Author's Note: So, funny story... I posted the wrong chapter yesterday. Whoops. I posted chapter five (this one) when I meant to post chapter four. That's been fixed- the real chapter four is up and I've moved this chapter to its proper place. Sorry, I've honestly never done anything like that. But, I have a feeling that you'll forgive me considering this is your second chapter in two days. Enjoy!
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Rexar V was a bad idea. Very bad idea. Well, a good idea and very fun… but bad. Very bad.
Never again are we going to a hot planet. Nope. Not even a warm one. Not one that she would even consider wearing something short. Something like that.
No, from now on we are travelling only where the temperature is below zero. Freezing weather, with a windshield factor that is ridiculously low. A place where she'll have to wear thermals and snow shoes and a big, huge, unrevealing parka and a scarf that hides those pouty lips. The Calidorus System is definitely next.
Oh god, I must sound like a nutter. Good thing it's only me in here. Well, me and the TARDIS. I think- I hope she's used to me by now.
Anyway, hot planets are bad. Because the minute she hears that it's tepid outside she rushes to find shorts and that tank top looking thing and that wrappy thing- whatever its called. I don't care because it's revealing- very revealing. And very nice to look at.
Oh my god, she's reduced me to a hormonal teenager! Or at least a horny twenty-year-old. Neither of which is flattering.
Anyway, that's only half the reason that hot planets are bad. Because humans are so sensitive to heat and always so readily perspiring to cool themselves down. I've never noticed what a healthy sheen of sweat can do for her features.
And, of course, the real problem: ice cream. According to her, ice cream is always a must on a hot day. And so we bought ice cream cones on our way back to the TARDIS and that's where the real problem comes from.
Because she's licking it, her tongue taking its sweet time to caress all the way around the edge before swirling around the tip. There's a stray bit left on her bottom lip and her tongue snakes out to catch it. And then there's the way her eyes are hooded, half opened to watch but really wanting to close as the waves of delicious chocolate assault her senses.
I've spent the better part of our walk wondering what chocolate ice cream would taste like on her lips and tongue. Better yet, what it would taste like mingling with the lingering taste of vanilla on my own lips.
Taste has, by far, been my favourite sense this time around and I can't help but wonder what so much else would taste like. The salty sweat at the base of her neck. The chocolate on her lips. And something so much more Rose. I want to taste her there. I want-
Stop thinking.
…
…
Not working. Bloody ice cream- lucky bugger.
"Something amusing, Doctor?"
"Hmm?"
"You're smirking out into space."
"Oh… em, no, nothing. Just thinking."
"Bout what?"
Don't listen to the smirking and the tongue poking out and the fluttery eyelashes. "Nothing."
Nicely done.
Okay, deep breath, open the TARDIS door, and forget about it. Finish the ice cream as quickly as possible and get lost somewhere on the TARDIS far away from Rose.
"So, where are we off to now?"
Oh god, she's sucking the top of ice cream. She's probably swirling her tongue around. There are much better things for-
"Going? Em… the Calidorus System. Bit nippy, but I think you'll like it there."
"Oh yeah?"
Don't let the tongue distract you. Don't…
Yeah, that's not going to work.
"Oi, you want some tea?"
"Sure."
Sure? What happened to hiding on the TARDIS?
She's starting to bite off the edges of her cone by the time we make it back to kitchen and I've decided that it's safer to just chuck the remainder of my cone into the bin.
I'm sure there was some kind of conversation going on as I prepared the tea and as we sat there drinking, but I have absolutely no idea what it was that we talked about, because every once of my concentration was centered on that pink tongue darting out and lapping up the remains of her ice cream.
Oh, sod it.
She's surprised when I lean forward to press my lips to hers- and why shouldn't she be? This isn't part of her cunning little dare. This isn't a plan she concocted in her head. This isn't supposed to be happening.
And yet I'm too intrigued to pull away. Because, just by running my tongue over her lips, I can taste the lingering remnants of her chocolate ice cream. Far better than the real thing in my opinion.
But I want to know more. To taste more. It doesn't take much to coax her lips into opening, letting me in. The taste of chocolate is everywhere- coating her teeth and freezing her tongue. But there's more. Just a hint of tea from the few sips she's taken. And something else-
But I don't really have time to think about it because she's finally recovered from her shock and she's joining in on the tasting. I wonder what I taste like to her. I wonder what the combination of chocolate and vanilla and tea is like mingling against her senses.
It doesn't take long for her hands to push off my jacket and pull off my tie or for me to untie the shirt-thing (whatever it's called) from around her chest. She tastes like salt and pheromones as I trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck, taking my time once I reached the nape of her neck. She's sighing into my ear- oh, that shouldn't be so tempting.
Her hands are running down my shoulders, fumbling with the buttons. No, not a good idea there. What the hell am I saying? I'm snogging her and she's barely half dressed and her unbuttoning a few buttons is a bad idea? I've got issues.
Even so, I bat her hands away and continue to assault her neck. She sighs, half in protest, half not. That's it- I've got to taste her.
She doesn't protest as I bring her on the floor. I'm barely touching her as I lay next to her, one hand trailing from her neck, between her breasts, and along her flat stomach. She's just watching, a somewhat bemused smile playing over her face. I wonder what she's thinking. Probably something along the lines of: 'The Doctor has officially gone off his rocker'. But it doesn't really matter, because she's not pushing me away.
In fact she's pulling me to her, forcing my body against hers. And she's kissing me, harder and more furiously than ever before. All I can do is respond to her nips and thrusts and moans. Her hands are reaching for my shirt again and I have to pull away, reminding myself that I need to move her hands away.
And that's when I move, adjusting myself so that I'm straddling her legs, my fingers tugging at the zipper. She sighs in protest, but adjusts herself, resting her right hand beneath her head to make it more comfortable against the kitchen floor and her left hand was flattened over her stomach. God, she looks sexy as hell like that- partly naked, lips swollen, her fingers softly toying with her own flesh, eyes burning into me.
I'm watching her eyes, waiting for any sign that she wants me to stop. But I knew it was never going to be there. Impatience is clear, though. I can't help but smirk at that.
I turn my attention back to my hands as they slide over her hips and drag both her shorts and knickers off in one easy motion. When I look up, she's half-bare, except for her white tank top that's been pulled up and hides only her chest from sight. Depressing, but not urgent.
"You've still got all your clothes on. 's not fair."
As much as she's right and as much as I'd like to, I know this isn't going to go that way. It's easier to just ignore her tease.
Easier to plant a kiss on her hip and swirl my tongue around to distract her- and the way she squirms lets me know that I've accomplished just that. But her thighs are a bit more attractive at the moment. After so many months with me, being chased by aliens and running for our lives, her thighs are sculpted beautifully. For a moment, I'm pretty content to just trail my fingers along her inner thighs. Okay, that's a lie. There are much better things to be doing.
Oh, when did I start to want this so badly?
And that's when I taste her. Easing my tongue between her folds, it moves slowly up and down in long, wide strokes along her slit. She tastes of strawberries and honey and there's a hint of something far more distinctive- something uniquely a mixture of Rose and time. And it's fantastic. More than I've ever imagined.
She's groaning and bucking her hips, annoyed that I'm ignoring where she wants me to stroke. My hands go to her hips, gripping her thick muscles, holding her still. My whole mouth descends on that spot, my tongue drawling circles around it, barely touching it, just enough to make her moan and arch her back into the floor.
She whimpers at me. Humans- such pathetic lung capacity that she hasn't even recovered from earlier yet. I know what she wants- I can practically hear her screaming in her mind for me to increase my pace, but this is far more divine. Torturing her slowly as I trace another circle around her clit. She's struggling hopelessly against my hands again and that's why I look up at her. She's trying to keep her breathing normal; she grinning down at me, her tongue poking out of the side and I'll bet it's just because she knows now what it does to me.
Well if she's going to play coy, then maybe I'll just divert my attention. So many tastes to discover. For example, her left thigh seems most delicious. And it is. There's just the slightest hint of salt from our day's excursion and time- the taste of time permeates every fibre of her body and it's wonderful. More than that-
Oh, I can't completely ignore her. She sighs as my thumb grazes her entrance but honestly I'm more interested in sucking and biting at the tender flesh. My thumb dips in her, for just a moment, before pulling out. Because it really is too much fun to hear her groan in protest. She's writhing in need, her hips bucking against my hold, and even I can't take this anymore.
My tongue flicks her clit because I've discovered that I like the way her entire body shivers. And that alone is enough to have me slip my hands beneath her, shifting her so I can scrap my teeth against her clit. I honestly have to say that I love the taste of her- the taste of time dripping off of her. My tongue is darting in and out of her slit, tasting her, curving my lips around to suck on her folds.
Just to hear the way she's moaning against the feel of my tongue and sighing out my name is worth it. Worth breaking the rules. Worth ripping away every emotional block and façade.
I can't believe I'm saying it, but I am.
Her hands have been uselessly grabbing for the floor this entire time but as her control slips away, her fingers thread through my hair. My first finger caresses her opening before slipping inside her just as my mouth latches onto her clit. But it's not enough; my middle finger joins my first.
It doesn't take long before I feel her exploding around me, muscles spasming and hips flexing up away from the floor, and her hands gripping my hair painfully. But that doesn't matter because her delicious fluids are spilling out and I'm content to taste every drop as my tongue strokes her, easing her down off her high.
I can't help but watch her face the entire time, noting the way her lips are parted and faint gasps for air dictate her chest's erratic movements, the way her eyes flicker between open and closed. I love it.
And I shouldn't. I really shouldn't be looking at her like this, looking at her while she looks like this. I shouldn't be making her look like this. So many shouldn't's…
Reason fifteen is rubbish. I'm crossing it off. Lust is fun. Lust is… impossible to ignore with Rose around. But no more ice cream. Definitely no more ice cream.
And short skirts.