Held in Trust Missing Scene: Loosening Bonds
Title: Held in Trust Missing Scene: Loosening Bonds
Characters/Pairings:Ten2/Rose
Rating: ADULT (some very mild bondage and kink but a whole lotta sex)
Summary: Rose teaches the Doctor a thing or two about control, and lack thereof.
Previous Chapters of Held in Trust: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
A/N: This is total PWP, occurring between Chapters 5 and 6 of Held in Trust. If you want to read this as a one-shot rather than a chapter of a longer fic, that's completely doable.
Rose stood in a light dressing gown, hands clasped behind her back, a few feet away from where the Doctor was reclining in bed.
"Now," she said authoritatively, "I reckon you don't like the feeling of not being in control because you've always associated it with bad things. Monsters, running for your life, the end of the universe, that sort of thing. So, what I think is called for is a little counter-conditioning."
Even the Doctor's deep intake of breath before he began speaking was irritatingly pedantic. "Replacing bad or unpleasant emotional responses to a stimulus with more pleasant, adaptive responses. A form of classical conditioning whereby--"
"Yes, I know what it is. You're not the only person in this house who can read a book. Now, to continue, I think what you need is to learn to associate loss of control with good things instead of bad things."
He furrowed his brow and gave her a sidelong, wary look. "How long was that drive from Glastonbury?"
"Two hours. It was very productive. Look, I made notes!" She reached behind her and displayed a crumpled piece of scrap paper with her rotund handwriting scrawled all over it.
"Oh, that can't have been safe."
"Shut up, I didn't ask for your opinion. 'Sides, we've been at this for, what, four months?" She waved her hands around to suggest that "this" meant the activities of the bedroom.
He pursed his lips for a quick second before sticking an index finger up pointedly. "Three months, twenty-seven days, a hundred--"
"That was a rhetorical question. What I mean is, I think it's high time we branched out. What we do, it's lovely and all, but I'd like to choose a dish from column B this time. Or, if you're a very, very good boy, column C." She winked and licked her lips in a manner she sincerely hoped was seductive.
"Column what?"
"Quiet. I don't think you're quite grasping the name of the game here. I ask the questions, and you answer them. Full stop."
He shut his mouth with a click, and she pulled her notes out again, running a finger over them.
"Right. You've had a bath, yes?"
He eyed her suspiciously before answering with a nod.
"That time I really did ask a question. Did you wash everywhere?"
"Yes."
"Oh well done!" She untied the sash holding her dressing gown and let it fall open to reveal a short silk peignoir that the Doctor had never seen before. At least, he was fairly certain that he would have remembered such a gloriously tactile lacy, silky, form-fitting extravaganza for the senses. He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of needing to do various happy things involving his hands and that silk, but quickly shut it again. She watched him with a knowing look and gave a low chuckle.
"I may have made a stop or two on the way back. But good job, you, for not giving me twenty questions about my choice of lingerie. You are a quick study." She let the dressing gown fall completely off her shoulders and on to the floor. "Now," she continued, still not approaching the bed, where the Doctor was beginning to feel quite bereft indeed, "standard operating procedure at this point is for me to let you know that if you say...oh, I don't know...bananas--If you say bananas, it's class dismissed, yeah? Though I do have a strong hunch that won't be necessary. Are you ready for your first lesson?"
His brow remained comically wrinkled and his eyebrows formed two perfect little isosceles triangles. "I guess?"
"Try to contain your enthusiasm when confronted with my nearly naked body," she said archly. He said nothing in reply, but made a conscious attempt to look more relaxed and keen.
"In deference to your current disability, we'll take this lesson nice and easy." Reaching over to what looked like a pile of fabric on the wardrobe and grabbing a handful of something silky and ribbony, the edges of her mouth twitched in to a tiny little smile. "I'll be gentle."
She suddenly sprung forward and in one quick move had the back of his head in her hands and was tying a blindfold on. He opened his mouth to protest but felt a warm finger touch his lips. The imprint of it seemed to linger like a pleasurable bruise, and his pulse beat harder and quicker where she had touched. He hadn't realised until this moment how aroused he was feeling, and the liquid warmth of her touch spread outward before dissipating frustratingly.
"Now, now," she purred, a disembodied voice moving about the room again, "you were doing so well."
Before he had time to consider the simple act of removing the blindfold, and the less simple task of manoeuvring around one-legged in pursuit of Rose, he felt her grip his wrist. Her hands had always surprised him with their strength. They were not the hands of an aristocrat or an heiress, but of a shop girl and a warrior; sure, broad, completely lacking reticence or hesitation in anything they did. And what they did now was both powerfully erotic and utterly alarming.
Rose stepped back and admired her handiwork, smiling to herself. No one else would be able to see her sly grin, or the way she stood with her hands on her hips, taking in the vision of the Doctor, naked as the day he was metacrisis-ed, blindfolded, hands tied together and attached the headboard. Given that it was November, she gave in to her more nurturing side and threw a sheet over him to keep him warm, laughing at how his erection brazenly tented it. She could see the muscles of his jaw moving at his temples as he fought the impulse to narrate this new experience.
"I know how badly you want to talk right now." She sat on the end of the bed by his feet, being very careful not to touch any part of him. "You want to tell me all about how turned on you are, or maybe about how completely mad you think I am. Always talking, always giving a commentary, always so you can feel in control. If you can't create a situation, at least you can name it."
With his eyes shielded from her view, his expression was unreadable and Rose felt a pang of uncertainty and insecurity in her ability to run this game. She got fully on to the bed and knelt next to his chest, watching the rise and fall, the single pulse fluttering at his neck.
"Now, Doctor," she whispered, ducking her head close to his ear, "tell me, do you want to touch me?"
He licked his lips and swallowed before answering simply and hoarsely, "Yes."
She moved back away from him again, and as she did so a stray strand of hair brushed across his shoulder. He shuddered and reflexively strained at his bonds, turning his head to the side in a vain attempt to see her there. He'd never felt anything like it. Such a simple thing, just a bit of hair--hair that he touched twenty times a day and picked out of the shower drain before his baths--transformed in to something otherworldly. It felt like silk, like water, like the petals of a flower falling over his skin.
Rose sat back on her heels and watched his whole series of responses to just that insignificant amount of contact. It had all been quite academic for her up to this point, but no longer. The silk of her nightgown slipped across her hardening nipples and she shifted in such a way as to make it happen again, goosebumps creeping across the skin of her arms.
She slowly pulled the sheet back off of his chest, and laid a palm flat on to his stomach, made all the more concave due to the position of his arms above his head. He reacted immediately, the muscles of his abdomen contracting and a sharp intake of breath making his chest rise.
"I could just go watch television, or lay here and read a book, or I could do things that I've been fantasising about for weeks. But it's not up to you, so just take it as it comes, yeah? " She grinned at her unintentional pun and loved that she didn't have to maintain any particular mien to keep up the mood. "The pressure's off for you, you lucky git!"
Tracing the contours of his rib cage, she suppressed the urge to tickle. That really would be too cruel for someone with no way to cover their armpits, and sadomasochism was not on her agenda for the evening. With just one finger, tracing lines and shapes all over his torso, she was reducing his breathing to ragged, shuddering gasps, and it was immensely gratifying. She leaned forward and placed an open-mouthed kiss right above his hip bone, running her tongue across the oblique muscles of his abdomen, and he was unable to keep from moaning with the pleasure of it. He brought his uninjured foot up, bending his knee and using the leverage to raise his hips off the bed.
Rose sat back up and ran a hand down his thigh, pushing his leg back down on to the sheets. "I'll tie that up too, if I have to." She felt the muscles of his leg relax again, though his foot flexed and pointed with the same rhythm as his hips rocking up and back, which in turn kept a faltering time with the pulse standing out at the major arteries of his groin.
She leaned over his body to kiss his other hip and let her hair brush over his cock, which was already as hard as she'd ever seen it, maintaining its own rhythm, searching for touch and warmth.
"It's so good for me too, you see," Rose continued with her lesson. "Because when you always take control, pleasuring me and worshipping me--and don't get me wrong, I am a goddess and you should certainly pay obeisance at every available opportunity--it robs me of the opportunity to do the same for you." She spoke the words in to the little hollow below his rib cage, where she could see the blue arteries of his single circulatory system performing the miracle of his life. "And I want to. I want to so much, and you never let me. So you'll forgive me if perhaps I'm being a little extreme in righting this grave wrong. Do you want me to shut up now, Doctor?"
The Doctor had sunk completely in to the visual deprivation of the blindfold and no longer strained his eyes or even opened them. The binds at his wrists were slightly uncomfortable but not enough to cancel out the glorious feel of Rose's soft, full lips against his skin. This question, however, seemed very much like a trap.
"Er," he stammered, and then completely forgot what the question even was as she ran her warm tongue over his nipple, "Do I want you to...oh." It was like the engine of his mind finally turned over and began to hum, and he knew the answer as if whispered in his ear by an outside force. "Do whatever you want."
Rose had now placed one hand on either side of his shoulders and he could feel the feather-light silk of her nightie just barely hovering over his collar bone. Her breath was sweet and warm as it brushed over his jaw. "Whatever I want?" He felt her move in closer, almost covering his body with hers now, the warmth of her creating an aura over his own skin.
"Yes," he moaned as she took an earlobe in to her mouth and quietly sucked, just the way he liked it, just enough to ignite all the nerve-endings on one whole side of his body but not so much that it sounded all loud and vulgar in his ear.
"So if I wanted to do this--" she ran a finger down the line of his jaw and over his lips, inviting him to take it in to his mouth, which he did with enthusiasm, "If I wanted you to do that, you would, as much or as little as I needed."
He made a low noise in his throat as he ran his tongue around the pad of her finger, and the warm, close feel of his mouth gave her an idea. She slowly pulled her finger back out and licked her own lips. "And if I wanted to ignore you completely, and just pleasure my own self, I could do that." She knelt on the bed next to him and hiked her nightgown up over her hips so that the smell of her arousal permeated the air around them.
The Doctor's mouth formed a perfect little circle for a moment and his tongue darted out to feel around the corners, as it did when he was driven to distraction by lust.
"Could I do that, Doctor?" she asked again, bringing her hand down across the silk covering her breasts and thrilling to the slippery sensation.
"You...you do what you want," he sighed, and bucked his hips sharply, even though no part of her was touching any part of him. "Please do what you want."
She ran a finger quickly across her centre and then placed it at his lips to suck again. "Oh, now that sounded like a request, and you don't get to do any requesting." She removed her finger again and he nibbled on his bottom lip to get every last bit of the taste of her that he could. "I will do whatever I want, whether you ask me to or not. And now I think I'd like for you to see me."
With little preamble she removed the blindfold and the Doctor saw that she'd dimmed all the lights in the room and lit a couple of candles. The shimmering light reflected off the silk of her peignoir, which she had hiked up again so he could see that she was not wearing any knickers. Without even thinking about it, he made a move to reach out and stroke the little curls between her legs, only to be instantly rebuffed by his bonds.
Rose noticed his aborted attempt to touch her and smiled benevolently as she reached her own hand down and brushed it softly there. He relaxed again in to the pillows, though his eyes remained wide, bright and animated, as if he weren't quite sure where to look next now that he'd been granted at least four human senses back.
Keeping one hand occupied with distracted circles around the outer edges of her sex, she slid the other over her breasts again and grinned at the resultant sensations. Being watched by the deep, fathomless pools of the Doctor's eyes was an erotic experience in and of itself, and Rose had fantasised about this long before she'd determined to make a life lesson of the whole thing. Long before, in fact, she'd ever met her new new new Doctor.
She felt the need for decisive action--once the tumble towards completion began for both of them she felt it would probably not be a very long fall. She lacked the discipline, and he'd only been in a human body for four months, still frequently behaving like a teenager; overawed and easily impressed by the profundities of fucking.
The Doctor felt his need for her even below the pit of his stomach, if there was such a place. His erection was becoming painful in a still mostly pleasurable way--though how long that would last seemed an important question. He clenched his jaw again to stifle the undignified stream of supplication and begging that threatened to well up as he helplessly watched her run a thumb over a pebbled nipple, and press her palm flat over the outside of her centre. She smelled glorious, looked like she was one of the dancing flames that shifted the shadows of the room continuously as she knelt beside him, her knees causing the bed to slope towards her. Even that sensation caused him agony, feeling the physical laws of the universe functioning due to her proximity.
In his later memory of the evening, he recalled that he merely blinked and suddenly she was straddling him, one knee on either side of his chest. He saw her index and middle finger pressing and pulsing against herself, he saw the glint of the moisture within her folds, and he saw the outlines of her firm, high breasts as she cupped one in her own hand, shifting the fabric over it and causing her to moan with pleasure. Completely outside of his own volition, he let fly with a string of vulgar nonsense, with a few choice words of Gallifreyan thrown in for good measure. He felt like a steam works and there had to be a way to relieve some pressure lest he explode in a way that might prove both embarrassing and ugly.
Rose looked down on him from on high, her lips parted and moving subtly in time with the work of her busy hands. A deep flush was spreading from her breast up her neck and in to her face and her breathing quickened.
"You get a freebie on that, as I'm feeling rather..." she paused and shut her eyes as she apparently hit a particularly magnificent spot. "Rather generous. Oh!"
She rocked her hips forward and the Doctor was more fully able to see her enter herself with one finger, then slide it out again, and he positively ached in his need to occupy that very same place. He groaned and bucked his hips, sliding his good foot around at the end of the bed looking for purchase. There were mere inches between them, if only she would move back a bit-- The thought was too good to be allowed to continue and he tried to push it from his mind.
Her pace quickened and she shut her eyes, tossing her head back and pausing only long enough to grasp her nightgown, pull it over her head and fling it off to the side. He could now see the movement of her breasts as she rocked and worked her hand deftly, and it was quite simply too much. Her nipples were the pink-gold of heirloom apples, both of them hard and standing out against the velvet skin of her breasts. To touch them, to take them in his mouth and feel around each crease with his tongue, to taste the sweat of her passion, it was the only thing he wanted in the entire world.
She was moaning softly now, to herself, to no one in particular, as if he were not even there--though in her mind's eye she saw him still, watching, wanting her, powerless, and it drove her wild. The activity of bringing herself off could very well be a mechanical march from Point A to Point B, and had been plenty of times. Just a way to blow off steam, get her head back in the game, pass a little bit of idle time. But the feelings she was experiencing now were entirely due to his presence and she keened his name finally as she surrendered all self-control to the urgent need to complete the sequence.
The Doctor was surprised to hear her calling his name, having felt not so much a part of her pleasure as a voyeur, and he answered her back, imagining that he was feeling her hands on him, that instead of stroking herself she was stroking him, and it was nearly enough, so close to being enough it was maddening. All she had to do was reach behind her, just one touch from her would send him in to orbit, but she kept her hands to herself, biting her bottom lip, concentrating, furrowing her brow and finally shouting and thrusting her hips forward while tossing her head back as she came.
She rode the waves of her orgasm by clutching her whole hand over her sex, and he felt hot droplets sliding down over him in a pale imitation of what it would be like to actually be inside her.
As Rose returned to reality, he was still about to shatter. The warmth that had poured down on him now was giving way to cold again, and creating contrasting sensations that had him delineating distinct areas of his body in a way he never had before. It felt more real than real, each nerve ending on fire, then ice, then fire again.
Once Rose had given herself a quick moment to reconvene all of her senses, she looked down again at the Doctor and saw a man that was about to come apart at every seam. He had done so well, had laid back and watched and wanted her but said nothing, done nothing, had not struggled nor begged. He had earned his reward and she was so glad to give it to him.
As she tasted herself on him, she had to place a hand on each of his hip bones to keep him from arching up in to her and getting an unwelcome introduction to her teeth. He completely lost all inhibition about shouting, and each prolonged cry seemed ripped from his throat as she ran her tongue up and down the sides of his length before finally, oh finally she took him completely in to her mouth and with one gentle suck she found herself swallowing and giving little licks and finally letting go of her hold on his hips, allowing him to rock gently as the last tremors of his orgasm moved through him.
Once she had untied his hands, and planted tender kisses along his wrists where they had reddened and chafed, she settled in to the crook of his arm and spent a long time listening to his heart beating while enjoying the slowing rise and fall of his chest. Feeling her own pulse, she did an experiment to see if she could sync her heart to his, but alas it's a muscle with an agenda of its own and she went back to running a hand through the spray of hair on his chest and sighing deeply every minute or so until sleep crept over both of them.
(To Chapter 6: Human vs. Alien)
Characters/Pairings:Ten2/Rose
Rating: ADULT (some very mild bondage and kink but a whole lotta sex)
Summary: Rose teaches the Doctor a thing or two about control, and lack thereof.
Previous Chapters of Held in Trust: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
A/N: This is total PWP, occurring between Chapters 5 and 6 of Held in Trust. If you want to read this as a one-shot rather than a chapter of a longer fic, that's completely doable.
Rose stood in a light dressing gown, hands clasped behind her back, a few feet away from where the Doctor was reclining in bed.
"Now," she said authoritatively, "I reckon you don't like the feeling of not being in control because you've always associated it with bad things. Monsters, running for your life, the end of the universe, that sort of thing. So, what I think is called for is a little counter-conditioning."
Even the Doctor's deep intake of breath before he began speaking was irritatingly pedantic. "Replacing bad or unpleasant emotional responses to a stimulus with more pleasant, adaptive responses. A form of classical conditioning whereby--"
"Yes, I know what it is. You're not the only person in this house who can read a book. Now, to continue, I think what you need is to learn to associate loss of control with good things instead of bad things."
He furrowed his brow and gave her a sidelong, wary look. "How long was that drive from Glastonbury?"
"Two hours. It was very productive. Look, I made notes!" She reached behind her and displayed a crumpled piece of scrap paper with her rotund handwriting scrawled all over it.
"Oh, that can't have been safe."
"Shut up, I didn't ask for your opinion. 'Sides, we've been at this for, what, four months?" She waved her hands around to suggest that "this" meant the activities of the bedroom.
He pursed his lips for a quick second before sticking an index finger up pointedly. "Three months, twenty-seven days, a hundred--"
"That was a rhetorical question. What I mean is, I think it's high time we branched out. What we do, it's lovely and all, but I'd like to choose a dish from column B this time. Or, if you're a very, very good boy, column C." She winked and licked her lips in a manner she sincerely hoped was seductive.
"Column what?"
"Quiet. I don't think you're quite grasping the name of the game here. I ask the questions, and you answer them. Full stop."
He shut his mouth with a click, and she pulled her notes out again, running a finger over them.
"Right. You've had a bath, yes?"
He eyed her suspiciously before answering with a nod.
"That time I really did ask a question. Did you wash everywhere?"
"Yes."
"Oh well done!" She untied the sash holding her dressing gown and let it fall open to reveal a short silk peignoir that the Doctor had never seen before. At least, he was fairly certain that he would have remembered such a gloriously tactile lacy, silky, form-fitting extravaganza for the senses. He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of needing to do various happy things involving his hands and that silk, but quickly shut it again. She watched him with a knowing look and gave a low chuckle.
"I may have made a stop or two on the way back. But good job, you, for not giving me twenty questions about my choice of lingerie. You are a quick study." She let the dressing gown fall completely off her shoulders and on to the floor. "Now," she continued, still not approaching the bed, where the Doctor was beginning to feel quite bereft indeed, "standard operating procedure at this point is for me to let you know that if you say...oh, I don't know...bananas--If you say bananas, it's class dismissed, yeah? Though I do have a strong hunch that won't be necessary. Are you ready for your first lesson?"
His brow remained comically wrinkled and his eyebrows formed two perfect little isosceles triangles. "I guess?"
"Try to contain your enthusiasm when confronted with my nearly naked body," she said archly. He said nothing in reply, but made a conscious attempt to look more relaxed and keen.
"In deference to your current disability, we'll take this lesson nice and easy." Reaching over to what looked like a pile of fabric on the wardrobe and grabbing a handful of something silky and ribbony, the edges of her mouth twitched in to a tiny little smile. "I'll be gentle."
She suddenly sprung forward and in one quick move had the back of his head in her hands and was tying a blindfold on. He opened his mouth to protest but felt a warm finger touch his lips. The imprint of it seemed to linger like a pleasurable bruise, and his pulse beat harder and quicker where she had touched. He hadn't realised until this moment how aroused he was feeling, and the liquid warmth of her touch spread outward before dissipating frustratingly.
"Now, now," she purred, a disembodied voice moving about the room again, "you were doing so well."
Before he had time to consider the simple act of removing the blindfold, and the less simple task of manoeuvring around one-legged in pursuit of Rose, he felt her grip his wrist. Her hands had always surprised him with their strength. They were not the hands of an aristocrat or an heiress, but of a shop girl and a warrior; sure, broad, completely lacking reticence or hesitation in anything they did. And what they did now was both powerfully erotic and utterly alarming.
Rose stepped back and admired her handiwork, smiling to herself. No one else would be able to see her sly grin, or the way she stood with her hands on her hips, taking in the vision of the Doctor, naked as the day he was metacrisis-ed, blindfolded, hands tied together and attached the headboard. Given that it was November, she gave in to her more nurturing side and threw a sheet over him to keep him warm, laughing at how his erection brazenly tented it. She could see the muscles of his jaw moving at his temples as he fought the impulse to narrate this new experience.
"I know how badly you want to talk right now." She sat on the end of the bed by his feet, being very careful not to touch any part of him. "You want to tell me all about how turned on you are, or maybe about how completely mad you think I am. Always talking, always giving a commentary, always so you can feel in control. If you can't create a situation, at least you can name it."
With his eyes shielded from her view, his expression was unreadable and Rose felt a pang of uncertainty and insecurity in her ability to run this game. She got fully on to the bed and knelt next to his chest, watching the rise and fall, the single pulse fluttering at his neck.
"Now, Doctor," she whispered, ducking her head close to his ear, "tell me, do you want to touch me?"
He licked his lips and swallowed before answering simply and hoarsely, "Yes."
She moved back away from him again, and as she did so a stray strand of hair brushed across his shoulder. He shuddered and reflexively strained at his bonds, turning his head to the side in a vain attempt to see her there. He'd never felt anything like it. Such a simple thing, just a bit of hair--hair that he touched twenty times a day and picked out of the shower drain before his baths--transformed in to something otherworldly. It felt like silk, like water, like the petals of a flower falling over his skin.
Rose sat back on her heels and watched his whole series of responses to just that insignificant amount of contact. It had all been quite academic for her up to this point, but no longer. The silk of her nightgown slipped across her hardening nipples and she shifted in such a way as to make it happen again, goosebumps creeping across the skin of her arms.
She slowly pulled the sheet back off of his chest, and laid a palm flat on to his stomach, made all the more concave due to the position of his arms above his head. He reacted immediately, the muscles of his abdomen contracting and a sharp intake of breath making his chest rise.
"I could just go watch television, or lay here and read a book, or I could do things that I've been fantasising about for weeks. But it's not up to you, so just take it as it comes, yeah? " She grinned at her unintentional pun and loved that she didn't have to maintain any particular mien to keep up the mood. "The pressure's off for you, you lucky git!"
Tracing the contours of his rib cage, she suppressed the urge to tickle. That really would be too cruel for someone with no way to cover their armpits, and sadomasochism was not on her agenda for the evening. With just one finger, tracing lines and shapes all over his torso, she was reducing his breathing to ragged, shuddering gasps, and it was immensely gratifying. She leaned forward and placed an open-mouthed kiss right above his hip bone, running her tongue across the oblique muscles of his abdomen, and he was unable to keep from moaning with the pleasure of it. He brought his uninjured foot up, bending his knee and using the leverage to raise his hips off the bed.
Rose sat back up and ran a hand down his thigh, pushing his leg back down on to the sheets. "I'll tie that up too, if I have to." She felt the muscles of his leg relax again, though his foot flexed and pointed with the same rhythm as his hips rocking up and back, which in turn kept a faltering time with the pulse standing out at the major arteries of his groin.
She leaned over his body to kiss his other hip and let her hair brush over his cock, which was already as hard as she'd ever seen it, maintaining its own rhythm, searching for touch and warmth.
"It's so good for me too, you see," Rose continued with her lesson. "Because when you always take control, pleasuring me and worshipping me--and don't get me wrong, I am a goddess and you should certainly pay obeisance at every available opportunity--it robs me of the opportunity to do the same for you." She spoke the words in to the little hollow below his rib cage, where she could see the blue arteries of his single circulatory system performing the miracle of his life. "And I want to. I want to so much, and you never let me. So you'll forgive me if perhaps I'm being a little extreme in righting this grave wrong. Do you want me to shut up now, Doctor?"
The Doctor had sunk completely in to the visual deprivation of the blindfold and no longer strained his eyes or even opened them. The binds at his wrists were slightly uncomfortable but not enough to cancel out the glorious feel of Rose's soft, full lips against his skin. This question, however, seemed very much like a trap.
"Er," he stammered, and then completely forgot what the question even was as she ran her warm tongue over his nipple, "Do I want you to...oh." It was like the engine of his mind finally turned over and began to hum, and he knew the answer as if whispered in his ear by an outside force. "Do whatever you want."
Rose had now placed one hand on either side of his shoulders and he could feel the feather-light silk of her nightie just barely hovering over his collar bone. Her breath was sweet and warm as it brushed over his jaw. "Whatever I want?" He felt her move in closer, almost covering his body with hers now, the warmth of her creating an aura over his own skin.
"Yes," he moaned as she took an earlobe in to her mouth and quietly sucked, just the way he liked it, just enough to ignite all the nerve-endings on one whole side of his body but not so much that it sounded all loud and vulgar in his ear.
"So if I wanted to do this--" she ran a finger down the line of his jaw and over his lips, inviting him to take it in to his mouth, which he did with enthusiasm, "If I wanted you to do that, you would, as much or as little as I needed."
He made a low noise in his throat as he ran his tongue around the pad of her finger, and the warm, close feel of his mouth gave her an idea. She slowly pulled her finger back out and licked her own lips. "And if I wanted to ignore you completely, and just pleasure my own self, I could do that." She knelt on the bed next to him and hiked her nightgown up over her hips so that the smell of her arousal permeated the air around them.
The Doctor's mouth formed a perfect little circle for a moment and his tongue darted out to feel around the corners, as it did when he was driven to distraction by lust.
"Could I do that, Doctor?" she asked again, bringing her hand down across the silk covering her breasts and thrilling to the slippery sensation.
"You...you do what you want," he sighed, and bucked his hips sharply, even though no part of her was touching any part of him. "Please do what you want."
She ran a finger quickly across her centre and then placed it at his lips to suck again. "Oh, now that sounded like a request, and you don't get to do any requesting." She removed her finger again and he nibbled on his bottom lip to get every last bit of the taste of her that he could. "I will do whatever I want, whether you ask me to or not. And now I think I'd like for you to see me."
With little preamble she removed the blindfold and the Doctor saw that she'd dimmed all the lights in the room and lit a couple of candles. The shimmering light reflected off the silk of her peignoir, which she had hiked up again so he could see that she was not wearing any knickers. Without even thinking about it, he made a move to reach out and stroke the little curls between her legs, only to be instantly rebuffed by his bonds.
Rose noticed his aborted attempt to touch her and smiled benevolently as she reached her own hand down and brushed it softly there. He relaxed again in to the pillows, though his eyes remained wide, bright and animated, as if he weren't quite sure where to look next now that he'd been granted at least four human senses back.
Keeping one hand occupied with distracted circles around the outer edges of her sex, she slid the other over her breasts again and grinned at the resultant sensations. Being watched by the deep, fathomless pools of the Doctor's eyes was an erotic experience in and of itself, and Rose had fantasised about this long before she'd determined to make a life lesson of the whole thing. Long before, in fact, she'd ever met her new new new Doctor.
She felt the need for decisive action--once the tumble towards completion began for both of them she felt it would probably not be a very long fall. She lacked the discipline, and he'd only been in a human body for four months, still frequently behaving like a teenager; overawed and easily impressed by the profundities of fucking.
The Doctor felt his need for her even below the pit of his stomach, if there was such a place. His erection was becoming painful in a still mostly pleasurable way--though how long that would last seemed an important question. He clenched his jaw again to stifle the undignified stream of supplication and begging that threatened to well up as he helplessly watched her run a thumb over a pebbled nipple, and press her palm flat over the outside of her centre. She smelled glorious, looked like she was one of the dancing flames that shifted the shadows of the room continuously as she knelt beside him, her knees causing the bed to slope towards her. Even that sensation caused him agony, feeling the physical laws of the universe functioning due to her proximity.
In his later memory of the evening, he recalled that he merely blinked and suddenly she was straddling him, one knee on either side of his chest. He saw her index and middle finger pressing and pulsing against herself, he saw the glint of the moisture within her folds, and he saw the outlines of her firm, high breasts as she cupped one in her own hand, shifting the fabric over it and causing her to moan with pleasure. Completely outside of his own volition, he let fly with a string of vulgar nonsense, with a few choice words of Gallifreyan thrown in for good measure. He felt like a steam works and there had to be a way to relieve some pressure lest he explode in a way that might prove both embarrassing and ugly.
Rose looked down on him from on high, her lips parted and moving subtly in time with the work of her busy hands. A deep flush was spreading from her breast up her neck and in to her face and her breathing quickened.
"You get a freebie on that, as I'm feeling rather..." she paused and shut her eyes as she apparently hit a particularly magnificent spot. "Rather generous. Oh!"
She rocked her hips forward and the Doctor was more fully able to see her enter herself with one finger, then slide it out again, and he positively ached in his need to occupy that very same place. He groaned and bucked his hips, sliding his good foot around at the end of the bed looking for purchase. There were mere inches between them, if only she would move back a bit-- The thought was too good to be allowed to continue and he tried to push it from his mind.
Her pace quickened and she shut her eyes, tossing her head back and pausing only long enough to grasp her nightgown, pull it over her head and fling it off to the side. He could now see the movement of her breasts as she rocked and worked her hand deftly, and it was quite simply too much. Her nipples were the pink-gold of heirloom apples, both of them hard and standing out against the velvet skin of her breasts. To touch them, to take them in his mouth and feel around each crease with his tongue, to taste the sweat of her passion, it was the only thing he wanted in the entire world.
She was moaning softly now, to herself, to no one in particular, as if he were not even there--though in her mind's eye she saw him still, watching, wanting her, powerless, and it drove her wild. The activity of bringing herself off could very well be a mechanical march from Point A to Point B, and had been plenty of times. Just a way to blow off steam, get her head back in the game, pass a little bit of idle time. But the feelings she was experiencing now were entirely due to his presence and she keened his name finally as she surrendered all self-control to the urgent need to complete the sequence.
The Doctor was surprised to hear her calling his name, having felt not so much a part of her pleasure as a voyeur, and he answered her back, imagining that he was feeling her hands on him, that instead of stroking herself she was stroking him, and it was nearly enough, so close to being enough it was maddening. All she had to do was reach behind her, just one touch from her would send him in to orbit, but she kept her hands to herself, biting her bottom lip, concentrating, furrowing her brow and finally shouting and thrusting her hips forward while tossing her head back as she came.
She rode the waves of her orgasm by clutching her whole hand over her sex, and he felt hot droplets sliding down over him in a pale imitation of what it would be like to actually be inside her.
As Rose returned to reality, he was still about to shatter. The warmth that had poured down on him now was giving way to cold again, and creating contrasting sensations that had him delineating distinct areas of his body in a way he never had before. It felt more real than real, each nerve ending on fire, then ice, then fire again.
Once Rose had given herself a quick moment to reconvene all of her senses, she looked down again at the Doctor and saw a man that was about to come apart at every seam. He had done so well, had laid back and watched and wanted her but said nothing, done nothing, had not struggled nor begged. He had earned his reward and she was so glad to give it to him.
As she tasted herself on him, she had to place a hand on each of his hip bones to keep him from arching up in to her and getting an unwelcome introduction to her teeth. He completely lost all inhibition about shouting, and each prolonged cry seemed ripped from his throat as she ran her tongue up and down the sides of his length before finally, oh finally she took him completely in to her mouth and with one gentle suck she found herself swallowing and giving little licks and finally letting go of her hold on his hips, allowing him to rock gently as the last tremors of his orgasm moved through him.
Once she had untied his hands, and planted tender kisses along his wrists where they had reddened and chafed, she settled in to the crook of his arm and spent a long time listening to his heart beating while enjoying the slowing rise and fall of his chest. Feeling her own pulse, she did an experiment to see if she could sync her heart to his, but alas it's a muscle with an agenda of its own and she went back to running a hand through the spray of hair on his chest and sighing deeply every minute or so until sleep crept over both of them.
(To Chapter 6: Human vs. Alien)