wishiknewwho | Miles to Go: My Love on Christmas Day

Title: My Love, On Christmas Day
Author: wishiknewwho
Rating: Teenish
Characters: Ten / Rose, OC (Kira)
Dislcaimer: I don't own Doctor Who and it's probably just as well that I don't because it'd be nothing but hugs and hair ruffling for the foreseeable future. Title taken from the song "Christmas Day" by Dido.
Spoilers: None for DW; takes place in a world where Doomsday never happened. However, if you intend to read my fic Miles to Go and don't want it spoiled, you might want to wait on this one.
Summary: Mistletoe.
Author Notes:Probably the last until Friday. Merry Christmas! Beta'ed by the excellent

nipplemuggins and

salimali .

The flat was quiet. The Doctor turned a page of his book, the sound loud in the empty bedroom. He was stretched out on the bed, waiting for Rose to join him. He slept very little, and he saw no point in even attempting sleep until she was with him, held firmly in his arms. He wouldn’t deny it: he’d become a little spoiled in the past couple of weeks.

Rose was tucking Kira into bed, a task that could take anywhere from five minutes to twenty, depending on how tired Kira was and how argumentative she felt like being. Rose would never admit it, always liked to act like she had such a firm hand with their daughter, but she was wrapped around Kira’s finger just as much as he was. If Kira wanted to stay up later, there was no doubt she would.

The words blurred on the page and the Doctor felt himself drifting off. He didn’t need sleep, maybe a few hours a week at most, but he’d got used to it since he’d moved in with Rose and Kira. It had started with going to bed with Rose, wanting to be with her when she lay down, to hold her as she fell asleep. He’d usually lie there with her for a bit, then get up and find something to do. He’d return an hour or so before she usually woke.

Only, he started sleeping more and more. The cool, dark room, the soft duvet, the weight of Rose in his arms, and the soothing sound of her slow breaths all combined to lull him into sleep. He found himself sleeping a few hours each night, more on some nights. He was falling into her patterns, her rhythms, and he loved it. He felt better, more alive than he usually did, and he liked that they could share that time together, even if it wasn’t for the entire night.

He ran his finger along the page, tracing the words, pretending to read. He heard the rattle of the door opening and he closed the book and looked up expectantly. Then he quickly grabbed the book again, opening it to a random page. He didn’t want Rose to think he’d been just sitting there waiting for her.

She stepped in the room and gently closed the door behind her. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and a small, enigmatic smile curved her lips. He noticed that one hand was behind her back.

“Didn’t you finish that one a couple of days ago?” she asked, impishly gesturing at his book with the hand that was still in front of her.

He looked down at the book in his hands and then back to her. He barely managed to stutter out a retort. “Yeah, well I liked it,” he said defensively. “Surely I’m not the first to read a book twice.”

The mischievous look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe a word he said. She lifted her shoulders, shrugging, then moved slowly but determinedly toward him.

“What have you got behind your back?” he asked her suspiciously, craning his neck, trying to see what she was hiding.

“Kira’s asleep,” she said, ignoring his question, moving steadily closer to the bed.

Interested and intrigued, he moved to place his book on the bedside table, never taking his eyes off her. “Is she?” he asked, his voice dropping to a lower register. He wasn’t sure what Rose was on about, but from the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes, he was pretty sure it had something to do with sex.

“Yes,” Rose said, nodding. “She wanted a story, so I told her the one about the time we were trapped in that white prison cell and had nothing to do but count ceiling tiles. She was out in minutes.”

The Doctor chuckled. “No wonder. That was quite possibly one of the most boring nights of my life.” He sat up a little. “Now what are you hiding, Rose Tyler?”

She still didn’t answer him, but stopped at the edge of the bed and pushed him back against the headboard. “Lie still,” she said, the tone of her voice more playful than commanding.

He did as she asked, and as soon as he was in position, she straddled his legs. He tried to reach behind her back, but before he could, she was moving her hand to dangle whatever she was holding over their heads.

She pressed her lips to his, giving him a short, but promising kiss. “Look up, Doctor,” she whispered when he pulled back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

He did as she asked and what he saw made him grin. “Mistletoe,” he said.

“Mistletoe,” she agreed. She rocked her hips against him, and he let out a little moan. She laughed at him, and he vowed to get his revenge, just as soon as his mind started working again.

Reaching up, she attached the mistletoe to the top rung of their bed. Once she was finished, she sat back, looking at the little piece of greenery and then to him. “I thought that I’d give you a lesson in human traditions tonight,” she said, her lips curving into a grin. “That above your head is mistletoe.” She pointed, her hand close enough to his face that he was able to turn his head and softly kiss her fingers. He watched the way her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, entranced.

The Doctor knew what mistletoe was, and knew the tradition behind it. He probably knew more about its history than Rose did. But she was sitting on top of him, the light in her eyes telling him that not only did she want to be in control, but that if he kept his big mouth shut, he would be richly rewarded. So he did just that, and kept quiet while she talked.

She went on. “The rule with mistletoe is that anytime you’re underneath it with another person, you have to kiss them. As you can see, it is directly above our heads.”

He reached up, cupping her cheeks, and pulled her down to him for another kiss. “I like this tradition,” he said against her lips. His fingers trailed down her neck, then glided down to the bottom of her t-shirt, slowly lifting it up and over her head. His hands mapped out her warm skin, taking time to search out all of the places that he knew would make her sigh. She inched his own t-shirt up and he manoeuvred to sit up; working together, they took it off. He pulled her closer to him, marvelling at the feeling of her skin against his.

She brought her lips to his again, kissing him deeply. “This might become my favourite Christmas tradition,” she said, brushing her nose with his.

“Oh yes,” he agreed. He wanted her, badly, and he couldn’t resist her when she was being flirty and smiling at him like that. “Although, I think we’re doing the mistletoe a disservice.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, wondering if she would take his bait.

She did. “How so?” she asked, her eyebrow arching, copying his.

He kissed her lips, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and then neatly flipped them. He gazed down at her, wanting nothing more than to get lost inside of her, to while away the winter night with this woman he loved more than he ever thought possible. “Well, it’s doing its job, hanging there and all that, and we’re not kissing nearly enough.”

“You don’t think?” she asked, lifting up to peck his lips.

“Certainly not. I don’t think there’s such a thing as kissing you enough,” he replied, his lips meeting hers. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue gently touching hers again and again as his hands worked her bottoms and knickers down her legs. He could feel her doing the same with his boxers, and then there was nothing between them.

He was just about to move inside of her when Rose flipped them again. She held his hands in hers, pinning him to the bed playfully. “I thought I told you to lie still,” she said.

“You might’ve done,” he said, grinning cheekily at her, lifting his hips just enough to make her eyes close, to break her concentration for just a moment. “But now you’re not minding the mistletoe. It’s been a good thirty-seven seconds since you kissed me, Rose.”

She clucked her tongue. “Can’t have that,” she replied, letting go of his hands so that she could cover his body with her own and kiss him properly.

When she finally pulled away, he was a little breathless. Rose was quite possibly the only being in the universe who was able to make him forget about his respiratory bypass, and he decided it was a good thing indeed that she didn’t wish him harm.

Once he got his wits about him again, he pulled her closer to him, wanted to feel all of her against him. “Now,” he whispered, “why don’t you show me what else that mistletoe might inspire?”

Fourteen