"You've got to be kidding me," Alba said in disbelief, staring at the place where the wall had opened up to reveal a wide, curving marble staircase. "So...any chance you're a chemist and a secret agent? Because this? This is some secret agent lair shit," she giggled. After the Doctor had invited her to bed with him and she had accepted, he had taken her hand and lead her down the hall to a nondescript door.
She had opened it to find a coat closet, and shot him a funny look. "Are we going to bed, or playing seven minutes in heaven?"
"Just go inside," he'd said, shoving her in ahead of him without waiting for a response. He'd pulled the door shut behind them, and reached over his head to pull the chain that turned on the lights.
They had been standing very close together, and the coats had only made it feel that much more crowded. She had stared at him, uncomprehending and unamused. He'd urged her through the coats, ducking his head under the rack behind her. She'd been surprised to find that past the coats the space opened up a little bit. What had looked to her a bit like a fuse box was flush with the left corner of the wall, and the Doctor had opened the cover, bent down in front of it, and then a few seconds later the wall directly in front of her had slid up, revealing the staircase.
He didn't say anything in response to her exclamations, just looked pleased with himself, like a cat who's caught a bird he'd been after for a while. "After you," he whispered, gesturing to the staircase. Once she started up he followed behind her, and it wasn't a long walk to the top of the landing. The single, solid wooden door featured a series of intricate and elaborate etchings that looked like a pattern or symbols. She couldn't make sense of it, but it was beautiful.
"Old symbols of protection," he said from behind her, as if sensing her curiosity. He reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a long, thin cylindrical object with a blue bulb at the end of it. Blue light pulsing and emitting a high-pitched whine, he aimed the device at the door and it popped right open.
"What the hell…?" she gaped at the open door, and then at him, spinning the device between his fingers with a satisfied grin before tucking it back into his pocket. "What the hell was that?"
"That, Rose, was my sonic screwdriver. It's just one of my many inventions, has a couple of useful functions, and a lot of pointless ones too, actually. But one of the things it's really good at is opening doors. It resonates sound waves and ipop/i! The locks open right up," he said, his grin widening.
"Isn't that like...illegal?" she asked.
"Weeeeell...the device isn't available to the general public anyway. Strictly my own thing," he said, pushing the door open. He beckoned her inside, and shut the door behind them, locking it from the inside with a key already in the lock. "Besides...things here are a little different than they were..or are...in New London. The laws here aren't the same."
"No one will even tell me where 'here' is, but they sure keep talking about it," she said, sounding put out. She was looking around the room now for the first time, surprised. She hadn't really been sure what to expect, but she didn't know that it was this.
They seemed to be in some kind of antechamber, with thick, blue velvet curtains hanging around the door and on the walls. A giant teak wood dresser nestled out of one set of curtains, and a full standing mirror was positioned across from it. Three marble steps lead up from the antechamber to the actual bedroom, where a giant canopy bed across from a massive marble fireplace dominated the room. Opposite of the fireplace, a bank of windows looked down on the city below. Beyond the bed and the fireplace, three more marble steps lead up to an area lined with bookshelves with large, overstuffed living chairs on either side of the space. In the middle of the bookshelves was another door, which she assumed lead to a walk-in or ensuite.
"Not all secrets are bad secrets, Alba. Some are just secret because they have to be. The less you know about some things, the safer you are. I learned that the hard way, a long time ago. Secrets keep us safe," he said, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb again.
"Like the secret of why you look at me like you're seeing a ghost sometimes?" she asked, pressing her palm against his hand, which was already cupping her cheek. She knew it was treading thin ice even as she said it, but she was curious to see how he'd react. He dropped his hand when she said this, and stepped back to look at her.
"What do you mean I look at you like I'm seeing a ghost sometimes?" he asked her, his tone steady.
"You told me I remind you of someone...and then sometimes I just catch you looking at me in a way that...I don't even know how to describe the way it feels. It's like you're looking at me and remembering something, but I don't know what it is you could possibly be remembering, not when we hardly know each other. Who are you really seeing when you look at me?" she asked him softly.
"I'm just seeing you, Rose. You remind me of someone I loved once...but you aren't her," he said, and his voice was heavy, tinged with something. Regret? Longing? Pain? He just looked so maudlin then that she regretted having said anything in the first place. Part of her had expected fire and anger at the suggestion. This was almost pitiful, and somehow worse.
"Well, nevermind all that. Forget I even asked," she said, moving to close the gap between them.
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she smiled at him seductively and began to slide his jacket from his shoulders. He didn't say anything, but he didn't make a move to protest, either. His eyes were large and dark, watching her as she moved to take his tie off. She hadn't dated many men who'd worn ties, and she was unaccustomed to taking them off of another person. This time though, her inexperience at the task didn't seem to bother him, and he waited patiently for her fingers to pull the knot loose and slide the tie off of him. It wasn't inexperience, but nerves that made her fingers shake when it came to undoing the buttons on his shirt and trousers. It wasn't as though this was the first time they were seeing each other naked or having sex, but something about this night was different from the previous two encounters, and had her the sort of nervous-skittish she'd been the night she'd lost her virginity. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and tilted her head up to kiss him while she pushed his trousers and pants over his hips and to the floor. With amusement, she noticed he was wearing trainers with his suit.
"Sorry," he whispered apologetically as she bent down to untie them, though he didn't elaborate further on his unique footwear choices.
"No, s'alright. I kind of like them. Very punk rock. Matches the spikey hair quite nice, I think," she said, loosening the laces. When she'd done that he just kicked the shoes off, and used his toes to peel his socks off. Bemused, she couldn't help but grin at him. He was completely naked and slowly growing hard again, but she was still almost entirely fully clothed, save for the shoes she had abandoned a while ago, before they'd even gone to the library.
"I'll be sure to file that away for future reference," he said, turning her so that her bare back was facing him.
He placed a hand on each shoulder and moved slowly to loosen the knot that held her halter up, making sure to stroke his fingers across the back of her neck and ears as he did. Each minute touch set her body tingling, and by the time he'd untied the knot and let the garment fall from her body to pool around her feet, she was pulled as taut as a violin string. He pressed himself against her, and she could feel him, hot and hard against the small of her back. Against the back of her neck she felt the brush of his lips, warm and moist as he kissed his way from shoulder to shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her body, his hands creep up to cup her breasts. Lightly, he began pull and tug on her nipples as he continued to kiss her neck, and she couldn't help it, she was leaning back against him and sighing breathlessly.
While his right hand continued to massage her breasts in turn, the left trailed down her body, stopping to rest on her hip. She felt his fingers tracing patterns there, moving their way across her abdomen so that his hand was hovering right below her navel. His fingers just brushed through her curls, teasing, making her shiver in anticipation. He grazed past her clit, dipping one finger between her folds to feel that she was nearly ready for him. He groaned a little against her shoulder, and she felt him shift to pick her up, cradling her against him like a newborn child or a new bride. Carefully, he carried her up the three marble steps to the bed, where he arranged her almost reverently on top of the duvet before climbing onto the bed after her. She laid on her side, slightly propped up by the pillows she was resting on. He stretched out on his side and turned to face her, letting his right hand rest on her left hip. She shifted, moving her body closer to him so that they were almost face to face. The look on his face was one of quiet contemplation, but his gaze was fixed on her and it was a bit unsettling. He almost seemed to be studying her, and even as his hands moved to caress her body she could see that his mind was still moving a million miles an hour in that head. She knew better than to ask a man what was going through his mind in the middle of the bedroom, though.
If he truly was distracted by other thoughts, she couldn't tell the difference. He seemed content to map every inch of her body with his fingers and lips, tasting and touching as he went, starting at the soft spot on her neck right below her ear, where her pulse beat hot and fast, and moving downwards from there. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told her the cake would give her a total body high-part of her felt like she was floating, untethered. The only thing anchoring her to the bed were his touches, which burned impossibly hot against her body when she already felt consumed by the flames of desire. He took turns sucking on each of her nipples like they were hard candies, nipping and licking the sensitive little peaks of flesh until they were aching, poking up hard and straight and she was gasping and trembling underneath him. He flicked them gently with his fingers, smiling when she groaned and started biting on her own fingers. Apparently satisfied that he had wound her up quite enough, he moved to part her tightly clenched and shaking thighs, stroking gently there between her folds. Her hips twitched at the teasing touch, her body craving relief from the hot tension pooling like lava in her core. He dipped his head between her thighs, lifted her arse up off the bed enough that he was able to maneuver her legs to rest on his shoulders, and began to give her clit an enthusiastic encore performance of what he had been doing to her nipples just recent moments ago.
Unable to bury her hands in his hair as she might have liked to, she instead clutched at the pillows and sheets around her for purchase, feeling for all the world like she desperately needed something to hold onto or she'd be entirely swept away. When she climaxed a few moments later, it was his name on her lips as she cried out her passion. He rested his head against the bare skin of her thigh, his hair tickling softly against her as she waited, breathless, to see what he would do next. When she caught her breath to look down at him, he was looking up at her as though the world started and ended here between them. Maybe it did. Something imperceptible had changed between them, although she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was exactly that felt different.
After a minute or two of resting his head between her legs, he drew himself back up and moved to straddle her hips, using his open palms against the bed as leverage. Just the head of his cock was brushing against the still sensitive nub of her clit, and she had to suck in her breath and hold it there to avoid letting out another shallow, throaty moan. He hovered there above her, looking down on her again with that tense, piercing gaze that made her feel as if he could see through every last little facade she could possibly put up against him. When he kissed her she tasted herself on his lips, but his mouth and tongue tasted like tears, and she thought of his dead wife and daughter and had to resist the sudden urge to weep openly for him. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on the way his bare skin felt against her own, how it should almost be too hot but instead felt like they were just two candles being held to the same flame, each constantly keeply the other alight.
He dropped back down so that their chests were pressed tight against each other and moved his arms so that they were resting behind her back and he was slightly embracing her, his hands clasping her shoulders from behind. The arrangement of their bodies like this felt surprisingly intimate, making Alba only more acutely aware of how different this night was from the others. That first night he had fucked her like it was a punishment, and in most ways, it had felt like one. Certainly, her body had looked like it had been abused the day after. That second night they had never made it past the oral portion of the program in her bedroom, but there had been an urgency and ferocity to their movements that was lacking in this encounter. Now, the Doctor seemed to be taking his time with her, lavishing her body with slow, salacious kisses and touches, as though he were making up for what had gone before, apologizing to the tender flesh that he'd bitten and bruised. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him onwards and inwards with the motion of her hips. He accepted her body's invitation, holding her tightly against him and kissing her firmly on the lips as he slid inside of her and began to thrust.
She arched her back underneath him, sliding her own arms up and underneath of his to clasp him tightly around the back, her fingernails digging into the scant meat of his shoulders. He moaned appreciatively into her mouth when she did this, so she dug in a little bit harder (okay, maybe a lot) and drew her fingers down his spine. When she felt something damp beneath her fingertips, she wasn't sure if she had drawn blood or if he was just getting sweaty with the exertion of...and what was this they were doing? It felt so incredibly intimate, the sort of the thing you did with a trusted lover and not just a casual shag, but they were hardly either of those things.
Whatever they were, it was so much more complicated than that. She was afraid though that if she tried to put a name to what it was they were doing, that it would all fall apart around her. Instead, she nipped his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth where she continued to nibble on it. If she had drawn blood, he didn't seem to mind either way. She felt his thrusts growing more urgent and she moved her hips to match his pace, gasping and clenching tightly around him when he began to grind against her pelvic bone. He let out a shaky, gasping sigh against the side of her throat, emptying himself into her just as she began to shudder in the throes of her own orgasm.
She expected him to roll off and away from her, as he had last time, so the fact that he stayed there like that, still clasping her tightly in his arms caught her off guard. He was muttering something inaudible against her shoulder, although it sounded a bit like "...keep us safe this time". Finally, he rolled off of her and urged her onto her side, nestling himself up against her and draping an arm protectively over her hip. He was...spooning her?
With a strange knot forming in her stomach, Alba realized she had just made love with her kidnapper...and it had been better than good, it had been bloody amazing.
