wishiknewwho | Both (Part II)

Title: Both
Author: wishiknewwho
Rating: M
Characters: Ten II/Rose
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.
Spoilers: It's probably best if you've seen Journey's End
Summary: She has never been able to stay away from him for very long.
Author Notes: *Still hiding.*
Beta-ed by the wonderful

electrictoes . She is made of awesome.

Rose wakes on the sofa. It is darker now and the last thing she remembers is lying down on the carpet after the Doctor closed off the window. She wonders if it was a dream, but a quick glance at the bandage on her wrist and the soreness in her thighs assures her that it was real. She’s not sure if this is a good thing or not.

She can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. He must be home by now, must have found her sprawled out on the carpet, and moved her to the sofa. She can’t imagine what he must have thought with her asleep on the floor and she hopes she hasn’t worried him.

“Doctor?” she calls out and he appears in the entry between the kitchen and living room, lit from behind by the light of the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, coming over to kneel by her. He switches on the lamp and she flinches at the light. He places a hand to her forehead and his eyes are concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “I feel silly, though, falling asleep on the floor like that.” She hopes he doesn’t ask her about it, will just accept it as one of those random human things that happen.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “You looked uncomfortable, so I moved you.” His eyes and hands move to the gauze wrapped around her wrist. “Where’d you get this?”

And here’s her moment, her last chance to be honest with him before it turns into something she’s lied about. If she doesn’t tell him now, then it officially becomes something she is keeping from him. She feels sick and unsure of what to do. She’s never lied to the Doctor before, neither of them, not directly, at least. She has a moment of fear, though. What if he gets angry and decides he doesn’t want her anymore? She can’t have that, so she lies.

“I found it in the medicine cabinet. I didn’t like it exposed,” she hears herself saying. Her words sound hollow and she’s positive that he’s going to know that she’s making it all up.

He just nods, though, and brushes a kiss across her wrist, a move that is so similar to the kiss the other Doctor placed there just hours before. “You worried me today, Rose. You’ve got to be more careful. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

And there’s the guilt, hitting her like a meteor. She tries to ignore it, pulls him down for a quick kiss, then sits up. “What have you been doing in there?” She tilts her head toward the kitchen.

He kisses her nose. “Making you dinner.” He stands up, then reaches down for her hand and pulls her up with him.

“What?” She feigns shock. “You cooked?” This is easy, she tells herself. She can do this, pretend like nothing’s happened, and go back to their life. It’s a good life; it’s all she needs.

“I’m hurt, Rose Tyler,” he says, putting his hand to his heart. “I can cook, you know. I just choose not to.”

She follows him into the kitchen. “Do I have to remind you of the lasagne incident?”

“I know what you are trying to do, and I will not be baited,” he says solemnly. “Now sit yourself down in this chair and prepare to have your taste buds dazzled.” He guides her to a chair and sits her down with a playful little shove.

Surprisingly the meal turns out to be simple but delightful, pasta and vegetables. They eat and he tells her how the rest of the day went, helping the Kelstrunian repair his ship and seeing him off.

“He says he’s sorry, by the way,” he says, setting his water glass down.

“Who?” she says absently. She’s been trying to listen, but her mind keeps drifting off to earlier that day, to that little clearing on Tetonia. She can’t help but wonder when he’ll be back and what answer she will give him.

“Fadrir. The alien who burned you? That’s his name.” He’s watching her now, and it’s evident in his eyes that he knows she hasn’t been giving him her full attention.

“Surely you told him that it was okay, just a misunderstanding?” she asks, hoping he didn’t get angry with the alien for reacting in his normal manner. It was difficult at times, working together, and having to separate themselves from their emotions when on the job.

“Yes, of course,” he answers. He reaches over and picks her hand up. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem off today.”

She nods and takes a bite of her food to mask the lie. She’s lied to him twice now, and she’s not feeling any better. “I’m just a bit tired. Invalid and all.” She raises her supposedly injured wrist.

“Why don’t you go have a lie down on the sofa then and I’ll get this cleaned up?” He gestures toward the dishes on the table and the detritus in the kitchen.

She shakes her head. She doesn’t want him to be this nice to her, this loving and comforting. She doesn’t deserve it. “No, you cooked. I’ll wash up.”

He makes a little tsk-ing noise with his tongue and gets up. He moves to stand behind her and trails kisses down the side of her face. “I’ll not hear of it, not with you hurt. Now go lie down and watch something mindless on the telly. I’ll be in there in a few minutes.”

Smiling gratefully at him, she goes into the living room and switches on the television. She doesn’t pay attention to what she puts it on, but hopes it will drown out the guilt. She closes her eyes and tries not to think of what she’s done, but in that uncanny way the brain has, she can only think of the things she’s trying to block out. She doesn’t regret being with the other, not exactly. It’s still him; they’re both him. Just because she’s with this one doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love the other. But that doesn’t make it feel any less like a betrayal.

He joins her later, wrapping himself comfortably around her and they watch a nature show, something about lions. She can’t focus, no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many times he asks her questions. She giggles along with him at a silly commercial, but she really has no clue what it is about.

Tired with pretending, she gets up to take a shower. She knows she already had one earlier, in the TARDIS, but it doesn’t feel like enough. She needs a shower in her own home, the home she shares with him, and maybe she can wash away what happened, feel like herself again.

After her shower, she does feel a little better. The scalding hot water has managed to take her mind off of everything else, has cleared her head. She pulls on clean pyjama bottoms and a vest top, hangs her towel on the hook, and combs her hair out. She’s brushing her teeth when he joins her in the bathroom. His eyes meet hers in the mirror and he grins, but there’s something about the look in his eyes that’s unsettling to her.

He takes his socks and belt off and she thinks that he’s going to take a shower, but he moves to stand behind her instead. She feels her heart rate speed up, just a little. She finishes, rinses her mouth and then the brush and places the brush in the little holder they’d chosen together when they redecorated the bathroom. It’s pink, like everything else in the room, the colour he’d insisted on, saying it was her favourite.

The moment the toothbrush is in place and she’s moved her hand away, he is on her. His mouth is on her neck, sucking lightly, and his hands fumble around on the counter until he finds a hair tie. He places it in her hand.

“Put your hair up,” he says, his tone firm, brooking no argument.

She wasn’t aroused, but she is now. She’s not sure if she hates or loves his ability to melt her with just a couple of words. She swallows and pulls her hair back into a messy knot, securing the hair tie in place, baring her neck and shoulders to him.

He trails his mouth down her neck and along her shoulder, biting and sucking his way almost to her arm. He picks her hands up where they are hanging uselessly at her sides and puts them on the edge of the counter, squeezing her hands, letting her know to grip. Then his hands move to the string on her pyjamas. He loosens it, never removing his mouth from her neck. She watches his every movement in the mirror, trying not to moan at how turned on she is. He pushes at the waist of her bottoms and they fall to the floor.

He pushes into her, just a little, and she can feel how turned he is against her bottom. She lets out a little whimper, her need for him suddenly insistent.

“Be still,” he warns against her ear, letting his fingers just graze over the front of her knickers. “And watch me.”

She nods and focuses her eyes on the mirror in front of them although everything in her body is telling her to close her eyes, to lose herself in the feeling he’s so meticulously creating. He slips his fingers under her knickers and slides them down her legs as well. Once they join her jimjams on the floor, he braces his hands against her hips.

“Get out of them,” he says, kicking at the fabric at her feet, and she complies. He puts his foot between hers, widening her stance.

“Good girl,” he says, rewarding her with a long, lingering kiss against the back of her neck. His hands drift over the outside of her thighs and then toward the inside. She holds back a shiver, afraid if she moves that he might stop.

He continues kissing her, along her neck, the back of her shoulders, as one hand comes up under her top to grasp her breast. His touch is firm, rough even, just like she likes, and she lets out a little moan.

“Good?” he asks, his mouth still pressed to her ear, and she can hear the cocky smile in his voice. He’s good at what he is doing and knows it.

“Yes,” she breathes out. She catches her own eyes in the mirror and is shocked to see how dark they are. She’s never watched herself during sex and had no idea she could look so flushed, so turned on.

He moves his hand between her legs, passing over her with light touches, nowhere near what she wants, what she needs at this point. She wants him inside of her, solid and deep, and she wants to come.

“Please,” she whispers, her words an echo of earlier, of her time with the other.

“Please what?” he counters in her ear. His words are the same, too, but his voice is demanding, not desperate.

He lets his finger slip inside of her, just a centimetre, and she gasps, bowing her head. He stills his hand immediately.

“I told you to watch.” His tone is harsh and she is flooded with desire as she brings her eyes up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes are black, not a hint of their usual chocolate, not a hint of their usual mirth.

“Now tell me what you want,” he says, sliding his finger out and then back in, but not any further than before, and she sobs with want. He bites her shoulder in warning.

She can’t get the words out. He’s never been like this with her before; it’s not that sex is always sweet and reverent with them, but he’s never so demanding. She is surprised by how much she likes it.

“What do you want, Rose?” he insists and pull his finger all the way out, sliding it up and teasing her lightly. Bastard.

“Touch me. Fuck me. Anything. Please,” she gasps out, her words quiet and her voice low. She clenches the counter in anticipation.

She sure that he’ll move now, that he’ll finally give her what she wants, but she is wrong. He continues to tease her.

He moves to her other ear before he speaks again, and it’s almost like hearing him in stereo. “Who is doing this to you, Rose? Who is touching you?” he asks.

“You,” she exhales as he takes her earlobe into his mouth. She shifts the tiniest bit and hopes he hasn’t felt her move.

He presses himself into her bottom, harder than before. “Who makes you feel like this, desperate to be fucked? Who makes you want to come?”

“You,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady and her head upright. She feels like she’s going to break if he doesn’t move soon.

“Say that it’s only me,” he demands, his hand holding her hips still as he swirls the fingers of his other hand around her. His touch is firmer now, and her toes curl against the rug under her feet.

“Only you,” she gasps. “Only you.” She says it with as much conviction as possible.

And suddenly he’s spinning her around so that her back is to the mirror and her bum is pressed against the counter. He lifts her effortlessly and places her on the countertop, a way down from the sink.

“Arms up,” he commands. She raises her arms and he pulls the vest top up and over her head and throws it to the floor.

He takes a step back and begins to remove his trousers and shirt. She tries to help him, but he bats her hands away. “Watch.”

And watch she does. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, starting at the top and moving down. It doesn’t matter that she’s seen him naked many times by now; her breath still catches as each inch of pale freckled skin is revealed to her. She wants to reach forward and touch him, but she knows better, knows that he wants control, and she lets him have it.

She can tell he is beginning to lose control, loves that he is loving this as much as she is. He yanks the shirt from his arms, hastily undoes his trousers and steps out of them and his pants in one go.

He steps forward and she licks her lips, eager for him to kiss her, to press his naked body against hers. Instead, he pushes her back, knocking some of the assorted bottles and containers on the counter to the tile with a loud clatter. Her back comes into contact with the mirror and she gasps at the contrast of the cold glass and her heated skin.

“Say it again,” he says, moving himself between her legs and positioning himself at her entrance.

She is puzzled for a moment. With all that’s gone on in the past couple of minutes, her brain has gone on hiatus, choosing only to focus on feeling. Then she remembers. She says the words, hoping they will spur him to action. “Only you.” She thinks she may go mad if he waits much longer.

He pushes into her roughly, exactly the way she wants him to, and they both cry out.

She wraps her arms around him, hands scrabbling against his back for purchase, as he begins to move. His thrusts are quick; this isn’t going to last long and neither of them wants it to. There has been too much build up. She knows that he is just as turned on by what he did to her as she is.

He holds onto her hips, his grip tight, and she’s sure she’ll have bruises in the morning, but she couldn’t care less. Let him mark her. She’s his. In this moment, she’s his.

“Doctor!” she screams when he changes his angle and hits the perfect spot. One of her hands reaches up and back to press against the mirror.

“No,” he says, stilling his hips and making her feel like she might cry with the loss. “Only me. That’s what you say.”

She nods quickly, meeting his eyes. “Only you,” she whispers, placating.

“Only me,” he agrees and begins to move again.

He has her almost to the brink and she’s crying out with every rotation of his hips. He bends down to her breast, sucking and biting at the top of the flesh. The pain is what she needs to push her over the edge and he follows her, saying her name.

He rests his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, catching his breath. She runs her fingers through his damp hair and whispers “Only you,” again.

At her words, he pulls back from her. “Remember that the next time you’re with him,” he says quietly, darkly. “Remember that I can make you feel like this and remember that I stayed.”

Her head jerks up. “What?” she asks, but he’s already walking away.

“Just tell me this,” he says, stopping by the door. “Assure me of one thing. You’re not damaging either of the universes for this, are you?”

She is dumbfounded. How in the world could he know? She shakes her head, not sure if she can form words. “How?”

“It’s all over you, Rose,” he spits out. “I may not be full Time Lord anymore, but I can sense it on you. You smell like the TARDIS, like the Vortex. You’re practically glowing with it. Not to mention the just-shagged look you had on your face all evening.”

She wants to tell him she’s sorry, beg him to not be mad at her like this, but she is too stunned by what just transpired and what he’s said to make herself speak. She stares at him.

“I notice everything about you,” he says. “Just promise me that you’re not doing something dangerous.”

“I’m not,” she whispers, although she’s not sure what he means by ‘dangerous.’ Because if he is referring to the danger of all three of them getting hurt in this, then she most certainly is doing something dangerous.

He nods his head, just one forceful nod, and leaves her alone in the bathroom. She hears him moving around in their bedroom, getting ready for bed. She stays where she is, naked on the counter, and brings her knees up, hugging them tightly to her body. She is afraid to join him in the bedroom, afraid of what he’ll say or what he won’t say. She’s afraid that he won’t hold her like he’s done every night since he came to this universe.

Part III

Current Mood: scared

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

angel932.livejournal.com

Oh my god, you have me totally hooked with this.

I'm completely blown away and can't wait to find out what happens next.

..er...there is a "next", isn't there?

Edited Date: 2009-01-15 02:57 am (UTC)

From:

Both (Part II)

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