she says quickly.
"My fault. Didn't warn you." He looks at her for a moment, checking her reactions. "Are you okay? Want to stop?"
"I'm okay. Don't stop." She takes a final shaky breath. "I'm good. Just startled me."
He smiles reassuringly before she closes her eyes, and allows his to drift close.
The nudge reappears. This time, Rose draws herself closer to it, as if going to open the front door in response to a doorbell.
"Rose..."
Disoriented for a moment, she tries to figure out how best to communicate. He's clearly talking to her – through her mind – but can she reciprocate? And how? And will he be able to see everything she's thinking about? Even the stuff about him that she might not want him to know? Is it as simple as just thinking?
"Yes, it is. Blimey your mind prattles…" he says aloud.
She giggles. "You're one to talk."
She feels his smirk drift over her thoughts, realizing how instinctive this connection truly is. It's not some vast expanse of space inside one's mind, completely alien. Instead, she senses him, as if he's standing right behind her, only the knowledge of his presence is less defined, more omnipresent. She thinks of moving her hand to touch where the nudge of connection comes from, and she feels his emotions flurry in surprise
"You're catching on quick. Come here, Rose. Follow me here." His voice drifts away within her mind, wandering away.
A tendril of connection beckons her to follow, which she does. She senses his hand and takes it, and suddenly the ethereal darkness around her is filled with light and sound and shapes – a corridor with an infinite number of doors. And she sees him, standing there, just as he does in the flesh.
She hears familiar voices call from doors on the left side of the corridor. Squeals of laughter, sobs of pain – some of them hers, some of them Mickey's, some of them her mother's, and others of friends and family long gone.
"Where are we?"
"It's a gateway between the two of us. All of those doors on the left, as you've already figured out, are yours. Memories, thoughts, experiences – some that you may consciously recognize, some of them you may not remember. Everything's stored behind those doors. Doors on the right? Those would be mine."
"Why are so many doors closed?"
"Memories that are shut away – either by conscious choice, or… some other reason. Stuff that's private."
"So many of yours are closed. Which are they – consciously shut or stuff you can't deal with?"
"Bit of both, I suppose." His thoughts drift off into a hazy, incoherent fog for a few moments, but he finally managed a small, sad smile as he reached out a hand for her. "But that's for a later discussion, yeah? Come on… let me show you…"
She nodded, grasping the hand firmly and allows him to lead her down a corridor. Somehow she's aware that he's doing the same physically, and the physical world bleeds back to the foreground of her sight. She hears the soft footsteps of the mental corridor echo in time with their footfalls on the metal floorboards of the TARDIS corridors as he leads her somewhere unfamiliar. She's used to the exact distance to her bedroom, to the large Roman-style bathroom. But they wander the corridors for much longer than that, taking twists and turns in both physical and mental states, until they reach a small, unremarkable wooden door. The Doctor pushes it open, the hinges moving without a sound, to reveal a lush garden. The sounds of birds chirped absently from hidden places among the trees. The sun shines brightly in a burnt-orange sky, creating shimmering sparkling flecks along deep, red grass. Silver-leafed trees provide shade against the heat of the day.
And Rose knows. She instantly knows where they are. "This is home." She whispers, shocked at its beauty. She raises her eyes to meet his, finding them wistful and lost in raw memories. "You took me home."
He nods. "The gardens of the House of Lungbarrow, before its fall into the mountains." Leading her further into the garden, he breathes in the scent of sweet flowers. He hasn't been here since meeting Rose – the memories were simply too painful. He remembers running through the back hedges, weaving through the brush behind them that created a maze of leafy corridors for his imaginative mind, finally leading to a little cave hidden below an outcropping of rock. "This was my favorite place on Gallifrey," he says, walking behind Rose and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Even as I became the outcast, I found peace here."
Rose kisses the hand resting on her collarbone and leans back against him, quietly taking in the view. "It's so beautiful. And always this quiet?"
He nods. "Lungbarrow built its house far away from the city. The original cousins wanted to be removed from the world, I suppose. Wasn't that much of a leap for me to want to remove myself from Gallifrey completely. I wanted to see the stars. The world seemed too small."
"For you? That doesn't surprise me. You rebel."
He beams at her. "That's me." He turns her to face him, taking her face between the palms of his hands. "And there's something else I want to rebel against."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"The rules that tell me I can't allow myself this." He captures her lips in a deep, slow kiss. Rose feels her stomach flutter, followed by a building emotion oddly placed behind her eyes – a blend of excitement, and relief, and hope. "Is that you?" she asks.
"Oh, yes, Rose." His words are heavy, filled with desire and longing. He pulls back for a moment, his eyes concerned as he watches for any hint of disapproval. Finding none, he dips down again to capture her lips, a bit more aggressive, a bit more confident, as he slowly traces the outside of her lip with his tongue. She opens to him, and he has to force himself not to devour her as he explores her mouth. He can already hear his breath growing ragged, his pulse has quickened – both hearts pounding with the excitement and joy of finally having Rose in his arms.
"Breath. Need to breathe."
He pulls away from her in response and laughs as he hears her quick intake of air. "An unexpected bonus to a mental link, I suppose." Her breath stays ragged, though, matching his own, and his excitement grows – she's aroused by this, too. Her eyes are dilated, only the thinnest strip of rich brown showing itself around the endless night of her pupils. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glowing from the excitement. And it's all due to him. He is amazed, flattered, and completely enrapt with the woman standing before him.
"Oooh, you know how to turn a girl on," her mental voice purrs, filling his thoughts not only with words but a delicious warming blend of scents and tastes- chocolates, spices, aromatics. Her hunger for her begins to churn as she leans in for her own kiss, trailing the smallest touches of her lips along his neck as she loosens his tie and pulls it off, tossing it behind her. He sucks in a breath, marveling in the tiny tickles of her lips along his skin, trailing across his collarbone as she works each button on his shirt. The soft cotton slides from his shoulders, pooling behind him on the grass.
His hands roam along the folds of cloth over her back, finally reaching the hem of her shirt. He pushes it up, revealing her naked back. And for only a moment, he interrupts her explorations along his shoulders as he presses the offending barrier between them up and over her head. His hands return to her back, flipping open the hooks on her bra with barely a thought. It, too, falls to the grass, soon followed by the rest of his clothing.
He traces his fingers along her skin as he walks around her, admiring her as if she were a marble statue. He kisses the small freckles on her back, making a point of identifying a mole that nearly mirrors his own.
Unashamed of her nakedness, she watches him take her in. He knows she's loving every minute of his admiration, feeling the confidence and love grow within her in waves.
"Oh Rose, you're beautiful. So beautiful." He can barely breathe the words. He walks around her to face her, bending down to take the small, taut pebble of her right nipple between his teeth, hearing her gasp at the touch. Her skin is slightly salty, with just hint of lemons and the scent of her tea. And the feel of her breast, so soft in this intimate place, a remaining piece of newness from her childhood, only revealed now to the man she loves. He loses himself in her, his need building, pressing faster as he begins to suckle. His hands trail down the flat of her stomach, finding the cold, metal button of her jeans. He fumbles blindly, somehow managing to pry the stubborn fastener loose from the stiff material, pushing the offending fabric from her legs. He barely feels her kick them off as his hands roam lower, drawn toward the heat he knows he'll find at the apex of her thighs.
And then he gasps, his senses in overload, as he feels her hand slide under the waistband of his trousers and wrap around him, stroking slowly but firmly. A groan builds deep from within his core as she cups his scrotum, gently rolling its contents in her palm, releasing a surge of sensation straight up his spine. "Ungguh."
"What?" she asks innocently, running her thumb directly up the nerve on the underside of his cock, laughing freely as the Doctor is only able to respond – both verbally and mentally – with an incoherent groan. "I'm not doing anything," she replies sweetly.
Somehow, he grasps onto his conscious mind, forcing it to return so he can formulate words. "Liar," he whispers, pressing firm kisses to the nerves along her throat, moving both of them forward until her back presses against the trunk of a nearby tree. He grabs both of her hands, trapping them above her head within the grasp of his left hand, and leans into her, pressing himself hard to her stomach. Elated at the gasp, he moves faster – a powerful, almost brutal kiss to her lips, a firm squeeze and push to her arse, pressing her even closer to him, and then again – hinting at the rhythm that is yet to come. He can feel the heat coming from her. He needs to feel her, he needs…
He slides the back of his hand along her side, letting his knuckles map out every contour of her breast, her ribs, her waist, on their journey of exploration. And then reaching his goal, he lightly traces a finger along the softest, warmest skin he's ever encountered, marveling at the wet heat of her folds, knowing that it's all in response to him. He hears her sharp intake of breath as he rolls his middle finger over her clit, firm and radiating in response to the slightest motion of his hands. Holding that finger firmly in place, rolling it slowly and deliberately, he skims his index and ring fingers back and forth along the inner walls of her labia, watching in fascination as a powerful groan escapes her lungs. Her hips rock in approval, begging him to continue.
"I think you like this," he mumbles between nibbles along her earlobe.
"Hmmm… I'd like it better if you'd stop teasing."
"I'm not teasing!" he scoffs, finally releasing her hands. He massages her right nipple in time to the steady motion he's kept upon her clit. "I'm… testing. That's it. I'm testing."
"I told you before, I'm not a science experiment." She groans, knees nearly buckling from the sensations at her center. She pushes against him, meeting his confused expression. "No more testing."
"Just a bit more. One more test." He grins wickedly as he slowly kneels before her, keeping his eyes firmly locked on hers, as he trails his tongue down the center of her body, watching her eyes darken with desire. Only when his knees touch the ground does he break his gaze, immediately refocusing to her body in front of him.
The first touch of his tongue against her overstimulated clit rips free a cry from her lungs, jellying her knees. His response is quick; he catches her, holding her upright as he moans into her, twirling his tongue across her most sensitive flesh. He hears a chain of incoherent syllables – only the words 'god' and 'yes' are recognizable – repeated over and over. She's rocking to meet him, her movements sharper, desperate. A storm is brewing between their minds, the pressure building to an uncomfortable level.
"Please…" her voice is small, almost afraid, within his head.
And then suddenly, her entire body tenses above him. She grasps his hair, desperate for support. He feels the explosions of release begin to pop in the back of his mind, and then the mental sob of relief as she finally crests over the wave of pleasure.
And then she collapses, knees finally giving way, into stillness. He manages to catch her as she falls onto him, curling her limp body into a tight embrace on his lap. He rocks her gently, admiring the post-orgasm coloring of her face. Her skin is radiant – her cheeks and lips bright and rosy from the rush. Mentally, she's fine – if oddly quiet. He senses her mind as it puts the building blocks of consciousness back together
"Hello," he murmurs warmly into her.
He feels the warmth of an embracing hug fill him as her eyes flutter open. They shine at him, wide and bright.
"Hey…" Her voice cracks. She stretches up to kiss him softly before leaning back to admire him. He beams at her, stroking her hair.
"Ready for round two?" He hears her laugh in his mind as she shifts off his lap, adjusting her legs so she can lie down. He presses her down into the grass, supporting her weight carefully. Her eyes lock with his, full of trust. He kisses her, forcing her lips open with growl as he positions himself.
And then, their worlds collide, twisting and blending around each other as he enters her, both in body and mind. From within her mind, he feels the fullness of his cock within her, the overwhelming stimulating pressure as her walls relax to accommodate him. Her moan rolls through every cell in his body, willing him to begin moving, raising her hips in a plea to continue.
She feels him lose every sense of himself within her; she envelops him, melting away his sense of individuality. Now that they are joined in body, she feels their minds coalesce, merging, blending… uniting. She begs him mentally to move. She needs him to move. And he does, slowly starting the intoxicating rock toward fulfillment. Every sensation shared, every little jolt felt between them as nerves fire, electricity builds.
Their pace quickens, each taking turns pushing and pulling the other toward fulfillment. Words are lost in the maelstrom of sensation. No words are needed- the combined passion tell them everything.
His eyes lock with hers once more, now unable to move as she does the same. Building, building… faster…
Her cries come first, shattering their minds with the force of her orgasm. Her mind drifts away, scattered within his. He pushes, climbing frantically toward the peak of emotions – and then he's soaring, leaping into the infinity behind her, into nothingness.
Some time later, the scattered feelings and thoughts begin to drift back to the individuals from which they came. Trickles of awareness become soft caresses. Sounds become words. The hallway of memory doors becomes solid once more within their connection. Behind it all, the thrum of the time vortex marks a steady, comforting rhythm.
"I think those are my favorite fireworks, Doctor."
He opens his eyes, finding deep brown staring back at him, a wicked smile upon her face. He replies with a deep laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
"Oh yes. And now I know where those smiley face ones come from."