Chapter 27

As soon as John left the next morning, Rose poured another cup of tea and sat down on the sofa, still in her dressing gown. She'd had another dream last night, this time of a golden light that filled her vision and a desperate need to save the Doctor. Her curiosity wouldn't wait another minute—she had to see more of John's book.

Last night, they'd really only looked at the pictures. Today, she went more slowly, taking time to read the descriptions of his dreams. Some of the stories weren't familiar, but the ones that were matched her own dreams in almost every detail.

When she got to the page with her own picture, the words leapt off the page. Rose Tyler… Filled with the Time Vortex… Bond mate… She promised me forever.

Forever.

The images swirled in her mind, of her and John standing side by side on a red rocky outcropping, with impossible animals soaring overhead. And when he asked how long she was going to stay with him, what could she say except forever?

The term bond mate should have been strange, but somehow, Rose knew exactly what it meant. As close as she and John were, she'd longed for the unique intimacy she shared with the Doctor in her dreams.

"I didn't expect to see you still in your dressing gown."

Rose started violently at Martha's voice. "I didn't hear you come in!"

Martha raised an eyebrow. "So I gathered. What's got you so caught up that you didn't even hear that creaky old door open?"

"John's been having fantastic dreams, and he's written some of them down." Rose closed the journal and held it up. "He left the journal with me this morning, to… keep me entertained."

A flicker of something crossed Martha's face, but it was gone before Rose could place it. "Well, there's no time to read it now," she said briskly. "I'm sure you've got cleaning we need to do."

Rose shook her head. "Actually, Martha, I wondered if I might speak with you for a moment."

Again, an emotion came and went across her friend's beautiful features. "Yeah, if that's what you want," she agreed.

"Let me get dressed, and we can sit down in the kitchen with a few of those scones we made yesterday. I hid some so John wouldn't eat the rest this morning."

"Do you want more tea?" Martha called after her as she walked to the bedroom.

"That would be lovely, thanks."

Rose dressed as quickly as possible. For some reason, she had a feeling Martha was reluctant to talk to her, though she couldn't understand why, and she didn't want to give her an opportunity to slip away.

But Martha was still in the kitchen when Rose returned, and a fresh pot of tea sat on the table. Rose reached behind the flour canister for the extra scones and poured tea for both of them before sitting down.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Martha asked.

Rose took a sip of her tea, considering how to explain what was bothering her. "John's dreams…"

"He told me a little about them yesterday," Martha said quickly. "Said he dreamt it was 2008, of all things, and that we all travelled together."

Rose nodded slowly. "You see, the thing is Martha… I've had the same dreams."

Martha stared at her. "You what?"

"Most of the stories in this book," she said, resting her hand on it, "have been in my dreams too. Not all of them, but enough to be far more than a coincidence."

"What else could it be though?" Martha said, fidgeting with the material of her skirt.

Rose stared into space. "Have you ever felt like you forgot something, but you couldn't pinpoint what it was? And you just went through the day, or the week, with this vague sense that there was something else you were supposed to be doing, or a place you were supposed to be…"

"Of course. That's happened to everyone, Rose." Martha laughed and waved a hand through the air. "And then you realise you've forgotten someone's birthday, or an engagement you'd agreed to attend. You make your apologies and you move on."

Rose shook her head. "This is more than that. This is like… like…" She tried to pin down the thought, but the harder she tried, the more elusive it became.

Finally, she sat back and sighed. "I don't think I want to clean today," she said. "I'd rather look through the rest of John's journal. You can have the morning to yourself—you don't get enough of those."

Martha nodded slowly and stood up. When she was halfway to the kitchen door, she turned back and looked at Rose. "Rose, those stories in the book… they're just dreams. They can't be real," she said.

Rose hummed. "Maybe. And maybe they're some sort of message to both of us, an allegory of something to… I don't know. But I do know I need to read the rest of this journal."

oOoOoOoOo

When Martha left the cottage, she walked a short distance down the road before doubling back to take the path that led to the shed the TARDIS had landed in. It was convenient, having it on the same property as the cottage, but now that the Doctor and Rose were both remembering, she was a little worried they'd somehow stumble upon it.

She sighed and pulled the tarp back far enough to get the door open. No point worrying about things she couldn't change.

The sight of the blue box calmed her, and she pulled her key out from underneath her coat and unlocked the door. "Hello," she said as she stepped into the dimly lit console room. It didn't even seem strange to be talking to a machine—the Doctor and Rose had made it clear more than once that the ship was actually alive.

Martha looked up at the chameleon arch, dangling from the ceiling. Sometimes she heard their screams in her dreams. After all, what was a worse nightmare for a doctor than to watch her friends in pain and not be able to do anything to ease their suffering?

The memory haunted her, but after a moment, she managed to shake it off and turn to the console. She switched the monitor on and the TARDIS started playing the video the Doctor had made before he and Rose had changed. There had to be something in here that would tell her what to do.

She listened to the opening list of instructions, taking comfort in seeing the Doctor, the proper Doctor, not John Tyler. "Four, you. Don't let us abandon you."

Martha turned a dial that sped the recording up. The Doctor and Rose hadn't abandoned her, but sometimes, even when she was spending the mornings with Rose or taking John Tyler his tea, it felt like they had. The friends she'd known for two months before this adventure weren't here.

That didn't matter right now though. The Doctor had left a list of warnings, of things to look out for, and that was why she was here.

The tape slowed to ordinary speed automatically when the Doctor took a deep breath and pressed his lips into a thin line, and Martha leaned forward to listen.

"Twenty-three. I've done everything I could to make sure we wouldn't be found. The chameleon arch technology should be infallible, but the last time I was with someone who insisted their plans couldn't fail, I watched the Titanic hit an iceberg."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Show off," she muttered.

"First of all, you should know that some memory leakage is normal, especially in dreams. Our memories are only repressed; the watches contain our true personalities and biological code. Repressed memories are likely to slip out, but our human selves should easily dismiss them as nothing but stories."

She breathed a sigh of relief. It still made her a little uneasy that they were remembering as much as they were, but apparently the Doctor had anticipated that, to an extent.

"As I said, the watches should make it impossible for the Family to track us. However, here are some warnings you should be on the look-out for. First, a ship breaking atmosphere. To humans, this would look something like a meteorite."

Martha went cold.

"The heat shields burn up as it comes through the atmosphere, causing a streak of light to blaze through the sky."

He sighed, and the lines around his eyes deepened. "And second, the Family themselves. They can conceal themselves in any body—that's why they want Rose and I, to live inside our bodies and have the rest of our very long lives. I've told you they're Hunters, and that they can smell us. If you see someone sniffing like a bloodhound in our general vicinity, then you can trust they are on our trail."

The Doctor paused for a moment, then looked straight into the camera. "Truthfully, the Family is little danger to me—the real me. I could take care of them easily. We're only hiding because Rose wants to give them a chance to do the right thing." His eyes hardened. "If they come after us, that chance is over. If you think we've been found, Martha, then you know what to do. Open the watches. Everything we are is kept safe in there. Don't hesitate."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, don't open them unless you're pretty sure, because once they're open, then the Family will be able to find us if they haven't already. But err on the side of caution, because I would rather come back early and find I need to face them than come back to find something had happened to Rose." He started to move out of the frame, then ducked back in with a smile on his face. "Oh, and thank you."

Martha stared at the dark monitor. The Doctor's instructions had given her too much information, and she wasn't any closer to a solution than she had been when she'd entered the TARDIS. The green light last night could have been a meteorite, or it could have been a ship. She wouldn't know if the Family had found them until she caught people sniffing around—literally—and that might be too late to do anything.

Finally, she stood up, straightening her spine. "Well, at the very least, I think I should start keeping the watches on me, so I know they're safe."

oOoOoOoOo

John tried to mark essays after lunch, but the images from his most recent dream wouldn't leave him alone. Last night's dream hadn't been happy. The Doctor was alone in an empty room, walking away from a high, white wall. Rose was gone, and he would never see her again.

That hadn't been the end of the dream, but even though Rose had managed to come back to the Doctor, those hours when he'd thought she was lost haunted John. Lying alone in the bed they'd shared, his traumatised mind longing for his mate…

John had never been more grateful to wake up in their tiny cottage. He'd curled his body around Rose's until his erratic breathing returned to normal, and even then he hadn't been willing to let her go. Losing Rose was his worst nightmare, and it had hurt just as much in his dream as he dreaded.

A knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts. He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself out of the nightmare, and then stood to answer the door.

He expected it would be another teacher, or maybe Martha with the tea, so when he saw Timothy Latimer on the other side of the door, he stared at him blankly.

"You told me to come and collect that book, sir," Timothy reminded him.

John nodded, though he still couldn't quite remember. "Good lad. Yes." He remembered then, and turned away from the door, leaving it open so Timothy could follow him inside. "Yes! The Definitive Account of Mafeking by Aitchison Price. Where did I put it? And I wanted a little word," he said while rummaging through the books on his desk, looking for the volume. "Your marks aren't quite good enough."

Timothy stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back. "I'm top ten in my class, sir."

"Now, be honest, Timothy, you should be the very top," John chided. "You're a clever boy. You seem to be hiding it."

For a moment, the missing book distracted him from the conversation with his student. Did I put it away in my little library? "Where is that book?" he muttered as he stepped into the closet-sized room.

"And I know why," he continued to Tim, as if he hadn't interrupted the conversation. "Keeping your head low avoids the mockery of your classmates. But no man should hide himself, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir."

Timothy's answer was noncommittal, so John pushed his point while scanning his shelves. "You're clever. Be proud of it. Use it. Ah! Finally." John pulled the blue volume down from the top shelf and carried it back out into his study. "Fascinating details about the siege. Really quite remarkable."

He started to hand Timothy the book, then realised the lad had turned pale. "Are you all right?" he asked, paternal concern overriding his academic enthusiasm.

"Yes, sir. Fine, sir."

Timothy looked almost scared, and John suspected he was lying. He examined him with a critical eye, but the skittishness he saw warned him not to push. "Right then. Good." He handed over the book with one last admonishment. "And remember. Use that brain of yours."

The moment Timothy touched the book, his eyes widened with what was definitely fear. He looked like he could see something that wasn't there, and whatever it was terrified him.

"You're really not looking yourself, old chap," John said. "Anything bothering you?"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir." Timothy shook his head and hurried out of the room, and the way he stared back at John as he pulled the door shut made it seem like it was John he was afraid of.

John watched him go, more worried about his student's well-being than he had been about his academic marks earlier.

oOoOoOoOo

Of all John's duties at the school, shooting practice was his least favourite. He abhorred guns, though he was careful not to let the headmaster see his distaste. There were very few situations he could think of that warranted the use of weapons, and he hated the thought that he was moulding young boys into men who would reach for a gun to protect themselves, instead of their wits.

"Concentrate," John admonished when a few shots went wide of the mark.

One target dummy was hit repeatedly, however. "Hutchinson, excellent work."

"Cease fire!"

John turned around to greet the headmaster. "Good day to you, Headmaster."

"Your crew's on fine form today, Mr. Tyler."

"Excuse me, Headmaster," Hutchinson said snottily. "We could do a lot better. Latimer's being deliberately shoddy.

"I'm trying my best," Timothy said, and the defensiveness in his voice reminded John of the impression that he hid how clever he was to avoid attention.

"You need to be better than the best," the headmaster said bracingly. "Those targets are tribesmen from the dark continent."

"That's exactly the problem, sir." Timothy looked at the headmaster with more boldness than John would have given him credit for. "They only have spears."

John nodded approvingly at him, but the headmaster wasn't impressed with the lad's ethics.

"Oh, dear me," Mr. Roscastle tutted. "Latimer takes it upon himself to make us realise how wrong we all are. I hope, Latimer, that one day you may have a just and proper war in which to prove yourself. Now, resume firing."

Timothy turned back towards the targets, all his fight gone. John looked at his slumped posture and wanted to encourage him somehow, but he couldn't contradict the headmaster—not when he was still standing there, and certainly not in front of the other boys.

Timothy suddenly straightened and wore the same distant look he'd had earlier in John's study. The gun stopped firing a moment later, drawing Hutchinson's ire.

"Stoppage. Immediate action. Didn't I tell you, sir? This stupid boy is useless," he sneered. "Permission to give Latimer a beating, sir."

The headmaster shot John a sidelong glance and rocked back on his heels. "It's your class, Mr. Tyler."

The implication from the headmaster was clear. Were he in his place, the other man would grant permission for the boys to beat young Timothy.

John struggled under the expectation. It wasn't uncommon by any means; he'd survived more than one beating when he was in school. But in his mind's eye, he could see Rose's disappointed look when he told her about his day. She wouldn't think there was anything right or commendable about allowing the boys to hit each other—and truthfully, he didn't think so, either.

"Permission denied," he said, ignoring the hum of disapproval from the headmaster. "There are better ways to train Latimer." He looked at the boy, offering him a small smile. "Next time we have shooting practice, I'll work with you myself."

Timothy stared up at him, a strange expression on his face… as if John had done the exact opposite of what he'd expected. "Yes sir. Thank you sir," he stammered.

Someone on John's other side sniffed loudly, and he turned around to see Baines looming over his shoulder, a strange look on his face. "Anything the matter, Baines?"

"I thought… No, sir. Nothing, sir." Baines walked away, his gait stiff and unnatural.

"As you were, Mr. Tyler," the headmaster said and walked away.

John thought it best to remove Tim from the line of fire, as it were. "Time to let some other boys have a go," he said, and Hutchinson and his team stood up and dusted their knees off. "Ah, Pemberton, Smythe, Wicks, take post."

As the boys obeyed, John turned around and spotted his wife on the other side of the wall, watching them. He was suddenly very, very glad of the decision he'd just made.

He walked over to her and leaned against the wall. "Hello, Rose Tyler," he said, loving the way her name sounded on his tongue.

The way her eyes lit up told him she felt the same way. "Hello, my love." She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. "I missed you at lunchtime and thought I would come see how your afternoon is going."

John took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Oh, it's been fairly dull up until now, but it's starting to look up."

They stood together quietly for a moment, then Rose said, "You did the right thing, John."

The proud smile on her face more than made up for any loss of standing he might have suffered. "Not the popular choice," he said, tilting his head in the direction the headmaster had retreated, "but it was one I could live with."

"Are you almost done for the afternoon? Would you like to go for a walk in the village?"

"With you, Mrs. Tyler?" John felt the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled at her. "I'd love to."

oOoOoOoOo

Martha paced the Doctor's study. She'd had to wait until he went out for shooting practice to collect the watches, but she'd been looking for almost an hour, and she couldn't find them anywhere.

"Come on," she grumbled, lifting a stack of papers off the desk. "What did you do with them?"

Pounding footsteps in the corridor alerted her to the Doctor's approach, and she moved swiftly to the bookshelf and pulled out her duster, just before he burst through the door.

"Ah! Hello, Martha!" He tossed his mortarboard down on his desk and quickly unzipped his academic robe and draped it over the chair. "I won't be needing tea today; Rose and I are going for a walk, and then I think we'll spend what's left of the afternoon at home before going out to the dance tonight."

"Very good, sir," Martha said as he draped a scarf around his neck and put on a hat. "Can I ask before you go, did you take the watches home with you last night?"

He paused at the door with one arm in his coat and blinked. "What watches?"

Somehow, Martha managed to hold in her groan. "The two fob watches you had on the mantel yesterday, Mr. Tyler. I noticed when I was cleaning that they aren't there anymore."

The Doctor's forehead creased into a frown. "I don't remember any fob watches," he said, without a trace of uncertainty. "You must be misremembering, Martha." He gave her a little wave, then darted out of the office.

"Oh, that's just bloody brilliant." Martha threw her hands up. "Sure, the perception filter keeps you from opening them too early, but you can't even remember you own the blasted things? How is that helpful?"

She looked around the office and sighed. "Well, he'll notice if I rummage through his things any more than I already have. I guess I'll go to the cottage and hope I find them there. If he doesn't remember they exist, he could easily have scooped them up and taken them home without realising."

oOoOoOoOo

John bolted down the stairs much faster than would be deemed appropriate for a teacher, eager to reach the outdoors and Rose. When he burst through the doors, he realised that what little sun there'd been earlier in the afternoon had disappeared, but thankfully the clouds weren't threatening enough to disrupt their plans.

Rose was waiting for him by the gate, and John slipped his hand into hers. Even gloved, it still fit his perfectly.

"I spent most of the morning reading your journal," she said as they set out.

He looked down at her. "Did you? And what did you think?"

"I think that if dreams are meant to show us things about ourselves that we don't understand, then you are incredibly brave and kind." She looked up at him with the tongue-touched smile she reserved for him. "Of course, I already thought that about you."

"Did you now?" he teased. "Well I guess I've got you fooled at least."

Rose rolled her eyes. "It was kindness that protected that boy this afternoon," she pointed out.

John hesitated, but he couldn't let that go without telling the truth. "In part, but I think mostly… I didn't want to see the disappointment on your face when you heard about it." He looked down at his wife. "I never want to do something that will make you think less of me. You make me better, Rose."

"Better with two," Rose corrected, repeating the words that had shaped their courtship.

John smiled and brought her hand to his lips, then tucked her even closer to his side as a chill November wind swept across the barren fields.

"So, if you spent the morning reading, what did Martha do?"

Rose shrugged. "I let her have the morning to herself. We talked a little over tea and scones, but I couldn't wait to read the rest of your stories."

He shot her a sideways glance. "I thought I ate the last of the scones this morning, except what was meant for my tea this afternoon."

"I may have hidden a few of them," his wife admitted coyly.

"Hiding things from me? How could you?" John pretended to glare down at her, and she giggled at him. They were in the village now, so John let the temptation to kiss Rose slowly fade away.

They walked across the village green, the grass springy beneath their feet. "You know, watching those boys practise shooting this afternoon reminded me of something from your journal. In one of your stories, you wrote about next year. Nineteen fourteen."

John immediately knew which story she meant. "That was just a dream."

Rose shook her head. "All those images of mud and wire. And you said a shadow would fall across the entire world."

"Well then, we can be thankful it's not true," he said firmly. It was bad enough that those images haunted his own dreams; he wouldn't have them keeping Rose up at night.

He pulled her to a stop and looked down at her, willing her to believe him. "And mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself. Everyday life can provide honour and valour."

Every one of John's senses sharpened, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to keep up with the messages his brain was receiving.

"Let's hope that from now on this… this country can find its heroes in smaller places."

A bicycle bell drew his attention to a tableau forming on the pavement across the street. Directly in front of him, two men were hoisting a piano up to a first storey window. From their angle, they couldn't see the rope fraying, but John could.

And then, to his horror, he saw a young woman pushing her baby in a pram reach the corner by the same shop. All at once, he could see not only what was actually happening in the moment, but what would happen, if he didn't do something. She would turn the corner, unaware of the danger, and the piano would fall on her, killing her baby and likely her as well.

"John, you've got to do something!"

"I know," he said, more short than he normally was with Rose. Time seemed to slow as he looked for a way to save their lives, or maybe his mind was working faster. He glanced down at the young boy next him, who was tossing a cricket ball up and catching it. The rope frayed a bit more and the piano lurched down a few inches.

John grabbed the ball out of the air and threw it at the scaffolding outside the ironmongers. That created a chain reaction that eventually knocked a milk churn into the young woman's way, stopping her just as the piano crashed to the ground.

Time sped back up to normal, and Rose was staring at him with her mouth wide open. "What?"

"I could… I could see it all happening…"

"You could see it?" John asked. "The piano falling and hitting them?"

Rose nodded. "And I didn't know what to do. But you, you just grabbed a cricket ball and saved that woman and her baby."

He shrugged sheepishly. How could he explain to her that for a few moments, it had been like he could see exactly what was going to happen before it did, and what he needed to do to keep it from happening?

They watched for a few more minutes, then continued on through the village, neither of them talking again until they reached the cart track that would take them home by the scenic route, through fields now bathed in sunlight.

Rose tried to hide it, but that brief vision and John's extraordinary act made her uneasy. On top of their dreams, the strange moment was yet another sign that they were more than a normal couple. But John didn't know she'd been having the same dreams, and something in her gut told her not to tell him.

"I thought we'd have a cold supper tonight," she said, wanting to change the subject entirely. "I still need to get ready for the dance this evening."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing this new dress you mentioned." John winked at her.

"It's not exactly new," Rose demurred. "I just haven't found a chance to wear it for you yet. I found it tucked away in the bottom of my trunk and asked Martha to press it for me."

John smiled, then looked past her at something in the field. "That scarecrow's all skewed."

Rose kept up with him as he crossed the field. She chuckled when he took the scarecrow's arm and tied it back to the crosspiece. "Ever the artist. Where did you learn to draw?"

She kicked herself as soon as the question was out of her mouth—she'd been trying to avoid talking about the journal, and look at what she'd just done.

"Gallifrey," John said absently, still tugging at the straw man.

The name sounded familiar to Rose, and she tried to place it. "That's where your family lived before you moved to London, right?"

He nodded. "All of my people were from there. The village burned though, and no one survived. With my parents gone, I'm the only Gallifreyan left."

The story of John's painful history had come out in awkward chunks, starting with a quiet negative when her mother had asked if he had any family to invite to the wedding. Every time the topic came up, he revealed something new; she hadn't known his entire village was lost in the fire.

Rose almost felt like his sadness was her own. "That's terrible," she said quietly. She wished it were possible to take that pain and wrap it in love and sympathy, so she could offer more comfort than just words.

The stiff line of his shoulders relaxed a little as he stepped away from the scarecrow. "Well, my work is done. What do you think?"

"Perfect." Rose gave him the smile she knew he loved so much, and he ducked down for a kiss.

"All sorts of skills today!" he said after he pulled away from her.

When they set back out towards home, she took his arm instead of his hand, relishing the extra closeness.

"Speaking of skills," he said hesitantly, "you seemed to think my sketches are passable."

Rose raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic display of modesty. "John, they're marvellous."

"Then would you allow me to draw you again, from life this time? It doesn't seem right that the only drawing I have of you is based on my dreams."

Rose felt her cheeks flush. "Why? I mean… you can see me every day…"

John smiled. "Because you're beautiful, Rose, and drawing you… I can see you every day, but I don't usually look at you with an artist's eye."

"Well I hope not," Rose teased. When they were done laughing, she nodded. "If you want, you may draw me."

"When we get home?"

His eagerness made her blink.

A blush crept up the back of his neck. "I've no more duties at the school this afternoon, so unless you have something you were going to do when we get home, we have time."

"Of course."

An hour later, Rose was fidgeting on the sofa, regretting her impulsive answer. John was sitting in the arm chair on the other side of the living room, his journal open to a blank page.

"Hold still, love," John chastised. "It's hard to get the shading right if you keep moving."

Rose sighed and went back to her original position. She'd always been on the other side of the canvas. This experience was certainly making her more sympathetic to the friends and family who had let her paint them over the years.

Rationally, Rose knew she was being ridiculous. She'd barely been sitting there for forty-five minutes, which was nothing compared to a portrait sitting. The whole day had made her restless though, and it was hard to sit still.

But finally, John put the pencil down and brushed the paper a few times with his finger. "Are you done?" she asked.

He pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Almost… There!"

Rose leaned forward. "Can I see?"

John crossed the room and sat next to her, with his arm around her shoulders. "Are you sure you're ready to see this?" He held the book just out of her reach. "I can wait to show you if you'd rather."

"Open that notebook now, you ridiculous man."

He flipped the journal open with his finger. Rose took in his drawing of her, her finger touching it involuntarily. His skill was unmistakable, but the way he'd drawn her… Sometimes she was so aware of how much he loved her, it almost hurt.

"John, it's beautiful," she whispered.

"Because you're beautiful," he told her simply, and he was so close, she could feel the breath from those words against her ear.

The hand on her shoulder tightened, and she turned her face towards him. "So beautiful," he whispered as he slowly leaned towards her.

Rose exhaled on a sigh when his lips met hers. Kissing John was always a full-body experience, and today was no different. One hand carded through her hair, dislodging the pins and disheveling her curls before holding her at the base of her skull. The other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her as close as was possible when they were sitting side by side on the sofa.

He sucked her top lip into his mouth, and Rose nibbled on his bottom lip in return. She felt him shiver, and then his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she willingly parted for him, allowing him entrance for a few minutes before she pulled back for a breath. John's hand on her waist had dropped down to her hip, and it only took one gentle tug to convince her to move up into his lap.

Rose smiled and draped her arms around John's neck as his hands settled on her hips. The new position allowed her to lick and nibble at his neck, and he tilted his head back when she grazed her teeth over his Adam's apple. "Rose," he groaned.

"Yes, John?" Rose murmured as she trailed kisses along his jawline. His fingers clutched at her back, wrinkling her blouse as she kissed and licked at his lightly stubbled skin until she reached her favourite spot and added some suction.

John hissed when she bit down lightly. "That feels so good, love." His hands dropped back to her hips and pulled her snug against his body. Rose moaned when his arousal pressed into her, the pressure sending a bolt of pleasure through her. Wanting to taste him again, she slid a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers.

She felt John's hot breath against her lips for a brief moment before they kissed, and then his tongue swept into her mouth, gliding against her own. A moment later, his hands shifted around to her front and started unbuttoning her blouse, one hand slipping under the garment to cup her breast as soon as there was room.

Rose pulled back and rested her forehead against John's shoulder, panting for air. With quick fingers, she got rid of his tie, then tugged at the collar of his shirt so she could lick the join of his neck and shoulder. When he bucked into her harder in response, Rose gave a low moan. "John…"

He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently before speaking. "Can I take you to bed?" he asked huskily.

"Please," Rose whispered as she pressed one more kiss to his neck. He tapped her lightly on the hip and she slid off his lap, her face flushing when she saw the naked desire in his eyes. John stood and held out a hand for her, and led her to their room.