Set after "The Girl in the Fireplace." I dunno, after watching that episode, this little scene formed in my head. I went a little out of my comfort zone with this one. If anyone thinks any slight changes should be made, let me know.

I also don't own the Doctor, Rose, or the song "Comin' Under Fire", which was used as inspiration for this fic. The Doctor and Rose belong to the BBC and "Comin' Under Fire" (awesome song, btw) belongs to Def Leppard. For those of you who've heard it, it will not be in the exact order for . . . reasons.

"Comin' Under Fire"

Your kinda woman got a heart of stone,
But watch it break when I get you alone. . . .

"Doctor?"

The Doctor's hearts skipped a couple beats but he slowly turned to face Rose. He hadn't put that letter—Reinette's letter—in his pocket a moment too soon.

"Yeah, Rose?" His mouth twitched in a feeble attempt at a smile.

His blonde companion met his gaze and held it as she asked, "Were you really going to let her come on board the TARDIS with us?"

The Doctor didn't need to ask who Rose was referring to: he already knew. He nodded stiffly, a bit unsure as to why Rose was behaving as if she were . . . No, she couldn't be. Could she?

Shaking the thought off, he added, "She's always wanted to see the stars. Remind you of anyone?" He raised a single eyebrow at her as he leaned back against the console, arms crossed over his hearts.

Rose's cheeks flushed. "That was different."

"Not really. All he could have done was go stand outside."

Triumph flared in Rose's eyes. "Exactly. All Reinette had to do was stand outside and look up at the night sky, but no, you had to crush on her after seeing her—how many times?"

"Two words, Rose: Adam Mitchell."

"In case you'd forgotten"—When had she moved closer?—"that entire building was being filled with concrete. He was right there—"

"—and decided to save his own skin," the Doctor interrupted. "Then we kicked him out of the TARDIS."

That tongue-in-cheek smile was starting to form. "I wonder if anyone's found out about his implant yet." The smile faded. "But that's not the point, Doctor! You left us for five-and-a-half hours on that ship while you were off in 18th century France chasing after Reinette! We could have been there for five-and-a-half days or dead for all you knew!"

Guilt slammed into his chest. He hadn't thought about how much this would hurt his companion. "Rose, I'm—"

"You're what, Doctor?" Rose tilted her head, her tone suddenly flirtatious, a coy smile curving her mouth. Her hands found his shirt, toyed with one of the buttons near his throat.

"Sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you and Mickey."

Her whiskey-colored eyes were searching his as she raised herself on her toes. "You're gonna be," she breathed in his ear.

Wait, what?

Before he could ask her what she was doing, she had whirled him away from the console and was walking him backwards toward the nearest door.

Take a chance, come lay down with me.
Oh, I wanna make it!

He wanted to ask her where they were going, but something about the look in her eyes stopped him. It was possessive, territorial, saying mine. Oh, there was definitely something of the wolf about her.

Vaguely, through his peripheral vision, he saw the door to Rose's bedroom and his mind froze. Oh, no, nonono. NO!

The Doctor tried to pull away, but Rose tightened her hold. "You're not getting off that easy," she told him. "Take a chance, Doctor, and dance with me. Show me you've still got the moves." Her hands were suddenly busy with his suit jacket, then shirt.

For once, he found he couldn't talk his way out of this one.

You've got me, I'm cornered,
My back to the wall.
Your bed of roses ain't no bed at all.
I'm walking the wire, I stumble and fall.
I got my message but I ain't gonna crawl.

Rose led him inside her room, shut the door, and then had him up against the nearest wall as she snogged him. And—Rassilon help him—he kissed her back. Oh, she tasted so, so good . . .

Her nails raked his bare chest; and he jerked back in surprise, breaking the kiss. His respiratory bypass engaged when he took in her darkened eyes, caught the scent of her arousal . . . and the possessiveness of her body language.

This wasn't going to be gentle, he realized. This was all about Rose claiming him. Her bed of roses—pun so not intended—was no bed at all.

Hang on, that's Def Leppard. "Comin' Under Fire", isn't it?

In any case, he was receiving the message loud and clear, but he wasn't going to crawl on his knees and beg. He was a Time Lord, not a human. Superior biology and all that—and his body was betraying him. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her.

By now Rose's hands were undoing his trousers, shoving them down, then removing both them and his Converse. The next thing the Doctor knew, his back was against soft mattress and Rose's fully-clad body was hovering over his.

"You're mine, Time Lord," she growled, ducking her head to lick and nip at his throat. "All mine."

Play the game, surrender to me . . .

"I—" He broke off with a rattling intake of breath when her teeth grazed his carotid artery, her fingers found and twisted the flat nipples on his chest. "Rose . . ." Was that his voice sounding so rough and needy? And what had happened to him not begging?

The feeling of her clothing on his skin was torture; he wanted her skin sliding over his. He started to reach for Rose's shirt and had just touched the end when she reared back, tantalizingly out of reach. There was a wicked look in her eyes, a predatory smile on her lips. "Nuh-uh. You're going to have to earn it, Doctor. I'm not done with you yet." (He took that to mean she still hadn't forgiven him for Reinette, but he didn't want her teasing him like this—not when his body was already hard and aching for her.)

Slow and steady never lost the race.
Don't stop running; I'm a fool for the chase . . .

Frustrated with her teasing, he rocked his hips upward, felt her denim-covered core was slightly warm. "Please . . ." he hissed through gritted teeth.

So much for not begging.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she trailed a hand down his ventral body cavity, her nails leaving light marks on his pale skin. The Doctor bit back a snarl as she teasingly avoided the spot he wanted her to touch the most.

Not that he minded foreplay. It was well known by the both of them that he was a fool for the chase, loved the thrill that came with sprinting from danger or from one adventure to the next.

Rose was wearing too much clothing for his liking, but at least hers could be removed far easier than Madame de Pompadour's. He wondered where that thought had come from but quickly discarded it when Rose drew her shirt up over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Bloody tease, he thought, hands starting to reach out for her newly-revealed flesh. How many times had this regeneration dreamed about having Rose like this? Well, considering Rose was being the dominant one here . . . Didn't she know what her behavior was doing to him?

Rose grasped his hands by the wrist before he could touch her and held them back over his head, against the headrest. The action had her body stretched out over his, and he still wasn't touching her. Torture, that's what this is, he thought. Pure torture. Even then part of his mind was telling him to stop now before it went any further, that this was wrong, wrongwrongwrong, wrong. . . .

His body disagreed.

It's so easy to put on a show.
Your body says yes, but you won't let it go. . . .

"No . . ."

Rose's eyes glinted as she leaned in, inhaled his scent. "Oh, really? Cos your body is saying otherwise, Doctor." To prove her point she trailed kisses from his jawline to the pulse point in his neck, tangled one hand in his hair. The Doctor growled, arched upwards.

"Stop . . . teasing . . ." he ground out. He wanted to be inside her, but since the most intimate part of her was still barred from him . . . But wait, he could easily work one of his hands loose, start on her jeans . . . He did just that, keeping Rose distracted the whole while.

Her free hand left his hair, moved down his body once again, then dug into the tender skin just above his aching cock. Reflexively, his hips jerked up—and this time he was rewarded with the feel of her inner thighs against his throbbing skin. She still had her knickers on, but he knew he would change that soon enough. He'd had enough cruel and unusual punishment and wanted his reward.

"What do you want, Doctor?" Rose's voice was a husky purr in his ear. Her teeth caught an tugged at his earlobe, and he suppressed a groan.

"Think you know," he managed, his voice raspy and strained as he fought for control. He wouldn't let himself go, not yet. Not until he was inside her.

"Tell me," she ordered—and why couldn't he find the words? Usually his gob never failed him.

Why was she still on top anyway? Oh, right, because one dominant look or possessive action from her and he submitted instantly. Her wish really was his command.

"Want . . . inside . . . you." Was that really his voice? "Please, Rose . . ."

Is it any wonder you've got me comin' under fire?
Comin' like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire.

He could have sworn that was satisfaction and something like triumph flashing in her brown eyes. Then it was gone and she was rearing back on her haunches, unclasping her bra and removing her knickers.

Rose's eyes darkened as she looked him over, his body already bearing signs of her possession: teeth and nail marks, brown eyes almost black with desire, dazed expression, and the evidence showing he wanted—needed—her.

When both of his hands were free and there was nothing separating them, she slowly lowered herself down on him until he was completely sheathed in her tight heat. Without really thinking about it, the Doctor flipped her over so that now he was the one looking down at his lover. Wait, lover? When did that happen? Not that it really matters.

His body was stretched taut as a wire, and he was already so close to the edge it wouldn't take much to send him hurtling over. Fire raged through him, heating his cool skin and setting his blood boiling. Rose rocked her hips up and forward, dug her nails hard into the skin of his back as her teeth clamped down on his shoulder. The Doctor let her set the pace—and right now, he wanted it hard and fast. He didn't want slow and gentle, not when he was being burned alive from the inside out. There would be time for that later; and to be honest, he like this more domineering side of his Rose.

His Rose. He decided he rather liked that.

Her inner muscles clenched tight around him, and that was all it took. So much for his superior biology and incredible endurance. He collapsed on top of her, hearts pounding and trying to regain their normal rhythm.

Rose ran a hand through his thick hair, massaging his scalp, and he had to fight the urge to lean into her touch. He did anyway, purring contentedly, for all the world like a large brown-furred cat. The Doctor wasn't a cat person—being threatened by cat-nuns took all the fun out of it—but in this case he figured he could make an exception.

"Apology accepted, Doctor," Rose said, and he had to think for a few seconds about what she meant. Oh, right, he'd apologized for leaving her and Mickey on the 51st century ship.

Speaking of Mickey the idiot, where was he now? Cos he definitely didn't want Rose's former boyfriend walking in on the two of them like this. Unless Rose had locked the door. Yeah, probably. That made sense.

Cheeky little minx.

"You planned that, didn't you?" He lifted his head to look at her.

That damned tongue of hers peeking out told him all he needed to know. Well. She certainly hadn't hesitated. Even when he'd snogged Reinette—well, more like she'd thrown herself at him—the French mistress had hesitated, her eyes calculating, before she'd moved in. With Rose . . .

"You're mine," Rose said simply. "My Doctor."

He decided he wasn't going to argue that one. After all, she was his Rose.

The Doctor tried to convince himself that he hadn't gone crazy for her—but he had, and the passion he tried so hard to bury and control refused to slip away.

I don't want to fake it. . . .

How was it she could do this to him? He certainly hadn't asked for it, hadn't wanted to need her, but he did—and, to be honest, that sort of scared him. Reinette had been fascinating, yes, but when he'd trapped himself in her world and resigned himself to the slow path, his thoughts had been on somehow returning to Rose. He'd hurt her, almost had her killed by clockwork droids . . . but somehow, he hadn't expected her to take it out on him like this. And yet, he wasn't surprised, not really.

Then she kissed him, softly this time, and already the taste of her had him ready for more all over again.

Is it any wonder you've got me comin' under fire?
Comin' like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire.
Is it any wonder you've got me comin' under fire?
Comin' like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire.
You got me comin' under fire . . .