The Doctor made his way into the ensuite as quickly as he could, walking a bit uncomfortably and reached in to turn on the tap. Sticking a hand in the water and waiting for it to warm up a bit, he let his other hand linger on his stomach, massaging lightly and thinking back to the last time he'd been in this shower just a few hours ago with Rose.

He didn't remember much about the trip back the TARDIS...he had been babbling at her, trying to give her instructions on how to help him while at the same time fighting down the desperate fear that he might regenerate. He liked this body. Rose seemed to like this body. He didn't want to go yet. Forgetting the shower a moment, he raised his eyes to study his reflection in the large mirror over his sink. It was a good body, that was for certain. His long, lean legs were built for running, strong calves and tight thighs. His hips and waist were a bit narrow, but he didn't mind. bit skinny, perhaps but certainly better than the alternative. He had a light smattering of almost-ginger hair across his chest and leading down to his groin and he was pale and freckle-covered. The arms and chest of this body were wiry and lean, not muscular like his last, but there was some definition in the abdominal muscles that he rather fancied.

Raising the damp from the shower hand to his head, he ran his long fingers through his soft hair, willing the errant strands back into their normal outrageous heights. Great hair. This was some really great hair. Rose had told him that once. He drug his fingernails slightly over his scalp, imagining Rose's fingers doing that for him and felt his already stiff cock twitch in answer. The other hand, still lightly massaging his lower stomach just shy of his stiff length, drifted a little closer as he watched, entranced, in the mirror.

Letting out a hiss of pleasure, he drew his fingers up the underside from his testicals to the tip then wrapped the hand fully around it, feeling the heavy weight in his hand. Long and thick, it was definitely his best yet and he had no illusions as to why that was. Rose would probably laugh at him if she knew. He'd never exactly been a slouch in this area (well, except his sixth body, but he tried not to remember much about that time in his life), even if he'd very rarely ever used it (especially in his early days), a bloke was still a bloke and, as she often reminded him, he'd always had an ego the size of a small planet. And what bloke, with even the smallest control over it, wouldn't want to have impressive equipment?

Watching himself in the mirror, he lazily wrapped a fist around himself and pushed forward, fascinated by its disappearance and reappearance. His mind immediately went to watching that same dance except into Rose's small, hot human hand and his own fisted tightened automatically. He groaned slightly and changed the pressure again, imagining instead pumping in and out of her warm heat as she writhed below him. Or as he bent her over backward and watched himself disappear over and over again just below those perfect, soft orbs of her bum. Oh, fuck. His grip tightened into the hard, punishing strokes he'd favored a lifetime ago. That had been his last body's favorite fantasy. Just bending her over the nearest piece of furniture and making her scream, making her forget bloody Adam. Or Jack. Or Mickey. His fist twisted slightly, pulling upward and to the side and shit, that was good.

His eyes fell shut a moment and he switched the fantasy...he could push between her lovely breasts...massage them, let their wonderful heat cradle him and each thrust would bring him closer to her lovely, hot mouth...His eyes flew open then and his fist began moving faster with a deep groan of pleasure. Oh, he liked that. This 'oral fixation' as she'd once called it to him (and nearly made him come at the idea) worked both ways apparently. He wanted to taste her, to lick and suck her until she couldn't remember her own name and he wanted her to do it for him. Her wet mouth would envelop him, her tongue would flick him just there, he used his thumb to draw across the already very slippery tip, pressing just enough to make him squirm. Oh, Rassilon and she would be wet...so wet...

The pounding of water suddenly reached his ears and he opened his eyes in the very steamy shower room. He's almost forgotten why he'd come here in the first place. The water felt heavenly as he stepped into the downpour, the soft, insistent pattering hitting his aroused nerve endings delightfully. The Doctor's hand immediately fell back to its previous position, sliding wetly from base to tip in a frantic motion, desperate for release. His other hand slipped down to cup himself, squeezing and pulling as he imagined Rose's blonde head bobbing up and down on him, taking more and more of him, sometimes turning to the side so he hit her cheek, sometimes hollowing those lovely cheeks and sucking until he moaned.

He was close, so close. Then he thought of her right now, getting dressed for an evening out with him, with only him. A dress, she'd said. He pictured one in his mind...bright red, oh that would be be lovely. Tight. And low cut so he could see her magnificent breasts, so he could make her blush all evening just to watch that blush descend her chest. There. That's what he wanted. An evening of teasing and tension, his knee brushing hers under the table, her fingers dancing up his thigh. Dancing close to her, pulling her up against him, feeling her gasp as she felt him hard and wanting. Her in that bright red dress with red lipstick that just begged him to take her mouth. They wouldn't have time to get that dress off her. Or him out of his tuxedo. They would barely have time to make it back to the TARDIS. Just a frantic fumble to get his trousers and pants down to his knees (he'd have to remember not to wear superhero pants) and then she'd be on him. He could almost feel the oppressing pull of his cotton trousers at his knees, the delightful stretchy fabric of her dress as his hands moved restlessly from her shoulders through her soft, silky hair trying not to push, not to thrust as her hot mouth massaged his aching cock. And this time he would not to come in her mouth, not so she swallowed him down and licked him clean like she usually did in his fantasies. No. Not this time. At the last moment he'd pull out and...

Crying out incoherently, his tongue pressed hard against the back of his front teeth, he came unbelievably hard into his fist, imagining his seed spreading all over her shapely breasts, claiming her as his, making a sticky mess they'd just have to clean up in here as he put his long tongue to good use...his knees buckled and he shot a hand out to steady himself on the slick shower wall.

Holy Rassilon. That had been one hell of a fantasy. His shaky hand reached out for the flannel to clean up and wash away the residue of that fantasy that would never happen. He tried to ignore the way his body still hummed with satisfaction and the images of her on her knees in that red dress clung to his mind persistently. He need to focus and give Rose a wonderful evening out.

And, well, if he decided to wear a tuxedo, that was his business wasn't it?