The Private Universe (Part 3/3)
This is fourth in a series featuring Ten II and Rose, following immediately after Tenses and Pronouns. Obviously, there are spoilers for Journey's End. Thanks to nonelvis and platypus for beta work. Adult content in this part.
Part One
Part Two
...
Part Three
Having virtually flawless hearing had its drawbacks. For example, when one's lover and her flatmate had a whispered personal conversation, it was quite impossible not to hear. It couldn't really be considered eavesdropping if one tried to hum and shuffle any nearby objects to make enough noise to obscure that conversation, could it?
"I'm not kicking you out," Rose said to Anna in a low, confidential tone. The Doctor trimmed a tiny piece of silver electrical wire. He'd spread out some of his acquired supplies on Rose's Torchwood desk and was working to finish what he'd started with her mobile.
"You've cleared out for me before," Anna whispered back. "I don't mind, honestly. I'll go to Laura and Bob's for a few days. They've been nagging me to come and visit forever." The Doctor hummed again and picked up the tweezers to carefully fit the wire into his modified antenna.
"But it's your flat -"
"Shut it. It's yours too. Just don't shag on the kitchen counter or anything, okay?"
Rose stifled a laugh, and the Doctor resisted the urge to plug his ears with his fingers. Instead, he switched on the tiny soldering iron and lightly touched it to the edge of the circuit board.
Rose waited until he'd put down the iron before she touched him on the shoulder. He wouldn't have jumped - he'd known she was approaching - but he appreciated the sense inherent in letting the man with the red-hot poker finish what he was doing. He blew across the exposed innards of her mobile and, once he was satisfied that it was cool, fitted in the battery and snapped the plastic backing into place. "All finished," he told her. "If it can't get a conventional signal, it will piggyback off any satellite in range. Perfectly secure - they won't even know you're there."
"We'll need one for you, too," she said. "Can you do it again?"
"Easy peasy." He stood up from the desk and handed her the phone.
She put it in her jacket pocket and smiled at him, although she looked a bit uncertain. "Are you ready to go?"
"Whenever you are." He didn't like to be passive, but he was at her mercy. Neither one of them was accustomed to Rose as the prime mover for their schedule, but for the short term, at least, they'd need to get used to it.
…
With the rucksack that contained several days' worth of clothes and all of his earthly possessions on his shoulder, the Doctor followed Rose and Anna to the lift and out into the modern chaos that was the ground level of One Canada Square. All around him, people bustled about their daily activities, going to work, perhaps meeting friends, preoccupied with what was for dinner or the visit from the in-laws later in the week. Very human, very normal, and oblivious for the most part about what actually went on in the world. Or, he considered, perhaps it was Torchwood, or UNIT, or himself who had managed to lose sight of what really went on in the world.
Once they emerged into the late afternoon, Rose dropped back from walking beside Anna and took his hand. She didn't ask if he was all right, but he could tell she was thinking it.
"Did they even notice when the stars went out?" he asked curiously.
"Oh, they noticed," she said. "Everyone noticed. There isn't an official explanation, because who'd believe it anyway, so there are a million conspiracy theories going around."
"What's your favorite?"
"Global warming," she said with a laugh. "Excessive carbon dioxide output causing distortions in the atmosphere."
"Ah," he chuckled, swinging their linked hands between them. "So they were there, you just couldn't see them."
"Never mind the view from every satellite in orbit. Oh, and then there's another one, where they blamed it on the Large Hadron Collider."
They released hands for a moment to dodge around a harried-looking woman talking on her mobile and not paying any attention to where she was going, and joined up on the other side.
"Anyone get it right?" he asked.
She grinned over at him. "Nope. They'd think we were nutters if we told them."
"We are nutters. We just happen to be right," he said cheerily.
They continued to walk for a few minutes and crossed the footbridge to West India Quay, and the Doctor started to smile in earnest. "Old warehouse," he said. "You did say 'posh,' didn't you?"
"There's not much else around here," Rose pointed out.
They exited the footbridge, past the outdoor tables with sunshades and milling people, and entered the building. Inside, after a keycard, lift, and a brief walk down a hallway, Anna unlocked their front door, and the Doctor entered Rose's flat for the first time.
The space was wonderfully open, with high ceilings crowned by exposed, aged wooden beams. The walls were original brick or smooth off-white. The ceiling slanted down at the edges, with abundant light coming in from large skylights. The kitchen was open to the rest of the reception room and filled with the stainless steel appliances that Rose had promised. There was comfortable nook with two suede couches, covered in throw pillows, with a glass coffee table between them. A glass table with four dining chairs stood in the corner with a single pendant lamp dangling from the high ceiling above. It was elegant, stylish, and yet very, very comfortable.
Anna tossed her keys on the coffee table with a clank and disappeared down a curving flight of stairs next to the door. "I'll just be a tick," she called.
The Doctor put his rucksack down and looked around.
Rose cleared her throat. "Can I … can I get you something? A drink?"
He considered, and then decided that it would give them both something to keep them occupied for a few minutes. "Some water?"
She retrieved a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it from the front of the refrigerator. When she handed it to him, her hands were shaking enough to set a tiny ripple in the water. He closed his hands over hers and regarded her seriously before taking the glass and drinking.
When they heard Anna's steps on the stairs, Rose leaned against the back of one of the couches and the Doctor shifted the glass from hand to hand. Anna emerged from the stairs with a small suitcase.
"You've got the number if you need to ring me at Laura and Bob's," she told Rose, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in a few days." To the Doctor, she said, "It was nice to meet you," with a searching look, and then she was gone.
After Anna left, the only sound inside the flat was the faint whirring of the ceiling fan. The Doctor shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again and fidgeted. Rose was watching him from her perch on the back of the sofa.
"I don't know where to start," she admitted. "Do you want to unpack?"
"I could eat," he said.
They contemplated the barren interior of the refrigerator together. "I see I'm going to have to take up cooking," said the Doctor. "How do you not starve?"
She pointed to a folder, brimming with paper, tucked into the slot next to the microwave. "Delivery."
He studied the menus. Fairly every twenty-first century ethnicity and style was represented, as if the folder contained detailed survey results rather than two women's dinner preferences. He picked one at random, which turned out to be from a Chinese restaurant, and they ordered a completely unreasonable amount of food for two people.
"Forty-five minutes," she said when she closed her mobile. "Not bad."
They looked at one another. "You could give me the grand tour," he offered.
"Yeah, of course." She took it and gave him a little smile. "Reception room," she said with a wave.
He oohed and ahhed. "Stainless steel," he said, tapping the refrigerator. "Very posh."
She giggled. "It gets fingerprints like mad."
He held up his finger in front of his lips, conspiratorially, and then lowered it to press the pad into the smooth surface of the door. He removed it slowly and studied the effect. "Terrible," he pronounced. "I don't know how you cope."
She took his hand and towed him across the room to the window with its view of the skyscrapers all around them. The sun was setting. They stood in front of the window, looking out together and holding hands. He thought back to another window, another life, when she'd faced the end of her world with him. His hand tightened in hers and she looked up at him, concerned, but he smiled to reassure her. She took a side-step over to stand closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, their linked hands hanging between them.
He was content to let time pass, standing with Rose and watching the light fade from the sky to be replaced with the glitter from the city around them. There were so many people, he thought. He could imagine all of the people even just in the building, and even, if he made the effort, to feel the ripple of their timelines all around him.
"Show me the rest?" he asked quietly.
She ushered him down a flight of stairs into a hallway illuminated by small lights recessed into a warmly-stained wood ceiling. "That's Anna's," she indicated with a gesture toward a closed door, "and there's a bathroom with a tub in there. That's the office."
Besides the two narrow doors that were probably closets, there was one remaining door, and she left it for last. "That's mine. You could - I guess you could get your things, and unpack?" She looked at him a bit sideways, gauging his response to the repeated suggestion. "We've got some time."
He could have chuckled at the understatement, but instead, he nodded gravely and went upstairs briefly to retrieve the rucksack. When he returned, Rose wasn't in the hallway, but the door she had identified as hers was open and the door to the loo was closed. Inside, he could hear the sounds of her rustling around and running water, so he stepped cautiously into her room and looked around.
The exterior wall was the same exposed brick as the rest of the flat, and there was a half-oval window surrounded by an arch. However, he was immediately drawn to the bed, and not just because it was Rose's bed, but because it immediately made him think of, well, himself. The duvet was a heavy, brown fabric, lightly striped, and the assortment of pillows atop it was shades of brown and light cornflower blue. It was so like his old suit that he felt his throat tighten, thinking of her snug in this bed as she made plans to reach him again.
She had quietly entered behind him and encircled him with her arms. He dropped the rucksack. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice low and serious.
"Rose," he started, and stopped. He turned and looked down at her. "I don't … I don't know what to say. Honestly."
She bit her lip. "Are you upset?"
"No! I'm just … surprised, is all. I didn't expect …" He searched for the right phrase and gave up. "Oh, I have no idea what I expected. Really, this is so far outside my expectations I don't know where to start."
"That makes two of us," she said with a laugh, and then cautiously added, "I did imagine what it would be like if you suddenly appeared at my door."
"Did you?" he asked, letting his voice drop. "What happened when I did?"
"You didn't have a rucksack, for one." Her eyes twinkled.
"Well, that goes without saying. You were always the one with the rucksack. So when I suddenly appeared, what was it like?"
She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up at him through her lashes. "You always leaned in the door and said something witty."
"That sounds about right. I'm very witty, you know." They were much closer now. She stood with her feet in between his, their hands interlaced, faces angled together. He could feel the movement of the air as she breathed.
"Say something, then," she said, leaning toward him.
The buzzer jolted them apart.
"That was not forty-five minutes," said Rose.
…
It had been an unreasonable amount of food for two people, but they managed to eat an absurd amount of it all the same. The Doctor groaned. They had dined sitting on the floor around the coffee table, which was now covered with scattered boxes containing spring rolls, satay skewers, dumplings, and several combinations of noodles, mixed vegetables, and chicken or beef. He'd lost the tie and unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, and he was contemplating loosening his trousers as well.
"Eat the last prawn," Rose urged.
"I can't."
"They get all rubbery if you reheat them," she pointed out. "Go on."
"Honestly, no. I can't eat another bite." She speared the prawn with a chopstick and waved it enticingly in the air before him. "Rose!"
"Fine," she said, and took a bite. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Instead of answering, he dramatically collapsed backwards onto the rug and let out a laboured breath. "I'm going to die," he pronounced.
"You're not going to die. We didn't even have sake."
"That's Japanese," he corrected automatically. He could hear her chewing the prawn. "I can't believe you could eat anything else."
"I didn't eat nearly as much as you did."
"I wanted to try a little of everything," he protested weakly. He felt a rumbling in his belly and shifted. It rumbled again. He sat up and belched. "Well, now, that's a bit better."
"I see your manners have improved," she observed with a wry smile.
"In some cultures, it's considered polite to belch after a meal, to show appreciation for the chef."
"Please don't do that at Mum's," she said. "I'm going to put this stuff away. Stay there, if you're so full." She stood up and shuttled their leftovers to the fridge. He returned to his back and put his hands under his head, contemplating the slanted wooden beams on the ceiling.
He awoke some time later with a soft throw spread over him. It was a less disorientating awakening than the morning's, for he seemed to simply drift into consciousness, fully aware of his location in time and space. He blinked several times and searched for Rose, who was on the sofa with her bare feet crossed under her, working on a laptop.
She hadn't yet realised that he was awake, and he took a moment to study her and listen to the occasional click-click of her fingers on the keys. Concentrating, she had her lower lip drawn in between her teeth.
"Work?" he asked, rolling onto his side.
She smiled, snapped the laptop closed, and put it on the coffee table. "Just checking in."
"Thanks for this," he said with a pat on the throw. He sat up and scooted over to where she sat, putting his head on the sofa cushion next to her. As he'd hoped, she ran her fingers through his hair, and he let his eyes drift closed again.
When she stopped, he looked up at her and found her watching him with half-lidded eyes and a small smile. He thought he might know what that look meant, and to test it, he lifted up a fraction and pressed a kiss on her knee. Her expression didn't change, which he considered to be evidence to support his theory. He put one hand on her shin and caressed her leg through her jeans while he rubbed his cheek against her knee. Her hands resumed moving in his hair and he closed his eyes, leaning to kiss her knee again before sitting up and kissing a little further up her leg.
She slid off the sofa and their mouths met messily. The Doctor pushed against her until she was on her back on the floor and he was on top of her. Her legs spread for him and he fit snugly against her body, hips cradled into hips, chest against chest, his arms propping him up so she wouldn't suffocate while he snogged her senseless.
Rose pushed him away and started unbuttoning his shirt. It came off readily enough, and she tugged at his vest before he raised his arms and let her pull it away as well. He felt the draft from the ceiling fan against his bare back and the warmth of Rose's hands trailing down his spine. Not to be outdone, he lifted her jumper and felt her stomach muscles flex as she helped him remove it. He dropped a series of wet kisses along her cleavage and traced his tongue to the front closure of her bra, which he unsnapped. Her breasts, exposed for his hands and mouth, were beautiful. He suckled, licked, and fondled to his heart's content before kneeling back and unfastening her jeans. He watched how her body moved as she wriggled out of them and her knickers and then finally shrugged her bra off her shoulders. Her skin glowed in the warm light and she was lovely, elegantly muscled and strong with a faint curve below her navel.
He kissed that curve, and rubbed his nose into her navel, feeling her so tense and willing beneath him. With one hand, he urged her leg to the side and he knelt in the space between, trailing his tongue along the point of her hipbone and onto the crease where her leg and abdomen met. Rose made a sound that triggered electricity down his spine. His mouth moved along the inside of her thigh, and she lifted her hips in reflex.
His nose traced against soft hair, and he followed with lips and tongue. "Oh, God," Rose said as he licked her from the little rise in front to her opening. She repeated it when he sucked one of her inner folds and tickled it with his tongue. Her hands were in his hair again, and he wasn't sure that she would ever be able to do that without making him think of this, how she tasted, how she was warmer here than anywhere else, how she tried not to make any sound but breathed hard through her nose. He circled and circled, both with his tongue in front and with his finger around her entrance. When her stifled breath became genuine panting, he zeroed in with soft suction and two fingers sliding inside her.
He put his free hand on top of her belly to hold her as still as he could and kept his tongue and fingers in constant motion. She sobbed once, clutched at his hair, and he felt her whole body go tense as she fluttered around his fingers. He gasped, wanting to have her, and while she was relaxing against him, he withdrew from her body and unfastened his own trousers with shaking hands. He might have come himself if they'd kept that up.
Rose regarded him with the same look that large, carnivorous animals used on undersized furry things made of meat. "We'll never make it downstairs," she said.
"What?" he asked, confused and struggling with his trainers and trousers and pants all at once, desperately aroused and hopelessly tangled.
"The condoms are downstairs," she said. "In your rucksack."
He cursed his lack of telekinesis until Rose gave him a push and he fell backwards, still with his trousers around his knees. She straddled him on all fours and snogged him until he was flailing, grasping at her in any way he could. He didn't want to beg. He didn't want to beg. He didn't want to …
Rose, being brilliant, didn't make him. She moved from his mouth to his neck to his chest, suckling on each nipple before she moved down his body. As he had done, she nosed gently at his navel and kissed his flat belly, which he drew in with a sharp inhalation at the touch. She followed the same path he had done: hip bone to leg crease to thigh to inner thigh, and finally to his erection.
He had thought she was warmest between her legs, but he had been wrong. It was her mouth. She took him in, licking underneath with her tongue and caressing him all over with her hands. He reached for her hair, stopped, and settled for pulling at his own. When he lifted up he could see her, taking him into her mouth and sliding back up to the tip, then down again, hot and soft and wet with enough suction to make him go mad from the feel of it. His hips jerked and he felt how awkward that was for her, so he pressed his bum into the floor as hard as he could and focused on staying still, on contradicting the screaming urge of his body to move, take, thrust, own.
He was moaning, not as capable as she was of stifling the need to vocalise. It wasn't words, just nonsense, but as he let the sounds out, Rose went faster and faster until his scalp hurt from how much he was tugging at his hair. He came without warning, like a suddenly snapped bowstring, and he half-sat up with the rocketing pleasure of it. She gently sucked until the surge was over and he collapsed onto his back, completely without muscular control.
She released him and the air was cold where he was damp and exposed, but he couldn't do anything about it and lay quietly panting. His trousers were tangled around his knees and he still had one trainer on. His heart was galloping.
Rose lifted up from where she had been between his legs and stretched out on the ground beside him, curling into his side. He moved one arm so she could use his shoulder as a pillow.
"There are more comfortable places in this flat than the floor," she said.
"I like the floor. Good things keep happening to me here. Besides, Anna said not to shag on the counter."
She let out a sharp "ha" and poked him in the stomach. "You were eavesdropping! I knew it!"
"I couldn't help it if you were talking right next to me," he said. "Besides, I can't properly defend myself right now anyway. My higher brain functions seem to be impaired."
"It's the MSG," Rose chuckled.
"I'm going to be hungry again in half an hour," he teased, reaching over to cup her breast.
"I'm not doing it on the floor again," she said. "Do you think we can make it to bed in half an hour?"
"That depends. Can you roll me down the stairs?"
She gave him a playful shove. "I can try."
…
The Doctor had fastened his trousers and left his dress shirt, vest, and shoes in a jumble on the floor until Rose had protested. Even with Anna gone for a few days, she wouldn't let him leave evidence of what they had been up to all over the flat.
So, he'd gathered up their scattered clothing, minus the jumper and knickers that Rose had put back on, and followed her downstairs to her room. He tossed them without concern into the corner as soon as they entered.
She removed throw pillows from the bed and added them to the heap in the corner before folding down the duvet with its familiar color palette. "I've never seen the point of pillows you don't use," the Doctor said.
"They're decorative."
"They could be decorative and useful."
She switched off the light, leaving him blinking for a moment before his new human eyes could adjust. He heard the rustle of fabric followed by two thumps into the pile in the corner and calculated: two items of clothing, now discarded. He undid his trousers and slid out of them as Rose got into bed. Once he was naked, he hesitated and fumbled in the rucksack for the box of condoms. He blindly threw them in her direction and he heard the box land with a soft thump on the duvet.
"Good thinking," Rose said.
He joined her, enjoying the feel of high thread-count sheets and a soft mattress against his bare skin. It was even better when Rose snuggled against him. "See? Much more comfortable than the floor."
"I'm seeing the advantages," he conceded.
"Has it been half an hour yet?" she said in a low, teasing voice.
"Twenty-three minutes. Why, do you have a train to catch?"
Her index finger circled the point of his breastbone. "Maybe."
"I am, for the record," he said between kisses, "not making a terrible joke about trains right now. I just want you to be aware of my restraint in the matter."
"I'm impressed." Her hand trailed down his belly and cupped him. "So what about a tunnel -"
He kissed her to shut her up, and she continued her gentle stroking. He was coming to life again in her hand, and he was glad they were already in bed. He rolled onto his side, careful not to jar her away, and slipped his own hand between her legs. She was still wet from earlier and he slipped two fingers inside her and stroked slowly with his thumb. Her hand on him was equally slow and deliberate, and they kissed for a long time without any urgency, enjoying one another's touch.
His hips began to lift with need and he removed his hand, wanting more. Rose retrieved the box of condoms and passed him one, which he unwrapped and rolled into place. Shifting together under the covers, they settled into place with her knees bent and him between them. He slid home and moved with her under the familiar duvet in a bed he'd never slept in, where she'd dreamed of him, where she'd planned to find him again. His Rose, never wavering, like faithful Penelope. Except, he considered, Penelope had never carried a really, really big gun.
"I love you," he told her, trying to slow down and savour the moment.
"I know," she said, eyes shining in the reflected light from the city outside.
There were no more words as they rocked back and forth, taking their pleasure and comfort from one another. Rose breathed through her nose, lips clamped tightly shut together as she reached her peak, and he let himself go. The headboard thunked against the wall, and he could hear the shifting of the covers around them as they moved. He sighed, tensed, and came, falling as if from a great height and finding himself wound up tightly with Rose at the end.
This was how he had begun his day: naked, in a bed with Rose. It would be the first of many days to be thus book-ended. He was still a stranger in his own body, so human and so different, and that would not be easily changed, but his mind was finding it easier to adapt than he had originally thought. Having her with him helped.
He might not be broken, but he was finding it possible to be mended.
Next story: Needful Things
Part One
Part Two
...
Part Three
Having virtually flawless hearing had its drawbacks. For example, when one's lover and her flatmate had a whispered personal conversation, it was quite impossible not to hear. It couldn't really be considered eavesdropping if one tried to hum and shuffle any nearby objects to make enough noise to obscure that conversation, could it?
"I'm not kicking you out," Rose said to Anna in a low, confidential tone. The Doctor trimmed a tiny piece of silver electrical wire. He'd spread out some of his acquired supplies on Rose's Torchwood desk and was working to finish what he'd started with her mobile.
"You've cleared out for me before," Anna whispered back. "I don't mind, honestly. I'll go to Laura and Bob's for a few days. They've been nagging me to come and visit forever." The Doctor hummed again and picked up the tweezers to carefully fit the wire into his modified antenna.
"But it's your flat -"
"Shut it. It's yours too. Just don't shag on the kitchen counter or anything, okay?"
Rose stifled a laugh, and the Doctor resisted the urge to plug his ears with his fingers. Instead, he switched on the tiny soldering iron and lightly touched it to the edge of the circuit board.
Rose waited until he'd put down the iron before she touched him on the shoulder. He wouldn't have jumped - he'd known she was approaching - but he appreciated the sense inherent in letting the man with the red-hot poker finish what he was doing. He blew across the exposed innards of her mobile and, once he was satisfied that it was cool, fitted in the battery and snapped the plastic backing into place. "All finished," he told her. "If it can't get a conventional signal, it will piggyback off any satellite in range. Perfectly secure - they won't even know you're there."
"We'll need one for you, too," she said. "Can you do it again?"
"Easy peasy." He stood up from the desk and handed her the phone.
She put it in her jacket pocket and smiled at him, although she looked a bit uncertain. "Are you ready to go?"
"Whenever you are." He didn't like to be passive, but he was at her mercy. Neither one of them was accustomed to Rose as the prime mover for their schedule, but for the short term, at least, they'd need to get used to it.
…
With the rucksack that contained several days' worth of clothes and all of his earthly possessions on his shoulder, the Doctor followed Rose and Anna to the lift and out into the modern chaos that was the ground level of One Canada Square. All around him, people bustled about their daily activities, going to work, perhaps meeting friends, preoccupied with what was for dinner or the visit from the in-laws later in the week. Very human, very normal, and oblivious for the most part about what actually went on in the world. Or, he considered, perhaps it was Torchwood, or UNIT, or himself who had managed to lose sight of what really went on in the world.
Once they emerged into the late afternoon, Rose dropped back from walking beside Anna and took his hand. She didn't ask if he was all right, but he could tell she was thinking it.
"Did they even notice when the stars went out?" he asked curiously.
"Oh, they noticed," she said. "Everyone noticed. There isn't an official explanation, because who'd believe it anyway, so there are a million conspiracy theories going around."
"What's your favorite?"
"Global warming," she said with a laugh. "Excessive carbon dioxide output causing distortions in the atmosphere."
"Ah," he chuckled, swinging their linked hands between them. "So they were there, you just couldn't see them."
"Never mind the view from every satellite in orbit. Oh, and then there's another one, where they blamed it on the Large Hadron Collider."
They released hands for a moment to dodge around a harried-looking woman talking on her mobile and not paying any attention to where she was going, and joined up on the other side.
"Anyone get it right?" he asked.
She grinned over at him. "Nope. They'd think we were nutters if we told them."
"We are nutters. We just happen to be right," he said cheerily.
They continued to walk for a few minutes and crossed the footbridge to West India Quay, and the Doctor started to smile in earnest. "Old warehouse," he said. "You did say 'posh,' didn't you?"
"There's not much else around here," Rose pointed out.
They exited the footbridge, past the outdoor tables with sunshades and milling people, and entered the building. Inside, after a keycard, lift, and a brief walk down a hallway, Anna unlocked their front door, and the Doctor entered Rose's flat for the first time.
The space was wonderfully open, with high ceilings crowned by exposed, aged wooden beams. The walls were original brick or smooth off-white. The ceiling slanted down at the edges, with abundant light coming in from large skylights. The kitchen was open to the rest of the reception room and filled with the stainless steel appliances that Rose had promised. There was comfortable nook with two suede couches, covered in throw pillows, with a glass coffee table between them. A glass table with four dining chairs stood in the corner with a single pendant lamp dangling from the high ceiling above. It was elegant, stylish, and yet very, very comfortable.
Anna tossed her keys on the coffee table with a clank and disappeared down a curving flight of stairs next to the door. "I'll just be a tick," she called.
The Doctor put his rucksack down and looked around.
Rose cleared her throat. "Can I … can I get you something? A drink?"
He considered, and then decided that it would give them both something to keep them occupied for a few minutes. "Some water?"
She retrieved a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it from the front of the refrigerator. When she handed it to him, her hands were shaking enough to set a tiny ripple in the water. He closed his hands over hers and regarded her seriously before taking the glass and drinking.
When they heard Anna's steps on the stairs, Rose leaned against the back of one of the couches and the Doctor shifted the glass from hand to hand. Anna emerged from the stairs with a small suitcase.
"You've got the number if you need to ring me at Laura and Bob's," she told Rose, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in a few days." To the Doctor, she said, "It was nice to meet you," with a searching look, and then she was gone.
After Anna left, the only sound inside the flat was the faint whirring of the ceiling fan. The Doctor shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again and fidgeted. Rose was watching him from her perch on the back of the sofa.
"I don't know where to start," she admitted. "Do you want to unpack?"
"I could eat," he said.
They contemplated the barren interior of the refrigerator together. "I see I'm going to have to take up cooking," said the Doctor. "How do you not starve?"
She pointed to a folder, brimming with paper, tucked into the slot next to the microwave. "Delivery."
He studied the menus. Fairly every twenty-first century ethnicity and style was represented, as if the folder contained detailed survey results rather than two women's dinner preferences. He picked one at random, which turned out to be from a Chinese restaurant, and they ordered a completely unreasonable amount of food for two people.
"Forty-five minutes," she said when she closed her mobile. "Not bad."
They looked at one another. "You could give me the grand tour," he offered.
"Yeah, of course." She took it and gave him a little smile. "Reception room," she said with a wave.
He oohed and ahhed. "Stainless steel," he said, tapping the refrigerator. "Very posh."
She giggled. "It gets fingerprints like mad."
He held up his finger in front of his lips, conspiratorially, and then lowered it to press the pad into the smooth surface of the door. He removed it slowly and studied the effect. "Terrible," he pronounced. "I don't know how you cope."
She took his hand and towed him across the room to the window with its view of the skyscrapers all around them. The sun was setting. They stood in front of the window, looking out together and holding hands. He thought back to another window, another life, when she'd faced the end of her world with him. His hand tightened in hers and she looked up at him, concerned, but he smiled to reassure her. She took a side-step over to stand closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, their linked hands hanging between them.
He was content to let time pass, standing with Rose and watching the light fade from the sky to be replaced with the glitter from the city around them. There were so many people, he thought. He could imagine all of the people even just in the building, and even, if he made the effort, to feel the ripple of their timelines all around him.
"Show me the rest?" he asked quietly.
She ushered him down a flight of stairs into a hallway illuminated by small lights recessed into a warmly-stained wood ceiling. "That's Anna's," she indicated with a gesture toward a closed door, "and there's a bathroom with a tub in there. That's the office."
Besides the two narrow doors that were probably closets, there was one remaining door, and she left it for last. "That's mine. You could - I guess you could get your things, and unpack?" She looked at him a bit sideways, gauging his response to the repeated suggestion. "We've got some time."
He could have chuckled at the understatement, but instead, he nodded gravely and went upstairs briefly to retrieve the rucksack. When he returned, Rose wasn't in the hallway, but the door she had identified as hers was open and the door to the loo was closed. Inside, he could hear the sounds of her rustling around and running water, so he stepped cautiously into her room and looked around.
The exterior wall was the same exposed brick as the rest of the flat, and there was a half-oval window surrounded by an arch. However, he was immediately drawn to the bed, and not just because it was Rose's bed, but because it immediately made him think of, well, himself. The duvet was a heavy, brown fabric, lightly striped, and the assortment of pillows atop it was shades of brown and light cornflower blue. It was so like his old suit that he felt his throat tighten, thinking of her snug in this bed as she made plans to reach him again.
She had quietly entered behind him and encircled him with her arms. He dropped the rucksack. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice low and serious.
"Rose," he started, and stopped. He turned and looked down at her. "I don't … I don't know what to say. Honestly."
She bit her lip. "Are you upset?"
"No! I'm just … surprised, is all. I didn't expect …" He searched for the right phrase and gave up. "Oh, I have no idea what I expected. Really, this is so far outside my expectations I don't know where to start."
"That makes two of us," she said with a laugh, and then cautiously added, "I did imagine what it would be like if you suddenly appeared at my door."
"Did you?" he asked, letting his voice drop. "What happened when I did?"
"You didn't have a rucksack, for one." Her eyes twinkled.
"Well, that goes without saying. You were always the one with the rucksack. So when I suddenly appeared, what was it like?"
She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up at him through her lashes. "You always leaned in the door and said something witty."
"That sounds about right. I'm very witty, you know." They were much closer now. She stood with her feet in between his, their hands interlaced, faces angled together. He could feel the movement of the air as she breathed.
"Say something, then," she said, leaning toward him.
The buzzer jolted them apart.
"That was not forty-five minutes," said Rose.
…
It had been an unreasonable amount of food for two people, but they managed to eat an absurd amount of it all the same. The Doctor groaned. They had dined sitting on the floor around the coffee table, which was now covered with scattered boxes containing spring rolls, satay skewers, dumplings, and several combinations of noodles, mixed vegetables, and chicken or beef. He'd lost the tie and unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, and he was contemplating loosening his trousers as well.
"Eat the last prawn," Rose urged.
"I can't."
"They get all rubbery if you reheat them," she pointed out. "Go on."
"Honestly, no. I can't eat another bite." She speared the prawn with a chopstick and waved it enticingly in the air before him. "Rose!"
"Fine," she said, and took a bite. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Instead of answering, he dramatically collapsed backwards onto the rug and let out a laboured breath. "I'm going to die," he pronounced.
"You're not going to die. We didn't even have sake."
"That's Japanese," he corrected automatically. He could hear her chewing the prawn. "I can't believe you could eat anything else."
"I didn't eat nearly as much as you did."
"I wanted to try a little of everything," he protested weakly. He felt a rumbling in his belly and shifted. It rumbled again. He sat up and belched. "Well, now, that's a bit better."
"I see your manners have improved," she observed with a wry smile.
"In some cultures, it's considered polite to belch after a meal, to show appreciation for the chef."
"Please don't do that at Mum's," she said. "I'm going to put this stuff away. Stay there, if you're so full." She stood up and shuttled their leftovers to the fridge. He returned to his back and put his hands under his head, contemplating the slanted wooden beams on the ceiling.
He awoke some time later with a soft throw spread over him. It was a less disorientating awakening than the morning's, for he seemed to simply drift into consciousness, fully aware of his location in time and space. He blinked several times and searched for Rose, who was on the sofa with her bare feet crossed under her, working on a laptop.
She hadn't yet realised that he was awake, and he took a moment to study her and listen to the occasional click-click of her fingers on the keys. Concentrating, she had her lower lip drawn in between her teeth.
"Work?" he asked, rolling onto his side.
She smiled, snapped the laptop closed, and put it on the coffee table. "Just checking in."
"Thanks for this," he said with a pat on the throw. He sat up and scooted over to where she sat, putting his head on the sofa cushion next to her. As he'd hoped, she ran her fingers through his hair, and he let his eyes drift closed again.
When she stopped, he looked up at her and found her watching him with half-lidded eyes and a small smile. He thought he might know what that look meant, and to test it, he lifted up a fraction and pressed a kiss on her knee. Her expression didn't change, which he considered to be evidence to support his theory. He put one hand on her shin and caressed her leg through her jeans while he rubbed his cheek against her knee. Her hands resumed moving in his hair and he closed his eyes, leaning to kiss her knee again before sitting up and kissing a little further up her leg.
She slid off the sofa and their mouths met messily. The Doctor pushed against her until she was on her back on the floor and he was on top of her. Her legs spread for him and he fit snugly against her body, hips cradled into hips, chest against chest, his arms propping him up so she wouldn't suffocate while he snogged her senseless.
Rose pushed him away and started unbuttoning his shirt. It came off readily enough, and she tugged at his vest before he raised his arms and let her pull it away as well. He felt the draft from the ceiling fan against his bare back and the warmth of Rose's hands trailing down his spine. Not to be outdone, he lifted her jumper and felt her stomach muscles flex as she helped him remove it. He dropped a series of wet kisses along her cleavage and traced his tongue to the front closure of her bra, which he unsnapped. Her breasts, exposed for his hands and mouth, were beautiful. He suckled, licked, and fondled to his heart's content before kneeling back and unfastening her jeans. He watched how her body moved as she wriggled out of them and her knickers and then finally shrugged her bra off her shoulders. Her skin glowed in the warm light and she was lovely, elegantly muscled and strong with a faint curve below her navel.
He kissed that curve, and rubbed his nose into her navel, feeling her so tense and willing beneath him. With one hand, he urged her leg to the side and he knelt in the space between, trailing his tongue along the point of her hipbone and onto the crease where her leg and abdomen met. Rose made a sound that triggered electricity down his spine. His mouth moved along the inside of her thigh, and she lifted her hips in reflex.
His nose traced against soft hair, and he followed with lips and tongue. "Oh, God," Rose said as he licked her from the little rise in front to her opening. She repeated it when he sucked one of her inner folds and tickled it with his tongue. Her hands were in his hair again, and he wasn't sure that she would ever be able to do that without making him think of this, how she tasted, how she was warmer here than anywhere else, how she tried not to make any sound but breathed hard through her nose. He circled and circled, both with his tongue in front and with his finger around her entrance. When her stifled breath became genuine panting, he zeroed in with soft suction and two fingers sliding inside her.
He put his free hand on top of her belly to hold her as still as he could and kept his tongue and fingers in constant motion. She sobbed once, clutched at his hair, and he felt her whole body go tense as she fluttered around his fingers. He gasped, wanting to have her, and while she was relaxing against him, he withdrew from her body and unfastened his own trousers with shaking hands. He might have come himself if they'd kept that up.
Rose regarded him with the same look that large, carnivorous animals used on undersized furry things made of meat. "We'll never make it downstairs," she said.
"What?" he asked, confused and struggling with his trainers and trousers and pants all at once, desperately aroused and hopelessly tangled.
"The condoms are downstairs," she said. "In your rucksack."
He cursed his lack of telekinesis until Rose gave him a push and he fell backwards, still with his trousers around his knees. She straddled him on all fours and snogged him until he was flailing, grasping at her in any way he could. He didn't want to beg. He didn't want to beg. He didn't want to …
Rose, being brilliant, didn't make him. She moved from his mouth to his neck to his chest, suckling on each nipple before she moved down his body. As he had done, she nosed gently at his navel and kissed his flat belly, which he drew in with a sharp inhalation at the touch. She followed the same path he had done: hip bone to leg crease to thigh to inner thigh, and finally to his erection.
He had thought she was warmest between her legs, but he had been wrong. It was her mouth. She took him in, licking underneath with her tongue and caressing him all over with her hands. He reached for her hair, stopped, and settled for pulling at his own. When he lifted up he could see her, taking him into her mouth and sliding back up to the tip, then down again, hot and soft and wet with enough suction to make him go mad from the feel of it. His hips jerked and he felt how awkward that was for her, so he pressed his bum into the floor as hard as he could and focused on staying still, on contradicting the screaming urge of his body to move, take, thrust, own.
He was moaning, not as capable as she was of stifling the need to vocalise. It wasn't words, just nonsense, but as he let the sounds out, Rose went faster and faster until his scalp hurt from how much he was tugging at his hair. He came without warning, like a suddenly snapped bowstring, and he half-sat up with the rocketing pleasure of it. She gently sucked until the surge was over and he collapsed onto his back, completely without muscular control.
She released him and the air was cold where he was damp and exposed, but he couldn't do anything about it and lay quietly panting. His trousers were tangled around his knees and he still had one trainer on. His heart was galloping.
Rose lifted up from where she had been between his legs and stretched out on the ground beside him, curling into his side. He moved one arm so she could use his shoulder as a pillow.
"There are more comfortable places in this flat than the floor," she said.
"I like the floor. Good things keep happening to me here. Besides, Anna said not to shag on the counter."
She let out a sharp "ha" and poked him in the stomach. "You were eavesdropping! I knew it!"
"I couldn't help it if you were talking right next to me," he said. "Besides, I can't properly defend myself right now anyway. My higher brain functions seem to be impaired."
"It's the MSG," Rose chuckled.
"I'm going to be hungry again in half an hour," he teased, reaching over to cup her breast.
"I'm not doing it on the floor again," she said. "Do you think we can make it to bed in half an hour?"
"That depends. Can you roll me down the stairs?"
She gave him a playful shove. "I can try."
…
The Doctor had fastened his trousers and left his dress shirt, vest, and shoes in a jumble on the floor until Rose had protested. Even with Anna gone for a few days, she wouldn't let him leave evidence of what they had been up to all over the flat.
So, he'd gathered up their scattered clothing, minus the jumper and knickers that Rose had put back on, and followed her downstairs to her room. He tossed them without concern into the corner as soon as they entered.
She removed throw pillows from the bed and added them to the heap in the corner before folding down the duvet with its familiar color palette. "I've never seen the point of pillows you don't use," the Doctor said.
"They're decorative."
"They could be decorative and useful."
She switched off the light, leaving him blinking for a moment before his new human eyes could adjust. He heard the rustle of fabric followed by two thumps into the pile in the corner and calculated: two items of clothing, now discarded. He undid his trousers and slid out of them as Rose got into bed. Once he was naked, he hesitated and fumbled in the rucksack for the box of condoms. He blindly threw them in her direction and he heard the box land with a soft thump on the duvet.
"Good thinking," Rose said.
He joined her, enjoying the feel of high thread-count sheets and a soft mattress against his bare skin. It was even better when Rose snuggled against him. "See? Much more comfortable than the floor."
"I'm seeing the advantages," he conceded.
"Has it been half an hour yet?" she said in a low, teasing voice.
"Twenty-three minutes. Why, do you have a train to catch?"
Her index finger circled the point of his breastbone. "Maybe."
"I am, for the record," he said between kisses, "not making a terrible joke about trains right now. I just want you to be aware of my restraint in the matter."
"I'm impressed." Her hand trailed down his belly and cupped him. "So what about a tunnel -"
He kissed her to shut her up, and she continued her gentle stroking. He was coming to life again in her hand, and he was glad they were already in bed. He rolled onto his side, careful not to jar her away, and slipped his own hand between her legs. She was still wet from earlier and he slipped two fingers inside her and stroked slowly with his thumb. Her hand on him was equally slow and deliberate, and they kissed for a long time without any urgency, enjoying one another's touch.
His hips began to lift with need and he removed his hand, wanting more. Rose retrieved the box of condoms and passed him one, which he unwrapped and rolled into place. Shifting together under the covers, they settled into place with her knees bent and him between them. He slid home and moved with her under the familiar duvet in a bed he'd never slept in, where she'd dreamed of him, where she'd planned to find him again. His Rose, never wavering, like faithful Penelope. Except, he considered, Penelope had never carried a really, really big gun.
"I love you," he told her, trying to slow down and savour the moment.
"I know," she said, eyes shining in the reflected light from the city outside.
There were no more words as they rocked back and forth, taking their pleasure and comfort from one another. Rose breathed through her nose, lips clamped tightly shut together as she reached her peak, and he let himself go. The headboard thunked against the wall, and he could hear the shifting of the covers around them as they moved. He sighed, tensed, and came, falling as if from a great height and finding himself wound up tightly with Rose at the end.
This was how he had begun his day: naked, in a bed with Rose. It would be the first of many days to be thus book-ended. He was still a stranger in his own body, so human and so different, and that would not be easily changed, but his mind was finding it easier to adapt than he had originally thought. Having her with him helped.
He might not be broken, but he was finding it possible to be mended.
Next story: Needful Things