La Petite Mort (Chapter 7)

[sinecure]

Title: La Petite Mort (7/10)
Author: sinecure - My master fic list
Character/Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Multi-Doctor/Rose (not all at once)
Rating: Adult, humor/angst/romance... did I mention the humor?
Summary: The Doctor never saw fit to warn Rose about things that could happen. And then they happened.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, if I did, I'd sic Jackie on Stephen Moffet.
Author's Notes: This chapter is dark. Somewhere along the way, the crack and humor fell by the wayside. This is Adult. (Thanks goes to my beta momdaegmorgan for plotting this with me when I got stuck. And for holding my hand, especially throughout this chapter and now, while posting it)



The Doctor collapsed back on his bed, chest rising and falling heavily, forcing the ends of his shirt to fall to either side. Staring up at the ceiling, and allowing himself to be soothed by the glowing green lights gliding along the surface, he forced himself to calm his breathing.

Rise. Fall. Up.... down. Slower and slower until it was nearing normal.

A tired groan escaped him, and his eyes slid shut. Legs dangling over the edge of the bed, trousers open wide, he had no energy to tuck himself back in.

His skin tightened as the open air hit him and began the task of drying the semen on his stomach.

His eyes blearily opened, as a single drop of perspiration slid down his temple into his hair. This was ridiculous. Masturbating twice in... just over an hour? What on Earth was wrong with him? Once in the kitchen after being denied Rose's touch, yes, understandable. Sort of. But twice? He'd come in here to take a shower, not to do the exact same thing that'd caused him to need one in the first place!

One simple thought about Rose was enough to drive him to distraction it seemed. Not even a complete thought about her. Well, not an erotic one. Okay, possibly it was slightly erotic. All right, imagining taking Rose from behind while she was splayed over the console was perhaps just the wee bittiest bit erotic.

Just a tad.

But, really, did it need to lead to this?

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he looked down the length of his body. Trousers wide open, semen drying on his stomach, softened cock nestled on the zip of his trousers.

"Pathetic."

Dropping his arms to the bed, he closed his eyes again and yawned. It was no wonder he was tired after two masturbatory sessions. Allowing himself to drift off, he kept a mental eye on the time, listened for signs of Rose approaching, and failed to zip himself back up.

When he woke up thirty-nine minutes later, he was covered in now-dried semen and feeling a bit cranky. Rose was fine and dandy, he imagined. Sleeping in her bed, resting comfortably while he... he was forced to take drastic measures to solve his lack-of-a-love-life problem. He did it often enough, he wasn't going to lie about that, but never this quickly.

Never twice in one day.

Pushing himself onto his elbows again, he felt the skin of his stomach stretch and pull. Making a face at the sight and the sensation, he sat up fully.

His trousers, tightened over his crotch, caught on his vulnerable flesh and pinched the sensitive skin for a brief moment. He hopped to his feet and adjusted himself with a hiss of relief.

Fingers curling under the knot of his tie, he loosened it enough to pull it over his head and tossed it onto the bed. His shirt went next. Every article of clothing fell to the floor with each step he took to the bathroom.

The shower was bright after the muted illumination of his bedroom. White and coral mixed with green lighting made the room look like a lab rather than a bathroom, but he liked it. Stepping into the tub, he turned on the water and let it drench him. His fingers worked at the sticky substance on his stomach while the water sluiced over him.

The trick would be to not think about Rose. Certainly, even with his superior physiology, the possibility of him becoming aroused again was ridiculous.

Nonetheless, he kept his thoughts firmly off of Rose. Specifically, naked Rose.

Shampoo, conditioner, soap... lather, rinse, no naked-Rose thoughts. Not a single one.

Well, except for that one of her in the shower with him. Other than that, there was nothing. He didn't even wonder what she'd look like naked and wet as he slammed into her--

God. He really had to stop!

Stretching his neck muscles, he poured more shampoo into his hair, rinsed it out, conditioned it, rinsed it, did not think about Rose sucking him off, soaped up his body and skimmed a hand down to his cock as the soap suds slipped down his skin, and into the drain.

Noticing where his hand was, and that he was actually--actually!--becoming aroused again, he jerked it free and stood under the water a bit longer, trying to relax under the flow.

He imagined he was standing on X'pol Prime, like a sponge too-long dried, soaking up the nutrients that fell in a shower of rain every afternoon.

His hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back with both hands.

Perhaps he was on Limn; a gorgeous rock planet that had geysers that spurted thousands of feet into the air at regular intervals that put Yellowstone to shame, and in so many different colors that a rainbow looked pale in comparison.

His hand scrubbed at the skin of his stomach.

There was the moon Urnebi that circled around K'rr that he quite liked to visit every few decades; it had... it had--

Tightening his hand around his balls, he slammed his other hand against the wall in front of him. Coral-colored walls hummed back at him, warm under his fingers.

No. No! He was not doing this again. Twice in one day was plenty enough. Twice in one hour was obsessive. Three times in two hours was worrisome.

Loosening the hand lightly stroking the underside of his shaft, he pushed away from the wall.

Okay, he could do this. Stand up straight. Oh, he already was. Good on him. Ignore the heat simmering in his veins. Easier said than done, but not impossible. Dropping both hands by his sides, he breathed in deeply and counted to ten in English, Gallifreyan, Russian, German, French, Chinese, Italian... and, by the time he got to Portuguese, his breathing was calmer, his muscles more relaxed.

And his hand was resting on his thigh.

Cursing a blue streak, he turned the hot water down and upped the cold, tossing a dirty look at the coral walls for turning his curses into Japanese. The cold water felt good on his overheated skin. It ran down his hair--drawing the last of the warmth from the strands--over his shoulders and back to his bum, slid over his chest and belly to his erection and beyond.

It didn't help cool his ardor any though, so he turned the cold up higher and lowered the hot some more.

Cool droplets rained down on him as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to occupy his mind with unsexy thoughts.

Jackie Tyler-pears-cats-guns-toe lint!

His body didn't relent though. He was still hard, and getting harder by the moment. Painfully so. This was definitely not normal. Not normal at all.

Okay, new plan. Quick wank in the shower, check on Rose to make sure-- oh. Oh! His cock jerked at the thought of Rose and, suddenly, his hand was moving between his legs. The other one flattened against the shower wall again, supporting him. Rapid jerks, twisting circles, thumb the tip-- thoughts of Rose.

His whole body shuddered at the thought of her. Beautiful smile. Sweet scent. Teasing laugh. A hand to hold.

He squeezed his erection clumsily, stroking faster. Faster. Slower. No, no, faster. His hand moved with no rhythm, just doing what felt good. The water pouring over him wasn't helping any, so he stepped out of the spray and leaned his head against the wall. His hand lingered on his balls, grasping the pliant skin with careful fingers.

Pleasure shot through his cock when his knuckles brushed against the side of it. His legs quivered at the sensation, his back arching into the spray of cold water. It wasn't going to be long this time. He could feel it building already--coming on quicker than usual--tearing through him as he imagined Rose there with him; thought of her with him forever. Her voice as she laughed, that rich giggle he adored.

He bared his teeth as he strained for completion.

Heat swamped him, burning a trail through his veins. He was grunting now, sounding primal and animalistic to his own ears. Thrusting his curled hand back and forth on his shaft, he concentrated on Rose. Her hair, her eyes, how much he loved her.

Tingling warmth swept through his legs and toes before settling into a burning sensation that made him squeeze hard and change the angle of his hand. The fingers of his other hand left the wall and drifted down to his balls again, pressing and releasing the sac as his hips began to jerk forward. Running his thumb along the tip--smearing pre-cum over the rest of his shaft--he shoved his hand back down.

Twisting his hand, he flattened it against the tip, then drew it down once again and repeated the motion. Releasing all but his thumb and forefinger, he quickly squeezed his fingers again.

He felt his balls begin to tighten and draw up. With a thick moan of pleasure that echoed in the small room, he propelled his hips forward one last time.

For one small moment, he was frozen in that position as pleasure crashed through him. Taut muscles held and then slowly, so very slowly, began to loosen.

His hips bucked again and again, and he felt every tiny spasm in his cock as he came.

The Doctor was not a stupid man. He knew when things were amiss. Well, usually. Sometimes he missed things, things that were right in front of his face. Or behind his back.

But this time, he knew. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

He left the shower behind, fully clean once more and grabbed a towel from the rack beside the door. Wiping absently at the beads of water that ran down his chest, he wondered if it was something in the TARDIS, or something in him? Clearing the fogged mirror, he stared at his reflection as he combed his hair.

He didn't look any different. But, then again, that didn't mean anything. Maybe he looked a little tired, he thought, leaning toward the mirror to examine the slightly darker skin beneath his eyes.

Well, a jail stay, a jail escape, two aborted attempts to seduce Rose, and three wanking sessions later... he thought he looked rather good.

Swiping at a stray drop of water on his neck, he considered that it might be something in the TARDIS. And if that were the case, then Rose--

Eyes widening in alarm, he dropped the towel to the counter and rushed into his room, pulling on a fresh suit as quickly as he could. Still in the midst of buttoning his shirt, he left his room, barefoot, and minus a tie. The metal grating wasn't the most comfortable on his feet, but he made good time as he turned two corners and went down three hallways wondering why in the universe Rose had moved her room so far from his after satellite 5.

His feet slid just a tiny bit, enough to burn the soles against the metal, as he came to a stop in front of her door.

There were no noises from inside. As he reached out to open the door, he wondered if he'd find her in there on her bed, touching herself.

His hand grasped the door handle with more force than necessary expecting the familiar rush of arousal to swamp his senses, but nothing happened. He was, so far, still in control of himself.

He twisted the handle.

But then he paused. If she was in there masturbating, then she really wasn't going to be happy with him for walking in on her, despite his good intentions.

He shrugged. It couldn't be helped.

But he didn't move. Instead, he wondered why, if she was doing... things to herself in there--things he'd like to be doing to her, or just with her, really, though, that was neither here nor there--but, if she was doing... that, then was she affected like him? If there was an infection.

And for that matter, if she was, then why hadn't she said anything to him? Why hadn't she come to him for help?

Why hadn't she come to him for help in relieving the need?

He snorted and ran his hands through his damp hair. She didn't want anything to do with him now. Well, that wasn't particularly true. She loved him, and wanted to travel with him, and wanted him, she just didn't trust him enough to sleep with him.

Bit of a problem in their relationship. Just a small snag.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Not a peep. Sticking his head in, he glanced to the right, taking in the bed and the person in it. She was asleep, lying on her stomach, one hand on the pillow beside her, the other under the covers. The darkened room didn't allow for too much detail, but he was pretty sure she didn't look desperate and exhausted from masturbating repeatedly.

Relieved, he simply watched her breathe for a few seconds. It still made his right heart skip a beat to know that this woman, this simple human--no, nothing about Rose was simple--this brilliant woman, cared for him. Loved him.

And wouldn't sleep with him ever again. Yeah, tiny snag.

Letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he pulled the door shut and headed back to his room. Whatever it was that was affecting him wasn't affecting Rose. So, maybe it was something in the TARDIS, but, for some reason, hadn't turned Rose into a one-woman sex show.

Back in his room, he put on socks and Chucks and then set about righting the buttons on his shirt.

Odd that seeing Rose hadn't sent him into another spiral of self-touching.

Tossing on his suit jacket and foregoing the tie, he headed to the console room. Answers lay there, he was sure. As soon as he reached the controls, he pulled out his glasses and grabbed the monitor, drawing it toward him. Tapping in a few commands, he began a scan for alien life, just in case anything got by the TARDIS' sensors and filters.

It was rather unlikely, but not impossible.

Twenty-three minutes later, he was no closer to an explanation than before. There were no stowaway aliens, no viruses, no bugs that could've got into his system. Everything was normal on this end.

Which meant he'd picked something up somewhere recently. Or something had infected him. Otherwise... he was just one extremely horny Time Lord, and the Doctor was sure-- well, pretty sure--eighty percent sure? Maybe seventy-six, no, seventy-two, wait. Seventy-four percent sure--that that wasn't the case.

It would explain why the TARDIS hadn't picked up on whatever it was though.

Only one way to find out. Shoving the monitor away from him, he pocketed his specs and headed toward the medical bay.

Halfway there, he felt it start again. Intense arousal washed through him and he became almost instantly hard. Okay, this wasn't just him being a horndog, he thought, bracing himself against the wall as it became almost too painful to walk.

It had hit so quickly this time. There'd been no slow burning, no build up. Panting heavily, he stared down the hallway, gauging the distance, wondering if he could make it to the lab.

He took a step, feeling the fabric of his pants rub against him uncomfortably. Another step and he had to stop. It hurt too much to move. Groaning in annoyance and frustration, he undid his zip.

Fastening his trousers, the Doctor let a sigh slip out. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he tossed it to the floor and cleaned up what little mess there was. He didn't have anything left in him anymore. And his skin was beginning to feel rubbed raw. He was spent. Empty. Knackered. Ready to have a lie down now, thank you very much.

And the thought of having sex again, even if Rose were to throw herself at his feet right at this very moment, wasn't in the least bit appealing.

Calculating in his head the times between each masturbatory session, he grabbed his suit jacket and headed toward the lab. There was approximately an hour between the first time in the kitchen and the second on his bed. It had built up more slowly those times, but was still just as strong once he was completely aroused. Third time, in the shower, nearly forty-five minutes had passed. Half an hour between then and now. Whatever was affecting him, it was counting down in an incremental fashion.
Hurrying to the lab, he figured he had almost thirteen minutes to run tests before it struck again.

Throwing his suit jacket to the floor, the Doctor glared at it. He'd been off by four minutes. Four stupid, measly little minutes. He'd planned the tests right down to the last two minutes, keeping those free in preparation of it coming over him then, but it snuck up on him after only eleven minutes.

He'd been working on a particularly delicate sample at the time and now it was shattered on the surface before him.

Kicking his jacket, he watched, uncaring, as it smacked into the base of the lab desk. He ran his hands through his hair, avoiding refastening his trousers. His sensitive skin was definitely beginning to feel the affects of so much abuse. However, he couldn't walk around with his bits hanging out. He knew there was an ointment or something around this med lab that would soothe him, but he couldn't remember where or what it was.

He didn't have time for this! He needed results, not more problems.

Shoving himself back into his pants, he strode over to the cupboard above the sink and searched through it, pushing bottles and tubes aside in his haste. A phial fell and shattered in the sink, sending up a noxious purple gas. Waving the fumes away, he shoved his arm deep into the cupboard and came out with a small, amber-colored bottle that resembled a perfume spritzer. Inside was a liquid ointment that should soothe his raw skin.

Carefully lowering his pants, he misted his penis and the surrounding area. There was an immediate cessation of the tender ache that'd begun sometime after his hallway wank. Using just his fingertips, he gently rubbed it in, feeling the oily liquid begin to spread cool relief, soothing the red skin and calming the burning ache.

He jerked his head around when a high-pitched beeping noise sounded from the monitor on the lab desk. The results he'd been waiting for! Tucking himself back in, he did up his trousers and then slid the bottle into his pocket.

He didn't know how long he had this time, but he figured it was only going to be another minute or two. Rushing to the monitor, he glanced at it quickly, eyes taking in everything as fast as it scrolled by on the screen. The flower! That bloody flower he'd licked back on Iut.

Would that teach him not to lick things anymore? He shrugged... probably not.

Ah, he thought, taking in the history of Iut. That explained why he was in the condition he was currently in and why the flower had been relegated to a sacred relic. They should put that in the brochure.

Eyes still flicking over the screen, he noted that there was an antidote, or... no, that he wouldn't do. Even though he suspected-- well, that was neither here nor there at the moment. Antidote it was then. He was pretty sure he had most of the stuff he needed, here on the TARDIS.

Not a Tandis Root though. They didn't keep well, and there really wasn't much call for them. Still, he could get one on Nmilport Three. He'd have to land between the two ice ages and sometime before the-- oh.

There was a familiar rush of blood to his cock. Lowering his pants, grateful for the ointment that'd nearly numbed the area, he continued to calculate the time in his head as he stroked himself.

He'd have to land sometime before the natives colonized the south parts of the giant continent and began to spread out and populate the planet. Before they were nearly killed off by the second freeze.

A wave of dizziness struck him and he reeled sideways. Reaching out with both hands, he grabbed the stool nearest him, but his weight tipped it over, and he stumbled. Shaking his head to clear it, he leaned against the lab desk and caught his breath. Low blood flow. His body was being starved of blood, and that was a problem. He needed to work faster or it was only going to get worse.

Returning to the business at hand, he got himself off as quickly as possible and headed off to the control room. Halfway out the door, he realized he would have to come back here to make the antidote, and that was after he'd gone outside to get the root. Maybe he should wake Rose, ask for her help.

No, that wasn't something he could do after the way he'd been treating her lately. She needed space from him and he wasn't going to force this on her.

It hit again two hallways from the med lab. It didn't take much for him to get off anymore. A few, quick strokes, a stray thought of Rose. But each time he came it was just as strong as the last time, which was just as strong as the first time. His body didn't have any semen anymore, but that didn't seem to matter.

Another hallway and he started to shiver.

Exhaustion weighed on him, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. Shock was starting, he knew, but he also knew that he'd have to push past it. His bypass system was the only thing keeping his blood flow going, but it couldn't halt the pain throbbing behind his eyes, or the chills that were starting to take him.

Blood flow was altered again, and he stopped to take care of himself. His hands yanked at the ends of his brown dress shirt, sending all the buttons flying. He spread the shirt ends aside to get to his cock. It was starting to hurt again, burning and aching with each new stroke.

Blinking to clear his eyes, he stared down the distance to the control room. Two more hallways and the distance from the door to the controls. Then around the console. Dreading the trip, he pulled his pants over himself and pushed away from the wall.

It took two more stops before he made it to the control room and stumbled to the console. His ship hummed and throbbed, the light soothing his aching eyes. Warmth poured into the room as he twisted the thermal dial up, blasting himself with the air. His clammy skin dried instantly, but the tingling in his fingers and toes began to worry him. And there was pain in his chest now, which meant his bypass system was starting to fail him.

"Nearly there," he told himself, speaking the words aloud to wake himself up. They sounded eerie in the darkened room, echoing this way and that. As he started the dematerialization sequence, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

Spinning around, he clutched at the console with frozen fingers. Dizziness swept through him again as he searched the surrounding area. When had the lights dimmed? He couldn't remember. Something was in here with him though. He could feel it. It was watching him. Stalking him.

Backing around the console, keeping his eyes on the corner by the doorway, he darted his eyes to the buttons that needed pushing and the dials that needed turned.

"Remeon," he mumbled, staring at the switch between his fingers. "Going to Remeon." But, why? And what was this switch for? Gyro settings. Or thermal inducers. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Remeon... okay. Antidote. Right. Thermal inducers, need those on.

He flipped the switch.

The TARDIS jerked hard to the left, sending him to the floor. He crashed onto the metal grating, landing on his right side, feeling the impact all up and down his body. And it was time again. Sitting up as well as he could, he quickly took care of it and stared at the console. It was a long way up and over. He was near the captain's chair, and he could barely kneel to get himself off. His arms felt like lead-filled balloons, his body bruised and battered.

But he seemed to be thinking more clearly for the moment. There was nothing in here, and the lights were still at normal. Anxiety was pouring through him, but he felt better. Warmer. In fact, he was sweating. After he came, he dropped his arms to his sides and just stayed there, breathing, focusing on pushing air in and out of his lungs. The heat in the room was beginning to get to him though, so he sloppily rolled up the cuffs of his shirt and pushed himself to a standing position.

The TARDIS pitched to the right and sent him reeling into the controls. His hands knocked into everything within reach, which just sent the TARDIS into an even more violent roll. Usually, he enjoyed this part of their trips, but not this time. Not now!

He only managed to right two switches before it was on him again. His breath came faster, though it wasn't due to arousal anymore. His lungs were starting to fail. And the fog was rolling back in. Dropping to his knees on the floor, feeling sharp pain as he landed, he stroked himself.

"Doctor, do you-- oh, my god!"

The Doctor came at the sound of her voice, back arching, breath hissing. He closed his eyes as pain burned through him, along with humiliation that Rose had found him like this.

Her voice, still on the far side of the room, drifted to him, the amusement in it clear enough. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. I'll just, um... go." Her feet barely made any sound on the metal grating and he realized she must be barefoot or in socks.

And she was leaving. Leaving him behind to deal with this problem on his own.

He tried to move, to stand up, to get control of his legs, but he couldn't find the energy. There was pain in his chest, just above his right heart, a sharp pain that shot through his arm. He was dying. Dying while Rose walked out the door and left him alone because he was too ashamed to ask for her help.

Blood wasn't getting to either of his hearts fast enough and his lungs were barely supplying him with enough oxygen. His brain would begin to shut down soon, as well as his kidneys. Heart failure was inevitable.

He had approximately thirty-four minutes to get the root, make the antidote, and take the cure before he was too far-gone to recover. And then regeneration.

He opened his mouth, dry, sore lips rebelling at the act, and whispered her name. "Rose." His voice was so low and so cracked that even he didn't hear his desperate plea above the hum of the TARDIS.

Rose couldn't have heard him from where she was and he didn't have enough strength to call out again.

Chapter 8- Trust Me On This.