Fayth (faythbrady) wrote,
Fayth
faythbrady

Fic- Games 5

Games of the Orally Fixated (PG13)
Fluff, Humour, Romance Ten/Rose
Summary- Rose is on the edge of frustration because the Doctor won’t stop licking things. He’s not doing it on purpose… right?
Happy!Who Prompt- Chewed Pen lid (Table 1)
Games of the Orally Fixated 2 (PG13)
Games of the Orally Fixated 3 (M) Happy!Who prompt- Ice Cream (Table 2)
Games of the Orally Fixated 4 (M)



Rose was sure that somewhere in her twenty odd—some very odd—years of life, she’d seen something that made her speechless.

Maybe it was the first time she’d seen her boyfriend have his head pulled off, or maybe it was the moment she met a blue man on a space station at the end of the Earth.

Perhaps she’d been struck dumb when the Earth exploded or took that first step onto the same snow Charles Dickens stepped on. She could have been startled into silence when being possessed by a living trampoline or rendered mute with the arrival of a certain French woman.

It could have been the sight of polite Ood or Daleks, or Cybermen. It could have been seeing her mother turned into a Cyberman or even her own Doctor bursting into a golden ball of light.

Somewhere in her life she must have been awestruck, thunderstruck or gob smacked.

But this…this was something new.

Rose stood in the control room, her jaw hanging about floor level, watching as the Doctor straddled the console, his hands rubbing the central column up and down in rhythmic motions.

She had a great view of his jacketless form, muscles rippling under his thin shirt and nicely rounded rear bumper, but that was an afterthought. The main one was due to come of her mouth in a strangled whimper as he reared up on his knees to stroke the column again, his thighs gripping the temporal displacer.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she queried shrilly.

He glanced over his shoulder, his face betraying none of the embarrassment that Rose would feel should she have been caught in his position. In fact, he beamed at her like it was the most natural thing in the world to be caught mid---whatever with his ship.

“Hello, Rose. I didn’t hear you come in.”

She bit her tongue against the obvious, and rather x-rated, rejoinder and looked pointedly at his compromising perch astride the console.

“Well, you were…busy.”

He nodded with a smile. “Yep, just giving the old girl a working over. She likes to feel pampered occasionally.”

Rose blinked. He did this often?

As if reading her thoughts he nodded in satisfaction. “Oh, she only needs doing say once a millennia but it is relaxing for her and I like doing it. Makes us both feel good.”

That was a little too much information for Rose, although it did explain how he could spend decades with just him and his machine. The TARDIS was really big, they could christen each room.

She snatched her hand away from the door suddenly feeling weird to be touching the TARDIS. She wrinkled her nose.

The Doctor pointed at her. “Oi, don’t wrinkle your nose at me, missy, little bit of cleaning wouldn’t go amiss in your room either, you know.”

Rose felt like she had missed two pages at once. “What?”

He slid off the console and held up a damp rag that had been hidden in his hands. “A bit of polishing is actually quite relaxing. In fact on Slepia it’s considered something of an art form. They have cleaning competitions and championships and ooh I like the waxing festival of Saturn. They really know how to polish things; it’s why the rings around Saturn gleam so brightly. Made a whole empire out of cleaning products. It’s brilliant!”

Rose’s lips started to twitch. “You were cleaning the TARDIS, polishing the central column?”

“Of course,” he said idly as he turned to rub a speck of dust off the internal dimensions lever. “Why what did you think I was doing?”

He froze as Rose started to giggle behind her hand and he spun around, mouth agape.

“Rose Tyler! You have a dirty mind! As if I would…I would never…that’s just,” he cocked his head suddenly intrigued, “although…no!”

He pointed at a blushing Rose. “Bad Rose.”

But she couldn’t stop the case of giggles that consumed her as she thought back to her initial assumptions. It was a perfectly valid rationale to his actions and she had no right to be ashamed of her—

Okay, maybe her mind did live in the gutter these days, but it was his own fault.

He of the tight trousers and sexy talk. He of the ice-cream, oral fixation and the sudden unwillingness to shave.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to see what I look like with a beard. Plus shaving is far too perilous. I cut myself—see?”

“Right, just for that, you can help me!” He decided amidst her laughter and threw the rag at her. Rose dodged to avoid the grimy cloth and had to pick it up off the floor.

“Come on, Rose, get your hands dirty.”

She had all sorts of comments to that but the look on his face was knowing enough to put her off.

Rose shot him a filthy look and advanced on the console. She dropped the cloth onto the circuit and started to move it.

The Doctor’s hand shot out and grabbed hers tightly. “Ah, best not actually press that button, Rose, you don’t want to jettison us off to the Caribbean…without the TARDIS.”

As she stared down at his hand, and by connection the whole console, she was struck with sudden alarm at what could happen if she pressed the wrong shiny button or nudged the wrong lever.

Explosions, destructions, annihilation… and those were the good things.

She paled.

“Uh, maybe cleaning’s not for me.”

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Anyway, I’ve done down here, what we really need is to polish the column so we can see the lag in temporal pulsations. The geographic and special coordinates are directly affected by the undulations in the crystalline cylindrical tubes which can be diverted from accustomed operational harmony by dust, rust or even distortions in the time, space vortex. If we’re off by a centimetre or nanosecond in fluctuated equilibrium it could mean the difference between an hour and millennia.”

Rose gazed at him blankly and he looked at her like she’d just dribbled down the front of her shirt.

He sighed heavily. “Tubes go whoosh, whoosh. Dust stops whoosh. If whoosh is a second too late, we land twenty years early. Comprende?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “If whoosh too early Doctor gets hit around the head by patronised companion, yeah?”

He looked embarrassed. “Ah. Right. Sorry.”

Rose couldn’t resist his sheepish little smile and she forgave him quickly. “All right then, so best clean the column, yeah?”

“Exactly. In fact you have smaller hands than me so maybe you could work around the bottom here and get into all the nooks where the column meets the console.”

“Right!” Glad to be useful, Rose leaned over the hexagonal construct, careful not to press any of the buttons and started to clean out the various niches where dust bunnies lay hidden.

The Doctor, pleased with her willingness to help, got down on the floor and wriggled his way under the console trying to clean out the undersides of the vortex manipulator.

They worked in companionable silence for a long while; the only sounds those of vigorous scrubbing and laboured breathing.

The Doctor frowned as he pulled something that seemed lodged in the circuits and a grin spread across his face as a long recorder emerged.

A bark of laughter had Rose leaning down to peer at him.

He brandished the recorder like a long lost trophy.

“Hey, Rose, look at this, I haven’t seen it in ooh eight regenerations at least!”

She glanced down at him, a smear of dust across her nose and giggled. “You used to play that?”

“I was champion recorder player across three galaxies, thank you very much!” he said with mock affront and gave it a quick blow.

The end erupted in an explosion of dust and dirt.

Once he’d finished coughing and sneezing he winced and rubbed his face free of grime. “Hmm, maybe it needs cleaning first.”

“Ya think?” she sassed and turned back to cleaning.

He opened his mouth to retort back but was distracted.

Very distracted.

He’d always known that Rose had a nice figure. She was curved in the right places and soft and warm to touch. He liked to hug her and he often admired her from afar.

But watching her bent over the console, her back waving from side to side as she slid into the movements of rubbing the TARDIS clean, he found himself more than admiring.

He was…leering? Ogling? Could he even ogle? Was there a nicer word for what he was doing? Maybe appreciating… yes, that was nice and oooh she stretched.

There was grace in her movements as she stretched and writhed but he was more interested in the way she contorted to reach the hard-to-get-to places.

Rose really was very…flexible.

A flush covered his face as all the ways she could bend came into his head in floods and drives of images. Bent over the console, arched back over the sofa seat, sprawled over the kitchen table, legs wrapped, arms entwined.

His throat went dry as his mind got dirtier.

He slouched down and licked his lips watching as she wriggled to the left, narrowly missing the leader cable and lifting one leg to reach further.

He let his eye run up the denim clad calf and to her thigh where the seam ran just where he’d like to have his first bite. The tight fitting jeans curved around her delicious rear bumper and turned into soft cotton as it slid over her spine, gracefully arching to reach for a speck of dust, arms circling the struts of the console so as to keep balance.

I want to knock you off balance, came the unbidden thought, I want to have you so unsteady you can’t think around me, I want you to be under my thrall, devoted, dedicated, hopelessly mine. Enslaved to me…like I am to you.

He bit down on his lip, desperate longing making him want to sigh. But he didn’t. He simply looked his fill, letting his eyes wander up to the curve of her neck, the tilt of her head, the amusement of her eyes.

Wait.

She was watching him, a knowing look on her face.

He sat up quickly and cleared his throat. “I was just…just…checking! Yes, checking, make sure you’re doing it right. After all the TARDIS needs to be clean and clear from dust else she might stop mid-whoosh and that would be bad. Very bad, catastrophic even.”

“And am I?” Rose asked softly.

He blinked. “Are you what?”

“Doing it right?”

Her voice was low and seductive and grabbed him by the long forgotten part of him that dealt with desire and his mouth spoke before his brain got in gear. “I don’t know, it’s too far over here to see.”

Rose spread her arms invitingly. “Then come over here and check.”

It was an invitation and a challenge and one he was more than ready to step up to.

He wanted to step up to it. It had been so long and he needed her in ways he couldn’t even say.

He slowly got to his feet, not sure if this was a great idea and made his way over to her. He stood behind her, enticed by her warmth and her scent.

She smelt so good.

The Doctor peered over her shoulder and pretended to inspect her work but he was so distracted by Rose herself that a herd of pygmies could have crept into the works and he wouldn’t have noticed—or cared.

He was so close to her he could feel the denim against his legs, the cotton against his jacket and her body heat warming him through and through.

He stepped even closer; back to chest, heart to hearts thrumming in an intensity that the galaxy understood.

His hands drifted to her shoulders and slid down her arms, tickling the skin across her elbows, feeling the satin softness and causing his fingertips to tingle. His hands covered hers and he led her fingers still clutching the rag to the column, bending them both over to reach the hard places.
Her hair tickled his cheek as he lay across her back, his breath against her nape, cool puffs sending shivers down her spine that pulled him even closer.

Rose was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he cradled her in his arms, all but lying on the TARDIS controls. He led her tiny fingers into one of the panels and pushed hard.

Rose bit her lip and let her head fall back against his shoulder, eyes closed, mouth turned towards him.

Cherry lips invited him to kiss, soft cheeks demanded a nudge to test their softness and he caved, moving in for the sweetest defeat.

His mouth descended and he felt her breath against his cheek, against his lips and he was so close, so very close…

Rriinng!

The Doctor jumped back, dropping the rag into the controls and raising his hands. “What, what, what?”

Rose cursed. “It’s my phone.” She dug the ringing abomination out of her pocket and looked from it to the blushing and very aroused Doctor. “It’s probably mum.”

He swallowed, the mood gone and sanity all but restored. “Right well, you should answer that then, could be an emergency—run out of lip gloss or tracksuits or something…very important mother domestic stuff.” He stumbled back.

“Doctor?” Rose pleaded with her eyes but he was in full retreat.

“I just have to go and…go and…go.”

Rose watched in despair as he turned on his heel and all but fled.

What was that all about? He’d been flirting with her all these months and doing everything to make her want him and now, just when they were so close he ran away?

The shrill ringing of her phone distracted her and she hit the answer button.

“Someone better be dead,” she growled.

>>

Just around the edge of the door the Doctor peered over and watched as she answered the phone.

He leaned back and slammed his head against the frame.

Dammit! Damn Jackie and tracksuits and Earth and every single womble that lay therein.

He’d been so close to having her this time. So very close. All she’d had to do was throw the stupid phone down and grab him, kissing him passionately, and that would have been it, he’d have won.

But no, like the majority of the female population on Earth she couldn’t just leave the damn phone; had to answer it.

He regretted ever super-boosting her mobile.

The Doctor groaned, still able to feel Rose against her and for a moment considered just surrendering and walking back in there, tossing her across his shoulders and dragging her to his room. He was sure she wouldn’t complain.

But no. He’d started this war with the desire to make her come to him. To ensure that it was what she really wanted and he wasn’t just imprinting his desires onto her. Then it became about her surrender, her willingness to throw off those pesky human insecurities and impediments and developing.

He could wait, he thought, gritting his teeth. He could wait for Rose to come to him, to take the initiative and jump him.

He just hoped she did it before he exploded.
Tags: doctorwho, fic
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