Things Continue to Progress (1/1)
Title - Things Continue to Progress (1/1)
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - Adult
Characters - Ten, Rose
Spoilers - None
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - Don't forget the shag in the kitchen!
Author's Notes - In response to this meme, unfolded73 requested five days after "The Natural Progression of Things." The original story can be found here.
Thank you tojlrpuckfor the beta. Isn't she just awesome?
The gorgeous icon was created byswankkatfor me, commissioned byjlrpuckfor my birthday.
"What day is it?" asked Rose, abruptly, from where she stood by the open refrigerator door.
"Time is relative on the TARDIS, Rose," the Doctor chided her, negligently, moving past her with a cup of freshly-brewed tea in each hand.
Rose, distracted, turned so she could watch him place the cups down on the table and seat himself with careless elegance, long, slender lines of masculine beauty. He was wearing the trousers of his suit and he'd pulled on a white shirt without bothering to button it, and prior to the past few days, she would have considered her Doctor to be naked in such little clothing. She was now well aware that, on occasion, the Doctor went entirely without any of his myriad layers of clothing, and did quite well without them, thank you very much.
The Doctor slurped at his tea, looking pleased with it.
Rose tried to collect herself. "How long has it been since...?"
“Since what?” He looked up at her, eyebrows raised with interest.
She felt herself blush, and waved her hand about.
The Doctor grinned, a wolfish, predatory sort of grin that went very well with his state of undress. “Ah. Since that.”
“Since the earthquake,” she corrected, primly.
He grin did not fade. He slurped at his tea again, and said, “Come and have your tea.”
“You’re not going to answer my question?” she asked.
“Time is relative. In Ursyin time, it’s been sixteen fippips.”
“In Earth time,” she said, thinking that he drove her spare, and wasn’t it a lucky thing that he was too sexy for his own good or else she would hate him.
“How long do you think it’s been?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her and sipping his tea. He looked so insufferably smug. She wanted to wipe that look off his face.
She cocked a hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms and regarded him. “Eight shags,” she drawled.
He pursed his lips. “You’ve been counting?”
“Like you haven’t been?”
“No,” he denied, and paused, and she waited, because she knew he would be unable to resist it. “But it’s been seven,” he pointed out, almost meekly.
“Seven shags?”
“Seven. Most assuredly seven. Since we’ve gotten back to the TARDIS. Unless you’re also counting the one on…”He cleared his throat.
“No,” she said. “I’m just counting shags on the TARDIS.”
“Then it’s seven.” The Doctor put down his cup of tea, frowning in concentration as he ticked off the list on his fingers. “One that was slow, one that was fast, the one with you on top, the one with the thing with your teeth and my hip, the one with the thing with my tongue and your belly button, the one where we fell off the bed, and the one just after I woke you up. Seven,” he concluded, pleased to be correct, and reached for his tea again.
“You’re forgetting the one in the kitchen.”
“What one in the kitchen?” He looked up at her, and felt his breath strangle in his throat, because she’d stripped out of what little clothing she’d been wearing and was now quite naked in the kitchen. “Oh,” he managed.
“So.” She walked toward him and trailed a fingertip lightly into the thicket of his hair. Her Doctor loved to have her hands in his hair. He moved his head in a gesture that reminded her of a cat wanting to be petted more, eyes locked on hers, expression definitely not insufferably smug any longer. “Eight shags, yeah?”
“Wellllllll, who am I to argue with…” He trailed off, eyes drifting shut, as she pressed her palm, teasingly, against the front of his trousers.
Rose, smiling, sank to her knees, unfastening the button of his trousers and carefully unzipping them. He half-groaned, half-gasped, and Rose smiled again. “No pants?”
“Well, I was…” The thing about Rose, thought the Doctor, was that she had this really remarkable mouth…He snatched at the remains of this train of thought. “I was…” Rose licked, then blew, and the Doctor twitched in reaction. “Anxious for a…”
She loved him like this, she thought, struggling for coherence rather than just giving in. He was bloody stubborn. Rose paused to respond to him. “A cuppa?” she suggested, innocently, and then leaned forward again.
“Oh, yes,” he hissed out, his hand fisting in her hair.
“Good.” Rose spoke around her swipes of her tongue, assaults of her mouth, hoping she was dazzling him as much as he always dazzled her. “I want you-to think of me-doing this-to you-every-single-time-you drink-a cup of tea.”
She felt the Doctor’s self-control snap, his hips thrusting toward her helplessly, and then his hands were suddenly at her shoulders, pulling her up. He stood to meet her, his mouth crashing onto hers, his body nudging her forward. She sensed his hands scramble behind her, hastily swiping their teacups out of the way, sending them crashing to the floor, and she found herself abruptly on her back on the TARDIS’s kitchen table, and the Doctor drove, urgently, deep inside her. He grunted with pleasure, and she gasped and arched into him. He was trying to find purchase, the table scraping in protest along the floor with every hard thrust up and into her, leaning over her to grab at the opposite end of the table, and she rose, twisted toward him, panting toward the climax, realized he had no free hands and took care of things herself, wriggling about beneath him and then shattering around him, and he murmured something in Gallifreyan in her ear before plummeting after her.
Rose, exhausted, fell back against the table and wished it were a bit more…comfortable.
The Doctor, his weight still braced over her, sucked in air and managed, “Bloody hell, Rose. How will I ever have tea with your mother ever again?”
Rose giggled and said, “Doctor?”
He hmm’d in response.
“I wanted to know how long we’ve been in the Vortex, because the milk has turned sour.”
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - Adult
Characters - Ten, Rose
Spoilers - None
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - Don't forget the shag in the kitchen!
Author's Notes - In response to this meme, unfolded73 requested five days after "The Natural Progression of Things." The original story can be found here.
Thank you tojlrpuckfor the beta. Isn't she just awesome?
The gorgeous icon was created byswankkatfor me, commissioned byjlrpuckfor my birthday.
"What day is it?" asked Rose, abruptly, from where she stood by the open refrigerator door.
"Time is relative on the TARDIS, Rose," the Doctor chided her, negligently, moving past her with a cup of freshly-brewed tea in each hand.
Rose, distracted, turned so she could watch him place the cups down on the table and seat himself with careless elegance, long, slender lines of masculine beauty. He was wearing the trousers of his suit and he'd pulled on a white shirt without bothering to button it, and prior to the past few days, she would have considered her Doctor to be naked in such little clothing. She was now well aware that, on occasion, the Doctor went entirely without any of his myriad layers of clothing, and did quite well without them, thank you very much.
The Doctor slurped at his tea, looking pleased with it.
Rose tried to collect herself. "How long has it been since...?"
“Since what?” He looked up at her, eyebrows raised with interest.
She felt herself blush, and waved her hand about.
The Doctor grinned, a wolfish, predatory sort of grin that went very well with his state of undress. “Ah. Since that.”
“Since the earthquake,” she corrected, primly.
He grin did not fade. He slurped at his tea again, and said, “Come and have your tea.”
“You’re not going to answer my question?” she asked.
“Time is relative. In Ursyin time, it’s been sixteen fippips.”
“In Earth time,” she said, thinking that he drove her spare, and wasn’t it a lucky thing that he was too sexy for his own good or else she would hate him.
“How long do you think it’s been?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her and sipping his tea. He looked so insufferably smug. She wanted to wipe that look off his face.
She cocked a hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms and regarded him. “Eight shags,” she drawled.
He pursed his lips. “You’ve been counting?”
“Like you haven’t been?”
“No,” he denied, and paused, and she waited, because she knew he would be unable to resist it. “But it’s been seven,” he pointed out, almost meekly.
“Seven shags?”
“Seven. Most assuredly seven. Since we’ve gotten back to the TARDIS. Unless you’re also counting the one on…”He cleared his throat.
“No,” she said. “I’m just counting shags on the TARDIS.”
“Then it’s seven.” The Doctor put down his cup of tea, frowning in concentration as he ticked off the list on his fingers. “One that was slow, one that was fast, the one with you on top, the one with the thing with your teeth and my hip, the one with the thing with my tongue and your belly button, the one where we fell off the bed, and the one just after I woke you up. Seven,” he concluded, pleased to be correct, and reached for his tea again.
“You’re forgetting the one in the kitchen.”
“What one in the kitchen?” He looked up at her, and felt his breath strangle in his throat, because she’d stripped out of what little clothing she’d been wearing and was now quite naked in the kitchen. “Oh,” he managed.
“So.” She walked toward him and trailed a fingertip lightly into the thicket of his hair. Her Doctor loved to have her hands in his hair. He moved his head in a gesture that reminded her of a cat wanting to be petted more, eyes locked on hers, expression definitely not insufferably smug any longer. “Eight shags, yeah?”
“Wellllllll, who am I to argue with…” He trailed off, eyes drifting shut, as she pressed her palm, teasingly, against the front of his trousers.
Rose, smiling, sank to her knees, unfastening the button of his trousers and carefully unzipping them. He half-groaned, half-gasped, and Rose smiled again. “No pants?”
“Well, I was…” The thing about Rose, thought the Doctor, was that she had this really remarkable mouth…He snatched at the remains of this train of thought. “I was…” Rose licked, then blew, and the Doctor twitched in reaction. “Anxious for a…”
She loved him like this, she thought, struggling for coherence rather than just giving in. He was bloody stubborn. Rose paused to respond to him. “A cuppa?” she suggested, innocently, and then leaned forward again.
“Oh, yes,” he hissed out, his hand fisting in her hair.
“Good.” Rose spoke around her swipes of her tongue, assaults of her mouth, hoping she was dazzling him as much as he always dazzled her. “I want you-to think of me-doing this-to you-every-single-time-you drink-a cup of tea.”
She felt the Doctor’s self-control snap, his hips thrusting toward her helplessly, and then his hands were suddenly at her shoulders, pulling her up. He stood to meet her, his mouth crashing onto hers, his body nudging her forward. She sensed his hands scramble behind her, hastily swiping their teacups out of the way, sending them crashing to the floor, and she found herself abruptly on her back on the TARDIS’s kitchen table, and the Doctor drove, urgently, deep inside her. He grunted with pleasure, and she gasped and arched into him. He was trying to find purchase, the table scraping in protest along the floor with every hard thrust up and into her, leaning over her to grab at the opposite end of the table, and she rose, twisted toward him, panting toward the climax, realized he had no free hands and took care of things herself, wriggling about beneath him and then shattering around him, and he murmured something in Gallifreyan in her ear before plummeting after her.
Rose, exhausted, fell back against the table and wished it were a bit more…comfortable.
The Doctor, his weight still braced over her, sucked in air and managed, “Bloody hell, Rose. How will I ever have tea with your mother ever again?”
Rose giggled and said, “Doctor?”
He hmm’d in response.
“I wanted to know how long we’ve been in the Vortex, because the milk has turned sour.”