New fic: Don't Look Down
Title: Don't Look Down
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Content: Graphic Sex; Humour; PWP; Romance; Bananas
Warning: Adult
Chapters: Two, both here
Disclaimer: The BBC wouldn't want anything to do with this, believe me.
Summary: ‘Four weeks? Breakfast in bed?’ she offered, between gasps. He licked his lips. ‘Skip the breakfast.’
Chapter 1: Bananas
‘Prove it,’ demanded Rose, with a challenging toss of her long blonde hair, and a look in her eyes that promised if not murder, then at least grievous bodily harm. ‘Because I bet I can find one thing that proves you wrong.’
‘I don’t need to prove anything.’ The Doctor passed his chamois leather over the already shiny casing of the rotor calmly, as if they weren’t half way through a long running argument. ‘It’s a fact. Like: one plus one equals two. Or, in my case, one ‘plus one’ equals too much aggravation.’
She didn’t smile at this weak attempt at humour - although he seemed to find himself quite funny - because she was quite aggravated already. ‘Two weeks then,’ she offered, with reckless abandon.
He stopped his pointless polishing; put his head on one side. ‘Two weeks? Breakfast in bed? You sure?’
She nodded. This was a very serious challenge indeed.
He continued. ‘And will you wear an apron and call me ‘sir’?’
She frowned. ‘Don’t push it.’
‘Alright then,’ he accepted. ‘But I want all the crusts cutting off my toast, and I want my orange juice freshly squeezed - by hand, mind - and a flower on the tray too.’ He paused, just long enough for her to imagine wiping the smile off his face with a couple of rubs of that cloth he was holding. ‘Your room’s next to mine.’
‘I know,’ she snapped, already reaching for the couple of buttons on the console that she knew how to operate. ‘I can hear the snoring coming through the wall.’
He looked offended, but then, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to provoke her this morning and she suspected he was bluffing. The path between him being bored, and him being needlessly rude was only a couple of steps in length, and she had been down it enough times to know the signs. If he’d been a bit more truthful in the beginning, and said ‘come with me, so I can insult you halfway round the universe’ she might have thought twice about saying yes. Luckily, he had at least taught her enough about the TARDIS by now to call up a basic guidebook from the databanks and let her search for what she wanted.
She pointed at the viewscreen with a barely controlled irritation. ‘There. I want to go there.’
He looked, shrugged, started rolling whatever stupid balls he had to roll, pushing whatever knobs and levers were within range of his smugly smiling face, and settled back on the jumpseat as the ship began to dematerialise. ‘They are,’ he said again, his eyebrows raising.
She smacked her hand on the console in annoyance. ‘If I find just one hint that shows they aren’t, you lose. And I want fresh coffee, from Costa Rica, flown in every morning, and milk from an actual cow, and not a packet you found in the back of the cupboard, and I want pastries from Denmark.’
‘Actually, I don’t think the best Danish pastries come from Denmark,’ he observed, but she spoke over the top of him.
‘And it’s your room that’s next to mine.’
He made a placatory gesture. ‘Calm down. Don’t do anything stupid.’
She slammed her way out of the TARDIS door with enough force to bang the metal back on the side of the ship, leaving a hollow clang dancing in the air. And then stopped, instantly, her toes perched right on the edge of the wooden platform the TARDIS had landed on top of, no more than an inch from an extremely long drop indeed. Below her, and so far below her she nearly couldn’t see it at all was the forest floor, covered in a brown layer of fallen leaves, and the odd white glow of patches of huge mushrooms, clinging to life in the darkness cast by the canopy overhead. Above the maleficent fungi, the enormous trunks of a dense cluster of nameless trees, brown and scaled like the skin of some giant lizard. And then high above, the soles of her shoes, balanced precariously on a set of rough wooden planks, barely wider than the square footprint of the ship, and bordered by nothing so useful as a railing. Unable to look away from the yawning gap beneath her feet, and the waiting mushrooms below, she swayed forward, unconsciously. She was going to fall.
Hands then, round her waist, a tight grip on her hips that pulled her backwards, away from the perilous temptation of jumping. The Doctor’s voice in her ear, soft and reassuring. ‘I’ve got you. Don’t look down.’
With an effort, she tugged her eyes away from certain death below and looked ahead, noticing a wooden walkway stretching out in front of her to the significantly larger platform constructed around the trunk of the next tree along. The wood looked strong, and sturdy, even though it was lashed together with what appeared to be vines, braided into a lattice of tough rails on either side. The Doctor’s hands stroked up her sides from her waist, skirted down the underside of both arms, making her squirm, ticklish, and placed her hands firmly on the banisters on either side of the path. Then his fingers returned to her hips, and he pushed her one pace forward, so she was standing on the bridge, or at least in the relative safety of the high boundaries on both sides.
She took a deep breath, sucking in the ferocious heat and damp smells of a rain forest jungle, noting the hazy sunshine glimmering through the tangle of leaves above her head for the first time. She relaxed a bit, advanced another step forward, away from his hands, as he pulled the TARDIS doors closed behind him. She heard him draw in a lingering breath of his own, let it out with an exclamation, and then came the unmistakeable sound of the door being unlocked as he struggled his way out of his jacket, and threw it back inside the TARDIS with the heavy slap of leather on metal.
Her hands clamped to the vines on either side, and still uncomfortably aware of the drop beneath her feet, she didn’t dare look round. The creepers beneath her fingers were as hard and as strong as steel although their surface was soft, covered in brown fibres that felt like really cheap carpet. The bridge lurched alarmingly as he stepped onto it behind her, and she closed her eyes against the dizziness.
She heard a whistling rush of wind in the moist air for a second before his hand landed with a stinging slap on her backside. ‘Get on with it then, I’m hungry.’
Sheer annoyance set her feet in motion and she marched towards the next, much wider wooden platform a couple of metres away. He really was going out of his way to wind her up this morning, and she was absolutely determined to prove him wrong. Once on the comparative safety of the circular construction enclosing the next tree - this one thoughtfully provided with a secure fence around the outside - she found room in her consciousness for the sounds of the forest. There was a constant drone of insects in the air, although the branches above were untroubled by any wind to lessen the stultifying heat, and there was a background hum of noise, like a large crowd busy chatting in the next room. She felt the first prickling of sweat on the back of her neck.
She refused to give the Doctor the satisfaction of seeing her curious, so she trailed her fingertips around the bark of the enormous bole in front of her, following until she could tell what lay on the other side. It was a village. A village perched high up in the forest canopy, made of wood, and vines, and thatch, linked across the dark green spaces below by hanging lines of liana, twisted creepers and the occasional wooden bridge. Houses teetered high up in the branches, their roofs set in interlocking ridges of dried brown fibres, stark against the vibrant colour of the living leaves around them. Every spare inch of space had been used, a random assortment of higgledy-piggeldy rooms of different levels and sizes, spaced out as the supporting arms of the forest would allow. Platforms encircled the trunks of each and every tree, some cluttered with boxes and bales of stacked spare materials, and others, wider, barer, set with low stools and benches and the odd gaily coloured totem pole.
The Doctor joined Rose on the other side of the tree as she stood watching the inhabitants of the village about their daily lives. They were relatively small, only about as tall as her, although it was difficult to tell since they spent most of their time squatting on their haunches. Covered in hair, black, ginger, and various shades of brown they bore the distinctive low brows and protruding lips of her simian ancestors.
The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. ‘Planet of the apes,’ he remarked.
She shot him a withering stare. Despite his own alien descent he was shining with perspiration. ‘You know it’s not actually called that, don’t you?’
The noise of their conversation caused the nearest of the chimp like creatures to stand, straightening its body away from its task to stare in their direction. It turned to the three other monkey-men next to it, who were now also looking round, and a cacophony of hooting, some screaming noises, and a fair amount of oook-oook-oooking followed as they talked. One left, swinging his way across the gap between the trees, and into a very large, solidly constructed circular building not far away.
She was envious of the ease with which the larger than normal chimp launched himself onto the hanging net of creepers without a trace of vertigo, and she waited patiently as their presence was announced. She gestured to the forest village around them and whispered to the man over her shoulder. ‘This proves you wrong on its own.’
He snorted. ‘Who says they built it? How do you know this isn’t some giant petting zoo?’
She wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her arm. Her mood did not improve. After a couple of minutes, the first monkey man emerged from the doorway of the wooden hut, followed by an assortment of larger figures, resembling a variety of all the ape species that had ever existed on Earth, and a lot more besides. En masse, they grasped an individual vine or two each, and, with a smooth launching run, flung themselves across the space and onto the edge of the platform where Rose and the Doctor were waiting.
A certain amount of shuffling later, a medium sized individual with the ruddy colouring of an orangutan approached. He was sporting the same short leather skirt worn by each of his compatriots, and on his head was strapped a single green feather. He carried a small, woven bag over one shoulder.
Stepping forward, he bowed low, and she returned the polite gesture, although the Doctor satisfied himself with an incline of his head. The chieftain monkey raised his eyes, and quite deliberately, and with a smacking of his lips said, ‘Oook-oook.’
The TARDIS translated this as ‘oook-oook’ and no more.
‘Hello,’ said Rose, wondering if there was even a language here to be spoken.
Fumbling in the bag, the ape produced a small, yellow, curved item, and held it above his head with both hands, presenting to Rose his peace offering of - a banana.
The Doctor bent close, whispered - not quite quietly enough - in her ear. ‘See - told you they were stupid.’
Instantly, the orangutan leader straightened up, stowing his ceremonial banana safely back in his bag. He looked the Doctor up and down very, very carefully, and without a trace of oookiness said, ‘Bloody tourists.’ He waved a hand. ‘Take them.’
‘Ah,’ noted the Doctor, in the split second he had before a pair of prehensile feet swept down out of the forest green, caught him under both arms, and lifted him up and away.
Rose watched his long legs kicking helplessly as he was borne off out of sight to a more distant part of the village, and she turned to the lead monkey with her eyebrows raised. ‘Me too?’ she asked resignedly.
The chieftain looked her over. ‘Are you with him?’
She nodded, and sighed. ‘Although sometimes I wonder why.’
She held out her arms and, exactly as anticipated, a pair of very strong, and very flexible feet inserted themselves into her armpits and whipped her off into the air. She shut her eyes tight, and abandoned herself to damsel-in-distress screaming, the pitch of her voice raising every time she felt her monkey cable car let go of one swinging vine, fall a bit, and reach for another.
After only a few minutes of terror - which she was sure knocked a couple of years off her life - she was dumped on another rough wooden platform, and collapsed to her knees. Her transport/captor landed lightly beside her, and glanced down at her shaking shoulders with barely concealed contempt.
He pointed at the open doorway of the hut in front of them, which occupied the remainder of the planked stage. ‘Go in there. Put on what you find. If you don’t, I’m leaving and you’ll have to get back to that blue box on your own.’
Rose took one look at the long drop clearly visible between the flimsy offcuts underneath her knees and turned to consider the single green rope on which she’d arrived, hanging a jump into empty air away. She staggered into the hut.
Inside it was dark, and even more clammy, and she felt beads of sweat gathering between her shoulder blades in the oppressive heat. After her eyes had become accustomed to the verdant gloom, she noted a low, wooden bed covered in a tightly woven blanket of some sort of soft fibre, and lying on top of it, a short leather skirt. Nothing else.
She went outside again, to find the chimpanzee acrobat filing his nails carefully with a flashing steel nail file that he hurried stored in a belt attached to his skirt. ‘Yes?’ he asked. ‘Question?’
She examined the floor of the platform carefully, for any suddenly appearing ladder, rope bridge, or - as an outside chance- helicopter. There was still no way down. ‘You want me to put that on?’ she confirmed anxiously.
Her probable ancestor gave her the sort of leering grin that was only possible if your lips took up half the available space on your face and revealed a set of gleaming white teeth, punctuated by some gold fillings. ‘Oook,’ he said. ‘Stupid human.’
She sighed, heavily; it was going to be one of those days. Feeling decidedly self conscious, she stripped off her jeans, and her zip up pink top and tried to fasten the skirt around her waist over the top of her underwear to maintain at least some modicum of decency. It was extremely short, only skimming the top of her thighs, and it tied at one side with a quite sophisticated buckle. Plus, now she had time to consider it closely, it didn’t really look like leather at all, and felt, sort of, synthetic. She pulled her bra straps off her shoulders, wrapped the blanket off the bed around her body, under her arms to hide the elastic and stepped back outside with a hopeful smile.
The ape-man was already shaking his head. She got the message, returned to the safety of her room, and removed her trainers, and bra and the blanket, being extremely grateful that she’d left her hair long enough to cover her suddenly naked chest. She was actually a lot cooler without her clothes, or at least, she would have been, if she hadn’t been gripped in a red-hot flush of embarrassment. She refused to compromise on her knickers.
With a nervous pace forward, she presented herself for inspection, carefully covered with a concealing fringe of blonde tresses. Her potential grandfather stalked all the way round her in a circle, with the really wide smile that only a monkey could pull off convincingly. ‘You’d be alright if you were a bit more hairy,’ he commented.
‘You haven’t seen my legs close up,’ she muttered.
But he stopped in his circumambulation, putting a large, brown finger up to the side of her split skirt and pinging the pink elastic of her knickers with an accusatory flick. She locked at him, trying to gauge whether or not he might possess even a shred of pity, or at least some homo sapiens solidarity. He shook his head again, and for the fourth time she entered the hut, sadly removing the last piece of lacy sanity from the situation. As soon as she reappeared outside, she noticed that her chaperone had vanished, although she quickly discovered the location of his feet, thrust under her arms again, and she was hauled off like a sack of bananas though the air.
This time, she was far too naked to worry about falling, hoping that they were travelling too fast for anyone to see what the blowing wind of their passage revealed beneath her streaming hair. Another platform, and another hut, and she was back on solid ground, or at least, several hundred feet below there was solid ground, and that would have to suffice. With a soft hand on the small of her back, that did little to disguise the iron strength of its fingers, she was pushed towards a high sided structure, walled on three sides with woven branches, and on the fourth with a closely spaced web of bamboo. It was quite clearly a cage, and quite clearly, sitting inside it, against the back wall, with his arms and legs crossed, was the Doctor.
In the glimpses she could get of him through the bars, he looked decidedly more pink than she remembered, and a lot less wool and denim.
She was, quite frankly, appalled.
Chapter 2: Are good
She rushed to get her thoughts back into some sort of order. ‘Close your eyes,’ she shouted quickly. She saw him uncross his legs, lean forward a bit.
‘What’s the problem?’ he called, a slight note of worry gratifyingly present in his voice.
It was bad enough that she was half naked, she thought, but any Time Lord half nakedness was something to be strictly avoided. Hurriedly, she brushed all her hair forward over her chest again as the wicker door unlocked in front of her. ‘Don’t argue with me. Just close your eyes. I’m not…well…wearing very much.’
There was a short silence, rapidly filled with the sound of her being pushed firmly through the door, and then it being locked again, while her captor sniggered nastily, before turning, catching the nearest creeper and leaping away.
‘Why’s that a problem?’ the Doctor repeated, but at close quarters, she could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought not to smile. His eyes were closed. Hers weren’t.
Somehow, someone had convinced him to strip, and he was wearing an identical loincloth to the one she had on, except he seemed far less bothered by it. In fact, he looked quite composed, relaxing against the wall with all the definition in his muscles on display, with all the wiry strength in his shoulders standing out, with all the dark hair on his long long legs curling deliciously in the open air. He was obviously hot, his chest glistening and wet and she felt the sweat trickling down her own back, marking a path between her breasts.
‘Are you going to stop ogling me and sit down?’ he asked, patting the floor beside him.
‘What’s to ogle?’ she responded hastily, taking a seat right beside him and drawing her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them so there was no way he could possibly see up her skirt. She’d already tried to take a sneaky peek up his, her eyes drawn like a magnet despite her best intentions. More sweat stuck the strands of hair to her chest.
‘Alright, open your eyes,’ she allowed as his eyelids came apart just the merest crack. ‘But don’t look down.’
Unhesitatingly, he raised his head, blinked open his eyes fully, and met her troubled brown stare with his dancing blue one. To his credit, she could only spot a tiny fraction of a second in which the spotlight glare of his gaze flickered downwards.
Very distinctly, she said, ‘Just, tell me you’re sorry.’
He frowned. ‘That’s a bit harsh isn’t it? I didn’t do anything.’
She felt her irritation flaring up again. ‘You called me a stupid ape. You said all apes were stupid and that you’d prove it. And then you came here and called them stupid to their faces. Now I’m sitting in a cage dressed like Tarzan, with you,’ her eyes flickered over his sweat stained body again, ‘also dressed like Tarzan.’
He cut her off. ‘Yeah, you’d have thought they’d have found you a dress or something.’
‘How do you know what I’m wearing?’ she snapped. ‘I thought I told you not to look down.’
He shrugged, and she could see how all his tendons and sinews worked together to achieve that movement. ‘Couldn’t help it. And I never said I’d prove it - I just said it was a fact.’
She waited.
‘I may have been slightly…quick off the mark, in this case.’
‘How about - I may have been extremely rude again Rose? I’m very sorry and I’ll make you breakfast for three weeks.’
‘Three?’ He huffed with annoyance and his eyes snapped away from hers instinctively, taking a long, slow, and meandering path back up her body before meeting her accusatory stare. He swallowed, sending twin lines of sweat rolling down his neck.
She released her arm and lifted his chin firmly. ‘Don’t. Look. Down,’ she demanded.
Unfortunately, as soon as her hand moved, his eyes delved straight into the widening gap between her knees and her chest, and she noted with horror that almost all of her left breast was no longer covered with hair, or legs, and its perspiration slicked roundness was quite blatantly being ogled by the Doctor. With a lightening blur, she snapped her arm back into place again, sealing away the embarrassing sudden tightness of her nipple behind a rock hard screen of thigh muscle.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, and he sounded genuinely contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Tell that to the stupid apes,’ she muttered, grimly, but he was shaking his head.
‘No, I don’t care about them. I didn’t mean to look.’
She considered the slight flush on his cheeks and the fact that he had actually apologised. ‘It’s alright,’ she said finally. ‘This is the first time you’ve ever noticed what I’m wearing.’
‘I always notice what you’re wearing. I liked that dress, didn’t I? Besides, it’s a lot harder not to notice when you’re not wearing anything.’
She watched him fiddle with the buckle that was holding the almost indecent swatch of leather round his waist closed. Individual jewels of sweat were caught in the dense hair just above the line of fabric. ‘Likewise,’ she remarked.
He noticed her attention and folded his hands primly in his lap. ‘So - on the list of top ten most stupid situations we’ve ever got into, I think this is at least an eight.’
She shrugged, noticed his eyes jump to the movement of her chest again. She was unbearably hot, her legs sliding against each other with moisture and it took an effort to keep her modesty intact. ‘If only you weren’t so rude. Sometimes, I think you only brought me along to have someone to laugh at.’
It was a contemplative look she got this time. ‘Really? Seriously? That’s what you think?’
She leaned her head back against the wall, relaxed her arms slightly, trying to shake the sticky curls off her neck. ‘Well, you don’t need me for anything else. You offered to show me the universe, which makes you the tour guide and me just the passenger.’
He turned his face towards her and a bead of water rolled off his temple, followed an undulating pattern over his cheekbone and dripped off his jaw. She followed its progress all the way down his chest. At length, he answered, ‘That’s not why I brought you.’
She sighed, prepared for another insult. ‘Then why? Why choose me? There’s loads of other stupid people to choose from.’
He shifted away from the wall with an unexpected movement, repositioned himself in the opposite direction at her side, looking at her straight on and, rather uncertainly, raised a hand to her face. Gently, with a hesitation she hadn’t spotted in evidence before, he pushed the damp skein of hair away from her cheek, hooking the stiff strands behind her ear, before his thumb returned to trace the soft skin at the corner of her mouth. She held herself steady, confused, and a bit nervous with the uncharacteristic attention. He never, ever looked at her like this, like he was actually seeing her for who she was and not just his latest sparring partner.
His voice was low, and rough as he said, ‘Because I wanted you. No one else.’
With at least two false starts, and a pause in which she was sure he’d stop altogether, he lowered his head towards her. She thought, he’sgoingtokissmehe’sgoingtokissmehe’sgoingtokissme, and then she didn’t think any more because he was kissing her. The firmness of his lips brushed against hers once, before he drew back to see her reaction. ‘No one else,’ he repeated. ‘Stupid.’
Distracted by his nearness she wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to do next. He was so close she could see her own reflection in his eyes, could smell a faint musky scent rising off him, could watch another dewdrop of sweat edge its way down the rough skin of his face and without really thinking about it, she raised a finger to trace its path. Down his cheek, over the strong line that marked the side of his neck, into and out of the hollow of his collarbone, trickling along the hard swell of his chest and lower, dribbling over every taut muscle in his stomach and coming to rest in the hair just above his bellybutton. She watched her hand as it moved of its own volition across his body, and noticed him watching it too.
Guiltily, she paused with her finger pressed to his slick skin, her hand hovering above his lap and looked up into his eyes. ‘Stupid?’ she questioned, checking, unsure of her next move.
He didn’t meet her glance and she realised she was leaning forward, resting on her other hand and that she’d straightened her legs flat on the floor, leaving the rising flush on her chest in full view. She could feel her nipples tightening in response to his scrutiny and another rush of sweat gathered on her face, began the long slow glide down her neck, caressing her with its tickling passage, coming to rest in a drip, poised to fall from the tight tip of her left breast. In silence, he watched it hang there, gleaming.
He had to struggle twice with a dry mouth before he could speak. ‘I think I’m the one who’s been stupid.’ He swallowed. ‘And Rose? Don’t look down.’
She had no need to look down. She knew exactly what she’d find if she moved that hand, still pressed to his stomach, any lower. The mock leather around his waist was now tented upwards, pressing into her wrist in a distinctive bulge that moved slightly, back and forth of its own accord. She gazed into his eyes, and she didn’t look down, and she deliberately followed a non existent trail of sweat with her fingertips, over the fastened buckle of his clothing, through the split in the material, and into the darkness underneath. He bit his lower lip.
She felt hair, brushing gently against the ridges of her searching fingers, hair, matted and heavy with water, coarse and curled. The hair hid heated skin, puckered into delicate furrowed lines that she explored just lightly, brushing over raised edges and tracing the round curves resting against his leg. She tested the weight of him in her hand, feeling him contract as her fingertips found the wrinkled valley where his skin joined, and followed it upwards. She didn’t look down, and he held her gaze, his lips now clamped together, and a muscle in his cheek twitching in time with the drift of her hand. His eyes were burning. A stretch of damp curls and then a smoothness, a bold warm smoothness of hardened flesh stretching higher when she released it from its inadequate covering at last.
Her fingers swept around the base, lingered on the gentle curve of the shaft and touched the velvet skin that capped it, feeling the texture. Her thumb rubbed over the opening on top, and her presence was rewarded with a spurt of wetness. There was sweat standing out on his forehead, and his mouth was open now, panting slightly, but he didn’t look away until her hand closed firmly around him for the first time. His eyes flickered shut for the merest fraction of a second, but at that point he moved, and his tongue captured the hanging drop of moisture suspended from her breast.
She drew in a quick breath, held it, flashing a glance downwards to enjoy the sight of his head at her chest, a licking swirl of hot pleasure as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, the suggestion of his teeth on her damp skin. His head rose swiftly, and he paused, only inches from her face, her legs spreading as she felt the hand he’d slipped between them.
His fingers slid unhindered up her thigh, wet with sweat and the beginnings of excitement and she took a tighter hold on his erection, twisting forwards once, and feeling a shudder run through him. He had found the sodden curls at the join of her legs and she didn’t look down as his finger inserted itself between her final layers of protection and found the swollen ridge inside. He touched her there, rubbed a little, stroked a little, and she let him see the heat rising into her cheeks without trying to stop it, let him hear the catch in her breathing as his finger worked faster against her.
And then lower, slower, and down he drove, through the gap, loose with slippery welcome that she opened wide to receive him. He entered her; his finger entered her, pushing deep within her tight warmth, its passage eased by too much heavy perspiration. She gave a succession of short sharp tugs with her own hand that wrung a gasp from his lips and made him pause.
She waited, shifted her legs apart, her head tilted back, although neither of them looked away, or down, or anywhere else but at each other. She waited, and enjoyed the feeling of his finger clenched within her for a while. She enjoyed it even more when he pulled the first out, returned with another, and she held him there, licking the sweat off her top lip, feeling little rivers rise, join forces, march down her chest and between her breasts to her stomach. He moved his hand gently inside her with a wet, slurping noise, an erotic, animal sound of readiness and her eyes flared in response to the absolute pleasure he could invoke with the waggle of his fingers. She saw him smile, a knowing little smile amidst the flush on his face.
As soon as she resumed the rhythmic attentions of her hand between his legs he set his thumb to the tender spot she was hoping he’d find and, deliberately, rubbing carefully and smiling smugly all the while, added a third finger. That made her cry out, that, and the feeling of him shoved so tight within her that she didn’t know whether to ask him to pull back, or give her more. Her hand surged upwards, dragging his silky skin with it, and the fingers inside her eased out. The firm grip she had on him slicked back down, and his digits pressed their way into her depths again. Up and out, down and in, stroke for stroke, blow for blow, insult for insult.
Her chin came up, and the look in her eye was a challenge. She refused to let him beat her, she refused to let him Time Lord-it over her and she refused to come first. He raised an eyebrow, understanding and accepting the latest in a very long line of competitions. Finally, she understood why he’d brought her along. He didn’t want a passenger, he wanted an equal. Up and out, down and in, stroke for stroke, insult for insult, heart to hearts.
‘Four weeks? Breakfast in bed?’ she offered, between gasps.
He licked his lips. ‘Skip the breakfast.’
She didn’t look down. He didn’t either.
Her body was sticky and heaving with incomplete lungfuls of air, her hair plastered limply against her head as her hand tried all the tricks she knew, and some she made up, just for him. His face was mask of concentration, as, with an alternating fast/slow pattern, his fingers fucked her to within an inch of her life.
When she was absolutely sure she could stand no more, sharp spikes of almost orgasm shooting through her loins, she changed the rules. It was an effort to unclench her fist from around him, to scoot her hips backwards and make him extricate his hand, but he read her intention in her eyes and kneeled up quickly for better leverage as she flung her leg atop him.
She lowered herself down, the thick mass of him prodding at the tight entrance between her thighs, and then, with a rush, he was filling her, and filling her, and filling her with an exquisite torment she could see reflected in his face.
He broke her gaze then, snatching her to his chest with his arms up her back, forcing her down and shoving the last inch or so of his length inside her. Her nails gripped into his shoulders, her hands splayed over his sweat soaked skin and a moan of sheer physical contentment escaped from her lips. Slipping and sliding, her body drenched with her own sweat and damp with his, she rose up, met his thrust as he forced her back down. Legs bent, curled into a half crouch, she gathered all the strength she could muster and squeezed the smooth thickness penetrating her body tight. He groaned, and a hand came down to grope her backside, urging her on with light slaps that made her irritated enough to hang onto the climax threatening to overflow between her thighs. She rode him until the fingers now on both her hips were digging in painfully, and she could feel him shaking beneath her palms.
She brought up her hands to his neck, took a secure grip on the short hair on the back of his skull and tilted his head up, and back. She could see from the sparkle in his eyes that he’d already won, that he’d gotten what he wanted, what he’d been playing for all along. She stuck her tongue down his throat as she kissed him. It was too much and she felt his shakes increase, swallowing his half laughing cries into her mouth as he finally came. He held her hips steady, and the spasm of his orgasm jerked into her, as she let the rough tide of pleasure wash over her at last, her own muted groans disappearing behind his teeth.
Still panting, she straightened, let his head rest on her chest and her eyes flickered open to find, with some horror, that over his shoulder the door to the cage was open, and the monkey chieftain was doing his best to maintain a discrete coughing as he scratched politely on the frame.
‘If you two have quite finished behaving like animals I’ll transport you back to your ship.’ He threw something small, and metal towards the intertwined bodies still locked in front of him and dumped a pile of familiar clothing on the floor. ‘A word of advice. Next time you want to visit an Ape World Theme Park, read the guidebook properly first. It clearly states that lack of respect for our traditional customs is not acceptable and will be punished in kind. And don’t walk on the grass either.’
He considered her seriously for a moment, his head on one side. ‘At least I’m not stupid enough to forget to pack a towel,’ he said.
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Content: Graphic Sex; Humour; PWP; Romance; Bananas
Warning: Adult
Chapters: Two, both here
Disclaimer: The BBC wouldn't want anything to do with this, believe me.
Summary: ‘Four weeks? Breakfast in bed?’ she offered, between gasps. He licked his lips. ‘Skip the breakfast.’
Chapter 1: Bananas
‘Prove it,’ demanded Rose, with a challenging toss of her long blonde hair, and a look in her eyes that promised if not murder, then at least grievous bodily harm. ‘Because I bet I can find one thing that proves you wrong.’
‘I don’t need to prove anything.’ The Doctor passed his chamois leather over the already shiny casing of the rotor calmly, as if they weren’t half way through a long running argument. ‘It’s a fact. Like: one plus one equals two. Or, in my case, one ‘plus one’ equals too much aggravation.’
She didn’t smile at this weak attempt at humour - although he seemed to find himself quite funny - because she was quite aggravated already. ‘Two weeks then,’ she offered, with reckless abandon.
He stopped his pointless polishing; put his head on one side. ‘Two weeks? Breakfast in bed? You sure?’
She nodded. This was a very serious challenge indeed.
He continued. ‘And will you wear an apron and call me ‘sir’?’
She frowned. ‘Don’t push it.’
‘Alright then,’ he accepted. ‘But I want all the crusts cutting off my toast, and I want my orange juice freshly squeezed - by hand, mind - and a flower on the tray too.’ He paused, just long enough for her to imagine wiping the smile off his face with a couple of rubs of that cloth he was holding. ‘Your room’s next to mine.’
‘I know,’ she snapped, already reaching for the couple of buttons on the console that she knew how to operate. ‘I can hear the snoring coming through the wall.’
He looked offended, but then, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to provoke her this morning and she suspected he was bluffing. The path between him being bored, and him being needlessly rude was only a couple of steps in length, and she had been down it enough times to know the signs. If he’d been a bit more truthful in the beginning, and said ‘come with me, so I can insult you halfway round the universe’ she might have thought twice about saying yes. Luckily, he had at least taught her enough about the TARDIS by now to call up a basic guidebook from the databanks and let her search for what she wanted.
She pointed at the viewscreen with a barely controlled irritation. ‘There. I want to go there.’
He looked, shrugged, started rolling whatever stupid balls he had to roll, pushing whatever knobs and levers were within range of his smugly smiling face, and settled back on the jumpseat as the ship began to dematerialise. ‘They are,’ he said again, his eyebrows raising.
She smacked her hand on the console in annoyance. ‘If I find just one hint that shows they aren’t, you lose. And I want fresh coffee, from Costa Rica, flown in every morning, and milk from an actual cow, and not a packet you found in the back of the cupboard, and I want pastries from Denmark.’
‘Actually, I don’t think the best Danish pastries come from Denmark,’ he observed, but she spoke over the top of him.
‘And it’s your room that’s next to mine.’
He made a placatory gesture. ‘Calm down. Don’t do anything stupid.’
She slammed her way out of the TARDIS door with enough force to bang the metal back on the side of the ship, leaving a hollow clang dancing in the air. And then stopped, instantly, her toes perched right on the edge of the wooden platform the TARDIS had landed on top of, no more than an inch from an extremely long drop indeed. Below her, and so far below her she nearly couldn’t see it at all was the forest floor, covered in a brown layer of fallen leaves, and the odd white glow of patches of huge mushrooms, clinging to life in the darkness cast by the canopy overhead. Above the maleficent fungi, the enormous trunks of a dense cluster of nameless trees, brown and scaled like the skin of some giant lizard. And then high above, the soles of her shoes, balanced precariously on a set of rough wooden planks, barely wider than the square footprint of the ship, and bordered by nothing so useful as a railing. Unable to look away from the yawning gap beneath her feet, and the waiting mushrooms below, she swayed forward, unconsciously. She was going to fall.
Hands then, round her waist, a tight grip on her hips that pulled her backwards, away from the perilous temptation of jumping. The Doctor’s voice in her ear, soft and reassuring. ‘I’ve got you. Don’t look down.’
With an effort, she tugged her eyes away from certain death below and looked ahead, noticing a wooden walkway stretching out in front of her to the significantly larger platform constructed around the trunk of the next tree along. The wood looked strong, and sturdy, even though it was lashed together with what appeared to be vines, braided into a lattice of tough rails on either side. The Doctor’s hands stroked up her sides from her waist, skirted down the underside of both arms, making her squirm, ticklish, and placed her hands firmly on the banisters on either side of the path. Then his fingers returned to her hips, and he pushed her one pace forward, so she was standing on the bridge, or at least in the relative safety of the high boundaries on both sides.
She took a deep breath, sucking in the ferocious heat and damp smells of a rain forest jungle, noting the hazy sunshine glimmering through the tangle of leaves above her head for the first time. She relaxed a bit, advanced another step forward, away from his hands, as he pulled the TARDIS doors closed behind him. She heard him draw in a lingering breath of his own, let it out with an exclamation, and then came the unmistakeable sound of the door being unlocked as he struggled his way out of his jacket, and threw it back inside the TARDIS with the heavy slap of leather on metal.
Her hands clamped to the vines on either side, and still uncomfortably aware of the drop beneath her feet, she didn’t dare look round. The creepers beneath her fingers were as hard and as strong as steel although their surface was soft, covered in brown fibres that felt like really cheap carpet. The bridge lurched alarmingly as he stepped onto it behind her, and she closed her eyes against the dizziness.
She heard a whistling rush of wind in the moist air for a second before his hand landed with a stinging slap on her backside. ‘Get on with it then, I’m hungry.’
Sheer annoyance set her feet in motion and she marched towards the next, much wider wooden platform a couple of metres away. He really was going out of his way to wind her up this morning, and she was absolutely determined to prove him wrong. Once on the comparative safety of the circular construction enclosing the next tree - this one thoughtfully provided with a secure fence around the outside - she found room in her consciousness for the sounds of the forest. There was a constant drone of insects in the air, although the branches above were untroubled by any wind to lessen the stultifying heat, and there was a background hum of noise, like a large crowd busy chatting in the next room. She felt the first prickling of sweat on the back of her neck.
She refused to give the Doctor the satisfaction of seeing her curious, so she trailed her fingertips around the bark of the enormous bole in front of her, following until she could tell what lay on the other side. It was a village. A village perched high up in the forest canopy, made of wood, and vines, and thatch, linked across the dark green spaces below by hanging lines of liana, twisted creepers and the occasional wooden bridge. Houses teetered high up in the branches, their roofs set in interlocking ridges of dried brown fibres, stark against the vibrant colour of the living leaves around them. Every spare inch of space had been used, a random assortment of higgledy-piggeldy rooms of different levels and sizes, spaced out as the supporting arms of the forest would allow. Platforms encircled the trunks of each and every tree, some cluttered with boxes and bales of stacked spare materials, and others, wider, barer, set with low stools and benches and the odd gaily coloured totem pole.
The Doctor joined Rose on the other side of the tree as she stood watching the inhabitants of the village about their daily lives. They were relatively small, only about as tall as her, although it was difficult to tell since they spent most of their time squatting on their haunches. Covered in hair, black, ginger, and various shades of brown they bore the distinctive low brows and protruding lips of her simian ancestors.
The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. ‘Planet of the apes,’ he remarked.
She shot him a withering stare. Despite his own alien descent he was shining with perspiration. ‘You know it’s not actually called that, don’t you?’
The noise of their conversation caused the nearest of the chimp like creatures to stand, straightening its body away from its task to stare in their direction. It turned to the three other monkey-men next to it, who were now also looking round, and a cacophony of hooting, some screaming noises, and a fair amount of oook-oook-oooking followed as they talked. One left, swinging his way across the gap between the trees, and into a very large, solidly constructed circular building not far away.
She was envious of the ease with which the larger than normal chimp launched himself onto the hanging net of creepers without a trace of vertigo, and she waited patiently as their presence was announced. She gestured to the forest village around them and whispered to the man over her shoulder. ‘This proves you wrong on its own.’
He snorted. ‘Who says they built it? How do you know this isn’t some giant petting zoo?’
She wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her arm. Her mood did not improve. After a couple of minutes, the first monkey man emerged from the doorway of the wooden hut, followed by an assortment of larger figures, resembling a variety of all the ape species that had ever existed on Earth, and a lot more besides. En masse, they grasped an individual vine or two each, and, with a smooth launching run, flung themselves across the space and onto the edge of the platform where Rose and the Doctor were waiting.
A certain amount of shuffling later, a medium sized individual with the ruddy colouring of an orangutan approached. He was sporting the same short leather skirt worn by each of his compatriots, and on his head was strapped a single green feather. He carried a small, woven bag over one shoulder.
Stepping forward, he bowed low, and she returned the polite gesture, although the Doctor satisfied himself with an incline of his head. The chieftain monkey raised his eyes, and quite deliberately, and with a smacking of his lips said, ‘Oook-oook.’
The TARDIS translated this as ‘oook-oook’ and no more.
‘Hello,’ said Rose, wondering if there was even a language here to be spoken.
Fumbling in the bag, the ape produced a small, yellow, curved item, and held it above his head with both hands, presenting to Rose his peace offering of - a banana.
The Doctor bent close, whispered - not quite quietly enough - in her ear. ‘See - told you they were stupid.’
Instantly, the orangutan leader straightened up, stowing his ceremonial banana safely back in his bag. He looked the Doctor up and down very, very carefully, and without a trace of oookiness said, ‘Bloody tourists.’ He waved a hand. ‘Take them.’
‘Ah,’ noted the Doctor, in the split second he had before a pair of prehensile feet swept down out of the forest green, caught him under both arms, and lifted him up and away.
Rose watched his long legs kicking helplessly as he was borne off out of sight to a more distant part of the village, and she turned to the lead monkey with her eyebrows raised. ‘Me too?’ she asked resignedly.
The chieftain looked her over. ‘Are you with him?’
She nodded, and sighed. ‘Although sometimes I wonder why.’
She held out her arms and, exactly as anticipated, a pair of very strong, and very flexible feet inserted themselves into her armpits and whipped her off into the air. She shut her eyes tight, and abandoned herself to damsel-in-distress screaming, the pitch of her voice raising every time she felt her monkey cable car let go of one swinging vine, fall a bit, and reach for another.
After only a few minutes of terror - which she was sure knocked a couple of years off her life - she was dumped on another rough wooden platform, and collapsed to her knees. Her transport/captor landed lightly beside her, and glanced down at her shaking shoulders with barely concealed contempt.
He pointed at the open doorway of the hut in front of them, which occupied the remainder of the planked stage. ‘Go in there. Put on what you find. If you don’t, I’m leaving and you’ll have to get back to that blue box on your own.’
Rose took one look at the long drop clearly visible between the flimsy offcuts underneath her knees and turned to consider the single green rope on which she’d arrived, hanging a jump into empty air away. She staggered into the hut.
Inside it was dark, and even more clammy, and she felt beads of sweat gathering between her shoulder blades in the oppressive heat. After her eyes had become accustomed to the verdant gloom, she noted a low, wooden bed covered in a tightly woven blanket of some sort of soft fibre, and lying on top of it, a short leather skirt. Nothing else.
She went outside again, to find the chimpanzee acrobat filing his nails carefully with a flashing steel nail file that he hurried stored in a belt attached to his skirt. ‘Yes?’ he asked. ‘Question?’
She examined the floor of the platform carefully, for any suddenly appearing ladder, rope bridge, or - as an outside chance- helicopter. There was still no way down. ‘You want me to put that on?’ she confirmed anxiously.
Her probable ancestor gave her the sort of leering grin that was only possible if your lips took up half the available space on your face and revealed a set of gleaming white teeth, punctuated by some gold fillings. ‘Oook,’ he said. ‘Stupid human.’
She sighed, heavily; it was going to be one of those days. Feeling decidedly self conscious, she stripped off her jeans, and her zip up pink top and tried to fasten the skirt around her waist over the top of her underwear to maintain at least some modicum of decency. It was extremely short, only skimming the top of her thighs, and it tied at one side with a quite sophisticated buckle. Plus, now she had time to consider it closely, it didn’t really look like leather at all, and felt, sort of, synthetic. She pulled her bra straps off her shoulders, wrapped the blanket off the bed around her body, under her arms to hide the elastic and stepped back outside with a hopeful smile.
The ape-man was already shaking his head. She got the message, returned to the safety of her room, and removed her trainers, and bra and the blanket, being extremely grateful that she’d left her hair long enough to cover her suddenly naked chest. She was actually a lot cooler without her clothes, or at least, she would have been, if she hadn’t been gripped in a red-hot flush of embarrassment. She refused to compromise on her knickers.
With a nervous pace forward, she presented herself for inspection, carefully covered with a concealing fringe of blonde tresses. Her potential grandfather stalked all the way round her in a circle, with the really wide smile that only a monkey could pull off convincingly. ‘You’d be alright if you were a bit more hairy,’ he commented.
‘You haven’t seen my legs close up,’ she muttered.
But he stopped in his circumambulation, putting a large, brown finger up to the side of her split skirt and pinging the pink elastic of her knickers with an accusatory flick. She locked at him, trying to gauge whether or not he might possess even a shred of pity, or at least some homo sapiens solidarity. He shook his head again, and for the fourth time she entered the hut, sadly removing the last piece of lacy sanity from the situation. As soon as she reappeared outside, she noticed that her chaperone had vanished, although she quickly discovered the location of his feet, thrust under her arms again, and she was hauled off like a sack of bananas though the air.
This time, she was far too naked to worry about falling, hoping that they were travelling too fast for anyone to see what the blowing wind of their passage revealed beneath her streaming hair. Another platform, and another hut, and she was back on solid ground, or at least, several hundred feet below there was solid ground, and that would have to suffice. With a soft hand on the small of her back, that did little to disguise the iron strength of its fingers, she was pushed towards a high sided structure, walled on three sides with woven branches, and on the fourth with a closely spaced web of bamboo. It was quite clearly a cage, and quite clearly, sitting inside it, against the back wall, with his arms and legs crossed, was the Doctor.
In the glimpses she could get of him through the bars, he looked decidedly more pink than she remembered, and a lot less wool and denim.
She was, quite frankly, appalled.
Chapter 2: Are good
She rushed to get her thoughts back into some sort of order. ‘Close your eyes,’ she shouted quickly. She saw him uncross his legs, lean forward a bit.
‘What’s the problem?’ he called, a slight note of worry gratifyingly present in his voice.
It was bad enough that she was half naked, she thought, but any Time Lord half nakedness was something to be strictly avoided. Hurriedly, she brushed all her hair forward over her chest again as the wicker door unlocked in front of her. ‘Don’t argue with me. Just close your eyes. I’m not…well…wearing very much.’
There was a short silence, rapidly filled with the sound of her being pushed firmly through the door, and then it being locked again, while her captor sniggered nastily, before turning, catching the nearest creeper and leaping away.
‘Why’s that a problem?’ the Doctor repeated, but at close quarters, she could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought not to smile. His eyes were closed. Hers weren’t.
Somehow, someone had convinced him to strip, and he was wearing an identical loincloth to the one she had on, except he seemed far less bothered by it. In fact, he looked quite composed, relaxing against the wall with all the definition in his muscles on display, with all the wiry strength in his shoulders standing out, with all the dark hair on his long long legs curling deliciously in the open air. He was obviously hot, his chest glistening and wet and she felt the sweat trickling down her own back, marking a path between her breasts.
‘Are you going to stop ogling me and sit down?’ he asked, patting the floor beside him.
‘What’s to ogle?’ she responded hastily, taking a seat right beside him and drawing her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them so there was no way he could possibly see up her skirt. She’d already tried to take a sneaky peek up his, her eyes drawn like a magnet despite her best intentions. More sweat stuck the strands of hair to her chest.
‘Alright, open your eyes,’ she allowed as his eyelids came apart just the merest crack. ‘But don’t look down.’
Unhesitatingly, he raised his head, blinked open his eyes fully, and met her troubled brown stare with his dancing blue one. To his credit, she could only spot a tiny fraction of a second in which the spotlight glare of his gaze flickered downwards.
Very distinctly, she said, ‘Just, tell me you’re sorry.’
He frowned. ‘That’s a bit harsh isn’t it? I didn’t do anything.’
She felt her irritation flaring up again. ‘You called me a stupid ape. You said all apes were stupid and that you’d prove it. And then you came here and called them stupid to their faces. Now I’m sitting in a cage dressed like Tarzan, with you,’ her eyes flickered over his sweat stained body again, ‘also dressed like Tarzan.’
He cut her off. ‘Yeah, you’d have thought they’d have found you a dress or something.’
‘How do you know what I’m wearing?’ she snapped. ‘I thought I told you not to look down.’
He shrugged, and she could see how all his tendons and sinews worked together to achieve that movement. ‘Couldn’t help it. And I never said I’d prove it - I just said it was a fact.’
She waited.
‘I may have been slightly…quick off the mark, in this case.’
‘How about - I may have been extremely rude again Rose? I’m very sorry and I’ll make you breakfast for three weeks.’
‘Three?’ He huffed with annoyance and his eyes snapped away from hers instinctively, taking a long, slow, and meandering path back up her body before meeting her accusatory stare. He swallowed, sending twin lines of sweat rolling down his neck.
She released her arm and lifted his chin firmly. ‘Don’t. Look. Down,’ she demanded.
Unfortunately, as soon as her hand moved, his eyes delved straight into the widening gap between her knees and her chest, and she noted with horror that almost all of her left breast was no longer covered with hair, or legs, and its perspiration slicked roundness was quite blatantly being ogled by the Doctor. With a lightening blur, she snapped her arm back into place again, sealing away the embarrassing sudden tightness of her nipple behind a rock hard screen of thigh muscle.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, and he sounded genuinely contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Tell that to the stupid apes,’ she muttered, grimly, but he was shaking his head.
‘No, I don’t care about them. I didn’t mean to look.’
She considered the slight flush on his cheeks and the fact that he had actually apologised. ‘It’s alright,’ she said finally. ‘This is the first time you’ve ever noticed what I’m wearing.’
‘I always notice what you’re wearing. I liked that dress, didn’t I? Besides, it’s a lot harder not to notice when you’re not wearing anything.’
She watched him fiddle with the buckle that was holding the almost indecent swatch of leather round his waist closed. Individual jewels of sweat were caught in the dense hair just above the line of fabric. ‘Likewise,’ she remarked.
He noticed her attention and folded his hands primly in his lap. ‘So - on the list of top ten most stupid situations we’ve ever got into, I think this is at least an eight.’
She shrugged, noticed his eyes jump to the movement of her chest again. She was unbearably hot, her legs sliding against each other with moisture and it took an effort to keep her modesty intact. ‘If only you weren’t so rude. Sometimes, I think you only brought me along to have someone to laugh at.’
It was a contemplative look she got this time. ‘Really? Seriously? That’s what you think?’
She leaned her head back against the wall, relaxed her arms slightly, trying to shake the sticky curls off her neck. ‘Well, you don’t need me for anything else. You offered to show me the universe, which makes you the tour guide and me just the passenger.’
He turned his face towards her and a bead of water rolled off his temple, followed an undulating pattern over his cheekbone and dripped off his jaw. She followed its progress all the way down his chest. At length, he answered, ‘That’s not why I brought you.’
She sighed, prepared for another insult. ‘Then why? Why choose me? There’s loads of other stupid people to choose from.’
He shifted away from the wall with an unexpected movement, repositioned himself in the opposite direction at her side, looking at her straight on and, rather uncertainly, raised a hand to her face. Gently, with a hesitation she hadn’t spotted in evidence before, he pushed the damp skein of hair away from her cheek, hooking the stiff strands behind her ear, before his thumb returned to trace the soft skin at the corner of her mouth. She held herself steady, confused, and a bit nervous with the uncharacteristic attention. He never, ever looked at her like this, like he was actually seeing her for who she was and not just his latest sparring partner.
His voice was low, and rough as he said, ‘Because I wanted you. No one else.’
With at least two false starts, and a pause in which she was sure he’d stop altogether, he lowered his head towards her. She thought, he’sgoingtokissmehe’sgoingtokissmehe’sgoingtokissme, and then she didn’t think any more because he was kissing her. The firmness of his lips brushed against hers once, before he drew back to see her reaction. ‘No one else,’ he repeated. ‘Stupid.’
Distracted by his nearness she wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to do next. He was so close she could see her own reflection in his eyes, could smell a faint musky scent rising off him, could watch another dewdrop of sweat edge its way down the rough skin of his face and without really thinking about it, she raised a finger to trace its path. Down his cheek, over the strong line that marked the side of his neck, into and out of the hollow of his collarbone, trickling along the hard swell of his chest and lower, dribbling over every taut muscle in his stomach and coming to rest in the hair just above his bellybutton. She watched her hand as it moved of its own volition across his body, and noticed him watching it too.
Guiltily, she paused with her finger pressed to his slick skin, her hand hovering above his lap and looked up into his eyes. ‘Stupid?’ she questioned, checking, unsure of her next move.
He didn’t meet her glance and she realised she was leaning forward, resting on her other hand and that she’d straightened her legs flat on the floor, leaving the rising flush on her chest in full view. She could feel her nipples tightening in response to his scrutiny and another rush of sweat gathered on her face, began the long slow glide down her neck, caressing her with its tickling passage, coming to rest in a drip, poised to fall from the tight tip of her left breast. In silence, he watched it hang there, gleaming.
He had to struggle twice with a dry mouth before he could speak. ‘I think I’m the one who’s been stupid.’ He swallowed. ‘And Rose? Don’t look down.’
She had no need to look down. She knew exactly what she’d find if she moved that hand, still pressed to his stomach, any lower. The mock leather around his waist was now tented upwards, pressing into her wrist in a distinctive bulge that moved slightly, back and forth of its own accord. She gazed into his eyes, and she didn’t look down, and she deliberately followed a non existent trail of sweat with her fingertips, over the fastened buckle of his clothing, through the split in the material, and into the darkness underneath. He bit his lower lip.
She felt hair, brushing gently against the ridges of her searching fingers, hair, matted and heavy with water, coarse and curled. The hair hid heated skin, puckered into delicate furrowed lines that she explored just lightly, brushing over raised edges and tracing the round curves resting against his leg. She tested the weight of him in her hand, feeling him contract as her fingertips found the wrinkled valley where his skin joined, and followed it upwards. She didn’t look down, and he held her gaze, his lips now clamped together, and a muscle in his cheek twitching in time with the drift of her hand. His eyes were burning. A stretch of damp curls and then a smoothness, a bold warm smoothness of hardened flesh stretching higher when she released it from its inadequate covering at last.
Her fingers swept around the base, lingered on the gentle curve of the shaft and touched the velvet skin that capped it, feeling the texture. Her thumb rubbed over the opening on top, and her presence was rewarded with a spurt of wetness. There was sweat standing out on his forehead, and his mouth was open now, panting slightly, but he didn’t look away until her hand closed firmly around him for the first time. His eyes flickered shut for the merest fraction of a second, but at that point he moved, and his tongue captured the hanging drop of moisture suspended from her breast.
She drew in a quick breath, held it, flashing a glance downwards to enjoy the sight of his head at her chest, a licking swirl of hot pleasure as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, the suggestion of his teeth on her damp skin. His head rose swiftly, and he paused, only inches from her face, her legs spreading as she felt the hand he’d slipped between them.
His fingers slid unhindered up her thigh, wet with sweat and the beginnings of excitement and she took a tighter hold on his erection, twisting forwards once, and feeling a shudder run through him. He had found the sodden curls at the join of her legs and she didn’t look down as his finger inserted itself between her final layers of protection and found the swollen ridge inside. He touched her there, rubbed a little, stroked a little, and she let him see the heat rising into her cheeks without trying to stop it, let him hear the catch in her breathing as his finger worked faster against her.
And then lower, slower, and down he drove, through the gap, loose with slippery welcome that she opened wide to receive him. He entered her; his finger entered her, pushing deep within her tight warmth, its passage eased by too much heavy perspiration. She gave a succession of short sharp tugs with her own hand that wrung a gasp from his lips and made him pause.
She waited, shifted her legs apart, her head tilted back, although neither of them looked away, or down, or anywhere else but at each other. She waited, and enjoyed the feeling of his finger clenched within her for a while. She enjoyed it even more when he pulled the first out, returned with another, and she held him there, licking the sweat off her top lip, feeling little rivers rise, join forces, march down her chest and between her breasts to her stomach. He moved his hand gently inside her with a wet, slurping noise, an erotic, animal sound of readiness and her eyes flared in response to the absolute pleasure he could invoke with the waggle of his fingers. She saw him smile, a knowing little smile amidst the flush on his face.
As soon as she resumed the rhythmic attentions of her hand between his legs he set his thumb to the tender spot she was hoping he’d find and, deliberately, rubbing carefully and smiling smugly all the while, added a third finger. That made her cry out, that, and the feeling of him shoved so tight within her that she didn’t know whether to ask him to pull back, or give her more. Her hand surged upwards, dragging his silky skin with it, and the fingers inside her eased out. The firm grip she had on him slicked back down, and his digits pressed their way into her depths again. Up and out, down and in, stroke for stroke, blow for blow, insult for insult.
Her chin came up, and the look in her eye was a challenge. She refused to let him beat her, she refused to let him Time Lord-it over her and she refused to come first. He raised an eyebrow, understanding and accepting the latest in a very long line of competitions. Finally, she understood why he’d brought her along. He didn’t want a passenger, he wanted an equal. Up and out, down and in, stroke for stroke, insult for insult, heart to hearts.
‘Four weeks? Breakfast in bed?’ she offered, between gasps.
He licked his lips. ‘Skip the breakfast.’
She didn’t look down. He didn’t either.
Her body was sticky and heaving with incomplete lungfuls of air, her hair plastered limply against her head as her hand tried all the tricks she knew, and some she made up, just for him. His face was mask of concentration, as, with an alternating fast/slow pattern, his fingers fucked her to within an inch of her life.
When she was absolutely sure she could stand no more, sharp spikes of almost orgasm shooting through her loins, she changed the rules. It was an effort to unclench her fist from around him, to scoot her hips backwards and make him extricate his hand, but he read her intention in her eyes and kneeled up quickly for better leverage as she flung her leg atop him.
She lowered herself down, the thick mass of him prodding at the tight entrance between her thighs, and then, with a rush, he was filling her, and filling her, and filling her with an exquisite torment she could see reflected in his face.
He broke her gaze then, snatching her to his chest with his arms up her back, forcing her down and shoving the last inch or so of his length inside her. Her nails gripped into his shoulders, her hands splayed over his sweat soaked skin and a moan of sheer physical contentment escaped from her lips. Slipping and sliding, her body drenched with her own sweat and damp with his, she rose up, met his thrust as he forced her back down. Legs bent, curled into a half crouch, she gathered all the strength she could muster and squeezed the smooth thickness penetrating her body tight. He groaned, and a hand came down to grope her backside, urging her on with light slaps that made her irritated enough to hang onto the climax threatening to overflow between her thighs. She rode him until the fingers now on both her hips were digging in painfully, and she could feel him shaking beneath her palms.
She brought up her hands to his neck, took a secure grip on the short hair on the back of his skull and tilted his head up, and back. She could see from the sparkle in his eyes that he’d already won, that he’d gotten what he wanted, what he’d been playing for all along. She stuck her tongue down his throat as she kissed him. It was too much and she felt his shakes increase, swallowing his half laughing cries into her mouth as he finally came. He held her hips steady, and the spasm of his orgasm jerked into her, as she let the rough tide of pleasure wash over her at last, her own muted groans disappearing behind his teeth.
Still panting, she straightened, let his head rest on her chest and her eyes flickered open to find, with some horror, that over his shoulder the door to the cage was open, and the monkey chieftain was doing his best to maintain a discrete coughing as he scratched politely on the frame.
‘If you two have quite finished behaving like animals I’ll transport you back to your ship.’ He threw something small, and metal towards the intertwined bodies still locked in front of him and dumped a pile of familiar clothing on the floor. ‘A word of advice. Next time you want to visit an Ape World Theme Park, read the guidebook properly first. It clearly states that lack of respect for our traditional customs is not acceptable and will be punished in kind. And don’t walk on the grass either.’
He considered her seriously for a moment, his head on one side. ‘At least I’m not stupid enough to forget to pack a towel,’ he said.