***Please note the ratings change! Things are about to get smutty.***

1.9-1.10 The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances

They'd danced, they'd laughed, and they'd gone off to bed. Rose had escorted the incorrigible Captain Jack to a vacant room down the hall from hers, where he'd made the requisite invitation to join him before kissing her hand, telling her goodnight, and entering the room alone, closing the door with a wink. Rise had grinned and shaken her head before returning to her own quarters. Jack was handsome and charming, and she was entertained by his overt flirting, but in the short time she'd known him she'd already ascertained that he was an equal-opportunity flirt. Although he'd cut in to dance with her briefly, he'd also stolen a dance with the Doctor (who had been a surprisingly good sport about it, but then, she'd also seen him flirt with a tree so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised), whose scandalized "Oi, watch the hands, Captain!" indicated to Rose that Jack would have been equally pleased if either of them had joined him in his new bedroom.

They hadn't discussed how long Jack would be staying, but somehow, Rose suspected that he might stick around for a bit. Unlike Adam, he already had experience with time and space travel, and not only that, he'd been willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. The Doctor seemed to like him, despite his gruffness toward the man. Rose grinned to herself as she closed her bedroom door behind her. Something told her things were going to get pretty interesting around here for awhile.

Changing into an oversized tee and a pair of cotton sleep shorts, Rose went to wash her face and brush her teeth in preparation for sleep. Her thoughts wandered to the Doctor, and his visible case of Captain Envy. When their conversation in the basement had started, she really had been talking about dancing in the traditional sense. However, over the course of the conversation, it had come to mean something else — something she hadn't allowed herself to think she might have with the Doctor. She knew he cared about her — he hadn't been shy about making that clear. And she knew he found her attractive; in addition to his comments in Cardiff, she'd caught him looking at her with admiration more than once. Yet somehow, she hadn't really hoped that her feelings for him, and whatever his were for her, could ever lead to anything romantic or sexual between them. Whatever they had, it felt simultaneously more and less than that. In appreciation for the 'more,' she'd been hesitant to address the 'less.'

Yet with Adam, the Doctor had definitely been jealous, repeatedly referring to him as her "boyfriend" with audible disdain, and not hiding his pleasure particularly well when the tagalong had turned out to be a self-involved liar. And with Jack — well, the Doctor had staked his claim fairly clearly over the course of the evening's dancing, at least initially. Although she had also danced with Jack, the preponderance of Rose's evening had been spent in the Doctor's arms — first, twirling about and laughing, but later on, held close to his chest as they swayed slowly. However, he'd excused himself abruptly shortly after that, directing Jack and Rose to stay out of trouble and turn in soon. Rose was sure that he'd sensed the shifting mood between them, and equally sure that his departure was based on an uncertainty of what to do about it. She also thought that he might have been giving her the opportunity to go off with Jack, were she so inclined. He'd shown more than once that he wasn't necessarily aware of how she felt about him. It was very like him to decide that Jack was her newest "boyfriend" and retreat. He did let her make her choices, even when he didn't like them. He'd also probably pout about it rather than say anything, however. He may be almost a millennium old, but sometimes, the Doctor still had a tendency to behave a bit like a surly teenager.

Replacing her toothbrush in its holder, Rose looked at herself in the mirror over her sink. She could feel that they were at a crossroads. She could go to bed, and in the morning they could continue adventuring as they had been, continuing to ignore their increasing dependence on each other, or…

Taking a deep breath, Rose made a decision. Whether it became anything more or not, she needed the Doctor to know that when she had a choice, she would choose him. She would always choose him. Determinedly, she exited her en suite and then her room, padding barefoot down the TARDIS's hall to the Doctor's door. Steeling herself, she turned the knob and entered.

The Doctor was lying on top of his bed, fully clothed apart from his boots and coat, staring at the ceiling and flipping his sonic absently in his hand. He looked over as she came in, catching the sonic and sitting up, meeting her eye and looking slightly surprised. Rose closed the door quietly behind her and stood for minute, her eyes on his, her hands still behind her on the doorknob, neither of them saying anything. Hesitantly, she dropped her hands and walked over to the bed, climbing up to kneel next to him. Slowly, her gaze never leaving his, she leaned forward, giving him plenty of time to pull away. He didn't, and eventually her lips brushed softly against his, lingering sweetly for a moment before she pulled back and found his gaze again. It was a more hesitant kiss than the one they'd shared on Women Wept, and yet it held a tension of possibility and promise that the other had not. When he didn't move to stop her, she leaned back in, kissing him again with more intention, her lips parting slightly over his, the tip of her tongue teasing him as he raised a hand to her cheek and gently kissed her back. When she pulled back again, his eyes searched hers questioningly.

She bit her lip self consciously before quietly entreating him, "Dance with me, Doctor?" He stared at her, taking a moment to reassure himself that she meant what he thought she meant. Growing nervous at his lack of response, Rose glanced down and made to move away from him, but he grasped her wrist to keep her from going.

"You're sure?" He asked her.

"Yes," she responded without hesitation, raising her face to meet his eyes in challenge.

He gazed at her in awe, his blue eyes wide with wonder and disbelief.

And then it was like a fire had caught. His eyes blazed and his hands flew to tangle in her hair and he pulled her in and then he was kissing her fiercely, his lips claiming hers, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers in a desperate battle. Months of uncertainty and longing melted away as they moved together, giving in to what now felt like the inevitable.

Shifting but not breaking the kiss, Rose climbed onto his lap, straddling him so that her she rested on her shins, her knees at his hips. Clinging to his shoulders, pulling him close, she gave as good as she got, her lips and tongue sliding against his, speaking wordlessly of lust and adoration and yes and finally. She could feel his hardness through his jeans; feel warmth coiling in her lower belly in response, her inner muscles clenching in anticipation.

The Doctor's hands slid through Rose's hair and down her back, finding and gliding under the hem of her shirt and skimming over the smooth skin of her lower back. Pulling away slightly, he grasped the bottom of the shirt firmly and pulled it over her head, baring her from the waist up. Rose returned the favor, quickly divesting him of his jumper before diving back in to kiss him again. With the grace and speed of a jungle cat; the Doctor grasped her around the waist and flipped them over, pinning her roughly to the mattress with his hips and lips. His fingers slid under the waistband of her shorts, and shifting to kneel beside her legs, he yanked them and her knickers off in one go, leaving her naked before him.

Rose reached up to tug at his jeans, and the Doctor swiftly acquiesced to her silent demand, removing what was left of his clothing before moving between her knees and sliding on top of her, skin against skin, her curves soft against the hard planes of his muscled torso, his hardness pushing against her hip. He braced himself above her on one forearm, kissing her again fiercely while skating his free hand up her ribs and over her breast, tweaking one nipple sharply and making her gasp into his mouth before sliding his hand back down and between her legs, slipping two fingers between her folds and groaning at the wetness he found there.

The Doctor pulled back to meet her gaze once more, his eyes begging permission, and Rose looked back at him at him with surety and trust. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she reached between them and moved his hand before positioning his hard length at her entrance. There would be time for exploring other nights; right now she just wanted him inside of her, fully and completely. Lowering his forehead to hers and closing his eyes, the Doctor sank slowly into her tight, slippery heat until he was seated deep inside her.

"Rose," he groaned, his voice full of gratitude and love and wonder.

"My Doctor," she answered him, running her thumbs over her cheeks before sliding her hands around his neck and hugging him close.

The Doctor began to move, sliding in and out of her, smoothly and steadily at first, setting a slow, worshipful rhythm. Before long, however, his thrusts grew gradually harder and faster until Rose could do nothing but cling to him, biting into his shoulder to stifle her moans. She could feel the heat building in her as the coarse hairs around the base of the Doctor's shaft rubbed against her clit, the friction driving her closer and closer to oblivion. The Doctor pounded roughly into her, his rhythm now punishing, his breathing heavy, and she soon felt the world turn upside down as her orgasm hit her with the force and inevitability of a crashing wave, the Doctor following soon after, emptying into her with a groan as she clenched, pulsing helplessly around him.

The Doctor collapsed on top of Rose, kissing her shoulder and neck in silent thanks before pushing himself off of her slightly. The pair rolled to the side, Rose's top leg still wrapped around the Doctor's hip, gazing at each other as their panting breaths began to slow toward normal. Rose reached out a hand and stroked the Doctor's prominent cheekbone gently.

"Okay?" she asked him softly. He leaned forward slightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead before smiling gently at her.

"Fantastic," he murmured.

She smiled back and then disentangled herself from him and slid off the bed, making her way to the Doctor's en suite. When she emerged again, he had put his jeans back on, and she gathered her sleep things and dressed before walking back over to the bed. Talking one of the Doctor's hands in hers, she squeezed it gently and smiled at him once more, then slipped out the door and back down the hall to her own room. The Doctor, his eyes soft and full of emotion, watched her go.

After that night, the Doctor, Jack, and Rose found a new pattern together. Rose and the Doctor's daylight interactions didn't change, except that some of the tension that the Doctor had always carried with him seemed to have dissipated. He was quicker to laugh, and less prone to jealousy or anger. The three of them visited a myriad of worlds together, some beautiful and peaceful, some in desperate need of saving. They grew to operate like a well oiled machine, making and executing plans like they'd always been a team, to the point where they often finished each other's sentences.

They had an easy affection with each other. Jack's technical prowess, knowledge of other species, and penchant for flirting his way out of trouble had saved them all on more than one occasion, to the point where even the Doctor had to admit he was a valuable asset to the team. He didn't even object too much when Jack flirted with Rose, once he came to see just how widespread Jack's attractions were. For Jack, a come on was akin to a handshake. And anyway, when Jack went off to bed at night (usually on the TARDIS, but occasionally with a friendly local encountered during the day's adventures), Rose belonged to the Doctor.

They didn't talk about what it meant, but then, they'd never talked much about what they meant to each other. Rose and the Doctor had always done whatever felt right when it came to each other. Rose had run off with him without a second thought. They trusted each other with their lives implicitly. Once the unspoken boundary had been crossed, becoming physically involved felt as natural as breathing.

They never spent the entire night together; the Doctor still rarely slept, and Rose preferred time to herself in the mornings to shake off her dream state and prepare herself for the day ahead. Most nights, however, one of them would come to the other, and they would spend hours learning each other's bodies. The Doctor catalogued the taste and feel of every inch of Rose's skin, obsessively memorizing how each flick of his tongue or caress of his long, calloused fingers made her gasp or moan. Rose explored the Doctor like a new land, noting where to graze him with her teeth to make him curse, what pressure to use to make him exhale her name like a prayer, and how to move above him to make him lose his ability to speak completely.

On days when their travels had been carefree, they made love joyfully, teasing and tickling and basking in their closeness. Her laughter would ring through the room, and his grin would shine like a sun. On days when there had been danger and fear and pain, they fucked passionately, fast and hard and desperate, reassuring themselves that they had survived, that they would always survive. He would leave bite marks on her shoulders, and her fingernails would leave half moons along his back. Together, they shared their bodies to celebrate and to mourn, to affirm and to reassure. And then Rose would go to sleep and the Doctor would go to tinker or read or occasionally rest, and in the morning they would collect Jack from whatever trouble he'd gotten up to and they would run off together to the next planet or time period that struck their fancy.

The Doctor and Rose and Jack on the TARDIS, traveling through time and space, having adventures. In a way that none of them could have put into words, they formed an odd little family. If they had been asked, they all would have said that they would have been content to carry on as they were forever.