Author's note: So I got to thinking...
In "An Education" I mentioned several times that Rose was holding back from teaching John more "modern" sexual stuff (essentially, anything oral), but that sometimes she really wanted to, and at the end, Nine told her John "would have been speechless at the privilege." Because I often look back and wonder what might have happened if I'd taken a different fork in my story road (and because frankly I've been missing spending time in this universe), I started contemplating: if what Nine said was true, how might things have gone if Rose'd given in? I already know that if I'd included this scene it would have changed every single interaction from then on in and I liked dividing up their sexual exploration and discovery of each other the way I did, but still...woulda been interesting... :)
Therefore, this takes place at some point during John and Rose's first, uninterrupted week of nights together. Hope you like.
The gift of another night with John.
Rose had never had this much sex in such a concentrated time period. It was amazing and revelatory and…right now she was feeling terribly ungrateful.
John's mouth roamed her chest and neck and face while below his fingers moved determinedly between her slick lips. The fact that he-a man from 1913, for all intents and purposes-had taken to this particular art so quickly and enthusiastically, without ever asking what put the idea in her head, was more than she could have ever expected. Every night his keenness for it made him seek out new tricks, new ways to give her pleasure and hence give him the reaction he loved. It was clearly his drug, and Rose knew she'd been very, very blessed in this regard…
…except tonight, she wanted more.
God, she wanted his mouth between her legs. His fingers were doing everything right and yet she still couldn't make it over that last crest and into freefall. She could feel him start to notice and she didn't want him to think any of it was his fault—it only wasn't working because her brain was in the way.
She couldn't help it, she craved the electric, quicksilver feel of his tongue flicking over her, sucking at her. She wanted the thrill of seeing the Doctor's face between her thighs, pleasuring her. The higher he brought her with his fingers and lips on her skin, the wilder she was to have it happen. A few minutes later and she was too out of her mind to stop the words.
"John, I need something," she panted. "I want something, so much…"
He pulled back to look at her. "Tell me." There was a heartening gleam of curiosity in his eye.
"I don't know what you'll think of it."
He raised an eyebrow, amused and unconcerned though his curiosity looked piqued. "One way to find out." His fingers kept moving, slower now, relaxed.
Rose bit her lip. "I don't know what you'll think of me."
His look softened, becoming infinitely sweet. "I'll think what I always do, that you're beautiful, and that I dearly love pleasing you," he said, leaning in for a gentle kiss. "Tell me what you want."
Rose reluctantly tore herself away from his languidly stroking fingers and sat up, while he watched her expectantly. She searched her brain but just couldn't think of a way to introduce it with words…so she opted for something else—something elseshe'd been dying for. A feline grin spread across her face.
"I think the best way for you to understand would be for me to show you first."
John looked the tiniest bit puzzled—undoubtedly thinking about differences in anatomy—but complied when she gently pushed him to lie down. She took a minute to gaze over his lanky naked body, beautiful as always, her inspection stopping on his stiff penis. Gravity bent it a little toward his stomach and his breaths made it bob gently. She still got a little thrill in her stomach just looking at it-even more so now, with the knowledge of what she was finally about to do.
She straddled his knees and leaned over him. She watched his eyes follow her breasts as they hung down, tracking their movement and their change of shape. She smiled: men were the same in any age. She began lowering herself slowly toward his erection, keeping her eyes on his and giving him plenty of time to watch, wonder, let his look become riveted yet unsure. She looked down and saw his cock twitch, watched the veins straining in excitement, then opened her mouth, fastened her lips around him and slid them all the way down.
John only just managed to strangle back a cry that would have alerted the entire school to what was happening. He had to stifle another, mash it down into a mere muffled groan as she dragged her lips back up, tongue swiping along the underside as she went. "Rose…Rose…" he gasped as she continued bobbing and dragging and licking the length of him. She loved it—loved watching him, loved hearing him, loved making him lose his mind with excitement, loved tasting that part of him that was so private, so not for anyone else and finally unleashing a fantasy she'd had forever.
She tortured him with pleasure for another few minutes while his head thrashed and he struggled to keep his sounds at a manageable level, then released him with a long, slow lick. It didn't seem John could catch his breath. Pride and arousal bloomed in her chest. "Like that, do you?" she asked wickedly.
"How…" John gasped. "…where did you…"
Rose felt a sharp pang of fear, and the potential for shame. "Just…enjoy it, all right?" she asked softly.
John pushed up on his elbows, face flushed and eyes searching, and saw something in her face that made him pause, made him pull back the questioning in his eyes. He flopped back onto the pillow. "I'd heard talk of something like that, usually mentioning the French…and sometimes thought of as a perversion…"
Rose's stomach tightened in earnest then. "What do you think now?" she asked.
"If it is one, I don't care," John confessed in astonishment.
Rose burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands. John looked over and smiled weakly and Rose flooded with relief and affection.
His smile dimmed a moment later, becoming one of puzzlement and something like unease. "You want me to do something like that to you?"
She nodded, unable to stay coy or hold back her eagerness. "Yes, please."
He watched her as if trying to discover something. She could see interest and arousal warring with the other feelings on his face…and winning. "You want me to see your…your femininity that closely…taste it?" She nodded. His pupils dilated sharply; his eyes gained a smolder that could easily be set ablaze. He was already rising and moving toward her. "That you would ask me for something so…intimate…"
"I trust you. More than anyone," Rose could say with utter honesty.
He put himself between her knees, spread her thighs and leant down to look closely at what was revealed. He breathed out and the feel of it sent a thrill skittering down her spine. "So delicate…" he murmured, running his fingers softly over her. "This may be my favorite place on Earth," he remarked, his grin gone crooked. He kept tracing the edges of her inner lips; she shivered and squirmed. His eyes flicked to hers and he smiled, proud as always. He slithered down to lay on his stomach, his face so close, his eyes growing more intense all the time. "What do I do?"
"All the things you do with your fingers…" she panted, her body on fire with anticipation. "All the places you rub and touch me…do the same with your tongue."
He paused a moment, then gave her a slow, experimental lick. Rose's hips nearly flew off the bed.
"Oh, God, John!" she cried, biting her lip to keep in the shrieks she wanted to let loose, the word "Doctor" so poised on her tongue she barely held it back.
"Like that, do you?" he smirked.
Rose couldn't answer him—not when he resumed and began translating his skills from fingers to mouth so breathtakingly well Rose could barely retain her sanity. Truth was it had never really taken much to make her come this way—just the barest amount of skill and she'd get what she needed. John was a natural, and between that and the anticipation that had built and the sight of his head between her thighs...it all combined to make her spasm well before she expected it. She babbled helplessly and sobbed as the pleasure flooded her groin and limbs, over and over again. She could never go without him after this, nothing and no one else would ever be good enough.
When he'd given her every last spasm he could, John climbed atop her to put himself inside, but Rose pushed him up, reversed their positions and took him back into her mouth. A cry burst out of him and his hands slid restlessly into her hair. Rose held nothing back and within minutes he was thrusting and choking back sounds, starting to warn her off: "Rose, I—you should—oh, oh, OH—"
Rose almost came again herself with the sound of him unhinged and moaning, the feel of him jerking uncontrollably, the taste of his come spurting onto the back of her tongue. When he quieted she pulled back slowly, lips tight, making sure to get it all.
He lay heaving. "Astonishing…"
Rose collapsed back, feeling wonderfully sated and superhero powerful at having reduced him to custard…until his head lolled to face her with eyes that wanted answers. "How could any of this possibly be part of your past experience?"
Rose's stomach plummeted till she feared she'd need to visit the basement to retrieve it. She'd gone too far; she'd let herself get carried away and crossed a line. Demonstrating fellatio was one thing—swallowing was another. She'd behaved like a slag and ruined everything.
"I shouldn't have brought it up," she whispered, starting to tremble, turning to get up from the bed. John overcame his languor to bolt up and catch her wrist.
"Rose, please…I'm not judging you, sincerely. You know this. I've already told you—and shown you—you don't need to play the virgin for me." Rose paused: he was right. She relaxed a bit, no longer pulling to leave.
"But do credit me with having eyes, and a brain attached to them," he continued carefully. She wanted to look at him but just couldn't; her heart was pounding so fast. "It's not just this, Rose, I've…I've tried not to intrude with questions about your home or your past, since you're usually reluctant to talk about it but sometimes, like tonight…the things you do belie the things you've said."
Rose tried to steady her breathing, lest it give even more away. Oh God, he was going to guess, figure out something was wrong with her, ask her things she couldn't tell him and all because she wanted to get off via her preferred method. She could smack herself.
"You're just…so young," he continued, "and yet sometimes it's like you've lived some whole other life I've never heard of." Rose gave a quiet snuff of air, a reaction that seemed to confirm for John that he was on the right track, made him even keener for answers. When she didn't reply he cast his eyes about the room as if physically looking for another tack. "Who was this…man of yours?" he asked finally.
Rose sighed wearily. "No one special." Actually he's a combination of two ordinary prats from 70 years in the future where everybody behaves the way we just did and it's no big deal.
John waited for more and looked frustrated when it didn't come. After a moment he sighed and gave a gentle tug on her wrist. "Come to bed," he entreated quietly. "I couldn't bear it if you left."
Rose finally turned and looked at his plaintive face, as dear and handsome and beloved as always. "I only suggested those things because I thought you wouldn't mind," she defended meekly.
John surprised her with a short, amazed laugh. "I beg your pardon, did I give you any indication that I minded those activities?" Rose giggled, remembering his reactions. He grinned for the first time since they'd started talking, pulled her onto the bed and rolled her into an embrace. "I thought I'd made it abundantly clear I was in favor of all the proceedings." Rose nodded and hid her giggling in his chest; she was finally starting to relax.
He rolled her over again and they came to rest facing each other. "How could I ever mind you making us both feel like that, or showing me new ways to be intimate with you?" he asked with a hand in her hair, but the unsettled expression returned. "You do understand, though, don't you? You've told me so little, I can't help but have questions."
"I promise someday, there'll be answers." Rose willed herself not to think of the future, and her eyes not to fill.
"But why not now?" he pressed. "You said you trusted me more than anyone."
"I do, I meant it," she swore, fingers resting on his sharp cheekbones, his stubble rasping gently on the heels of her hands.
His thumbs stroked the apples of her cheeks as he searched her face so earnestly Rose could barely keep the tears at bay. "You're all I think about, Rose," he confessed softly, his eyes filled with a helpless devotion. "I just want as much of you as there is to have."
Her lip trembled and she threw herself into his arms, holding her to him as tightly as she could manage. "Someday, I'll let you ask me anything you want to, and I'll answer," she said. "And if you'll still have me afterward, I'll still be yours."
He rubbed her back and gave a soft cluck of disbelief. "Oh, Rose…" he chided quietly.
Rose just hung on, and thought of how good it felt, for now.