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Story: The Lady in the Fireplace
Author: Melinda Kitty![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melindakitty
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Reinette, King of France and (eventually) Ninth Doctor
Rated: oh, so Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, abuse of REALLY good champagne, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did, Rose would be more BadWolf and less Angst, Ten would post a sign on the door sayin' "If the TARDIS is a rockin', don't come a knockin'", and half of their adventures through time and space would consist of finding new and unusual places to have a juicy shag.
Spoilers: AU, DURING "The Girl in the Fireplace". If you haven't seen the first three series of Doctor Who, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon. And you have my word that -- despite how this starts -- I'm a passionate Rose/Ten shipper.
Summary: OTP Rose/Ten with a lot of interesting liaisons along the way. So what exactly DID Ten do in Versailles? This French farce will have love, drama, sex, and eventually as close to a happy ending as I can manage. Be forewarned, though, I may take you places that would make RTD's head explode.
Enter BadWolf!Rose, stage right. Apologies to Mickey fans, but in the end, trust me; he'll be better off. Also, is it me or does the King remind anyone of a pervy Commodore Norrington?
I had a whole cadre of betas and fans who helped me in the construction of this one. This is the story that got me started and made me LOVE to write fanfic. But it was eclectic_imp who asked me nicely if I'd post it here. And Ophymirage made it possible for me to do so.
“My Companion’s back and there’s gonna be trouble.
Hey-laaaaaaaaa, Hey-laaaaaaaaaaa,
My Companion’s back.”
Seriously, people. I keep telling you I’m a dyed-in the-wool Rose/Ten shipper. Did you really think I wouldn’t let her take it out of his hide?
*shakes head* Oh ye of little faith. ;)
“Well,” says Rose from beside the fireplace. “Isn’t this a fine how-d’you-do?”
“Cor, BLIMEY!” says Mickey beside her.
“Ah.” The dark-haired man looks up like he’s the king of the castle.
She glares at him. “That’s all you have to say?... ‘Ah’?” She’s already well on her way to what promises to be one of the most spectacular fits of temper ever. The Doctor is naked. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman and the room reeks of someone’s just having had it off. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman, the room reeks of someone’s just having had it off, AND the naked woman isn’t her.
And the Doctor has the brass balls to be snoring slightly. While she fretted and schemed and worked her ass off to --
Mickey starts to giggle beside her. She elbows him, hard. He covers his mouth. Tries to look sorry. Snorts. His shoulders continue to shake.
“What?” she snarls at him.
“Don’t think he’ll be too keen on being rescued from that.” Mickey says, still giggling.
“Oh, shut it.”
“You must be Mademoiselle Rose,” says the dark-haired man.
Convenient of him to give her another target to tear into. She’ll work her way up to the point where she yanks the Doctor out of bed by the hair and drags him across the room. “And you must be the Queen of Sheba.”
“Actually,” says the man, amused, “we are the King of France.” He gets up from the bed. Puts a robe on, but not before he gives them a rather impressive eyeful. “We have been expecting you.”
Mickey gives an appreciative whistle. Rose elbows him again. Harder.
She tries to regroup. “Well... Um... don’t you dare try be the reasonable one and tell us that ain’t what it looks like” she gestures to the sleeping Doctor and that blonde bint -- who she just KNEW was going to be trouble -- “’cause it bloody well IS what it looks like.”
“Of course it is.” The King is irritatingly calm. He selects a dripping bottle from a silver ice bucket by the bed. “We are most grateful for the loan of your Doctor, Lord of Time.” He pours two beautiful goblets of champagne. “He was lovely.”
Only a very few times in her life has someone rendered Rose completely, gobsmacked speechless. This is one of them.
“That’s it.” Mickey puts up his hands. “I’m out. I’ll be in the hall.” He gives a nod to the King, “Majesty,” and heads for the door. Once he gets there, however, it won’t open. He jiggles the handle. Shakes the door. Still shut.
The King clears his throat. Holds up a key.
Looking slightly flustered, Mickey takes the key. Unlocks the door. Hands the key back. Leaves. The King locks the door behind him.
Rose isn’t even slightly sorry to see him go.
With a gentle smile, the King presses a brimming goblet into her hand. “With our compliments.”
“I’m not thirsty, thanks.” How does one tell a King to piss off?
“Humour us.” There’s a slight hard edge to the words. Suddenly it’s entirely believable that he’s royalty. After all, the bint in the bed is most likely Madame de Pompadour, so this chap probably IS the King of France.
She takes a sullen sip to placate him. Pauses as the champagne hits her taste buds. Holy shyte! “This is EXCELLENT!”
“It should be,” he says. “We are the King of France.”
She takes another glug. Swallows hard. Glares at the bed. Tries to recover her fury. Surely that snog the Ninth Doctor gave her didn’t take every bit of energy she borrowed from the Time Vortex. Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf. Big Bad Wolf. Think really universe-shattering thoughts. The kind that destroy worlds and rip the balls off Time Lords.
All the better to eat you with, my dear...
The Doctor, oblivious as always, gives a contented sigh. Snuggles closer to The Bint. Oooh, he’s a dead man. And she could kill the previous him too; what’s the point of having the power of a demi-god if now she’s been reduced the doe-eyed sidekick of a tomcatting Time Lord? (With a giggling ponce of a “boyfriend”, no less.)
“Mademoiselle Rose.” She glares at the King. How best to get rid of him so she and the Doctor can have it out?
The King’s gaze is warm, but unflinching. “We presume you have come to retrieve the Doctor?”
“I--” Earth-shattering thoughts. Something aimed right at the Doctor’s bits and pieces. (And no, she’s not going to sneak a look just for curiosity.) “Yeah. I mean. You’re not going to try to stop me, are you?”
“Of course not.” He smiles. “We are frankly relieved to see you.”
Now she knows she’s stepped into some alternate dimension. “What? So you just pack him off. Just like that?”
The King gives a slow nod. “Just like that.” He cocks his head. “Tell me, Rose. In all your travels, have you learnt any skills at playacting?”
She’s starting to like this guy. That could be an issue. “Some,” she says warily. “Why?”
The King moves toward her with leisurely strides. “Our mistress has told us much about the Doctor, Lord of Time. We believe he suffers from an affliction that plagues far too many men of reason and science.”
He’s going to help her? She hadn’t figured on that. “I’m listening.” She only planned to take another little sniff of the champagne, but it’s good enough that she drains the glass dry.
The King, lovely chap that he is, gives her glass a refresher. “He thinks with his heart and loves with his head.”
She blinks. Smiles. “That’d be the Doctor.” And right there along with this damn ache in her chest is the little warm spot that thoughts of him inhabit. Ache. Warmth. Doctor all the way.
The King raises her hand to his lips. Kisses the knuckles. “We propose a cure.”
Charming, but this guy is completely bent. “But that bird’s your mistress,” she says. “Aren’t you even jealous that they...?”
“Of course,” says the King. “But we think with our head and love with our heart, and that makes all the difference.” He glances at the despicable duo on the bed. “Reinette, Madame de Pompadour, loves us. We love her. She has served us faithfully since our first encounter. All this will be no less true tomorrow than it was yesterday.” He gives a smoothly confident smile. “We would be a poor lover indeed if we denied her the occasional fantasy.” He sobers. “But we would be a poor king indeed if we failed to grasp the potential complications such a lover -- even so comely a one -- might pose.”
That’s when it hits her. The Doctor wasn’t just with The Bint. Bloody hell. She takes a hard swallow of champagne. Faces the fireplace so she doesn’t have to look at the bed or the King anymore. Resists the urge to shatter the glass, but only just. She left the Doctor alone for an hour or two and now he’s having it off with every historical person he can find?
Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf. Huff and puff and blow your house in...
“Ahhh,” says the King. “You’ve not had him yet.”
The truth hurts a little more than she wants to admit. “Please, Your Majesty...”
“Forgive us,” he says smoothly. “We meant no offence.” He reaches around her to refill her glass from the bottle of champagne. She watches the golden liquid swirl. His breath sighs past her ear. He’s warm and masculine and she’s suddenly a little too aware of how lovely he smells. He nuzzles her ear. “The Lord of Time is a fool.”
CHAPTER ONE: COMING IN, Part I
CHAPTER ONE: COMING IN, Part II
CHAPTER TWO: COMING ABOUT
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
time_and_chips
Author: Melinda Kitty
melindakittyCharacters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Reinette, King of France and (eventually) Ninth Doctor
Rated: oh, so Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, abuse of REALLY good champagne, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did, Rose would be more BadWolf and less Angst, Ten would post a sign on the door sayin' "If the TARDIS is a rockin', don't come a knockin'", and half of their adventures through time and space would consist of finding new and unusual places to have a juicy shag.
Spoilers: AU, DURING "The Girl in the Fireplace". If you haven't seen the first three series of Doctor Who, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon. And you have my word that -- despite how this starts -- I'm a passionate Rose/Ten shipper.
Summary: OTP Rose/Ten with a lot of interesting liaisons along the way. So what exactly DID Ten do in Versailles? This French farce will have love, drama, sex, and eventually as close to a happy ending as I can manage. Be forewarned, though, I may take you places that would make RTD's head explode.
Enter BadWolf!Rose, stage right. Apologies to Mickey fans, but in the end, trust me; he'll be better off. Also, is it me or does the King remind anyone of a pervy Commodore Norrington?
I had a whole cadre of betas and fans who helped me in the construction of this one. This is the story that got me started and made me LOVE to write fanfic. But it was eclectic_imp who asked me nicely if I'd post it here. And Ophymirage made it possible for me to do so.
“My Companion’s back and there’s gonna be trouble.
Hey-laaaaaaaaa, Hey-laaaaaaaaaaa,
My Companion’s back.”
Seriously, people. I keep telling you I’m a dyed-in the-wool Rose/Ten shipper. Did you really think I wouldn’t let her take it out of his hide?
*shakes head* Oh ye of little faith. ;)
“Well,” says Rose from beside the fireplace. “Isn’t this a fine how-d’you-do?”
“Cor, BLIMEY!” says Mickey beside her.
“Ah.” The dark-haired man looks up like he’s the king of the castle.
She glares at him. “That’s all you have to say?... ‘Ah’?” She’s already well on her way to what promises to be one of the most spectacular fits of temper ever. The Doctor is naked. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman and the room reeks of someone’s just having had it off. The naked Doctor is holding a naked woman, the room reeks of someone’s just having had it off, AND the naked woman isn’t her.
And the Doctor has the brass balls to be snoring slightly. While she fretted and schemed and worked her ass off to --
Mickey starts to giggle beside her. She elbows him, hard. He covers his mouth. Tries to look sorry. Snorts. His shoulders continue to shake.
“What?” she snarls at him.
“Don’t think he’ll be too keen on being rescued from that.” Mickey says, still giggling.
“Oh, shut it.”
“You must be Mademoiselle Rose,” says the dark-haired man.
Convenient of him to give her another target to tear into. She’ll work her way up to the point where she yanks the Doctor out of bed by the hair and drags him across the room. “And you must be the Queen of Sheba.”
“Actually,” says the man, amused, “we are the King of France.” He gets up from the bed. Puts a robe on, but not before he gives them a rather impressive eyeful. “We have been expecting you.”
Mickey gives an appreciative whistle. Rose elbows him again. Harder.
She tries to regroup. “Well... Um... don’t you dare try be the reasonable one and tell us that ain’t what it looks like” she gestures to the sleeping Doctor and that blonde bint -- who she just KNEW was going to be trouble -- “’cause it bloody well IS what it looks like.”
“Of course it is.” The King is irritatingly calm. He selects a dripping bottle from a silver ice bucket by the bed. “We are most grateful for the loan of your Doctor, Lord of Time.” He pours two beautiful goblets of champagne. “He was lovely.”
Only a very few times in her life has someone rendered Rose completely, gobsmacked speechless. This is one of them.
“That’s it.” Mickey puts up his hands. “I’m out. I’ll be in the hall.” He gives a nod to the King, “Majesty,” and heads for the door. Once he gets there, however, it won’t open. He jiggles the handle. Shakes the door. Still shut.
The King clears his throat. Holds up a key.
Looking slightly flustered, Mickey takes the key. Unlocks the door. Hands the key back. Leaves. The King locks the door behind him.
Rose isn’t even slightly sorry to see him go.
With a gentle smile, the King presses a brimming goblet into her hand. “With our compliments.”
“I’m not thirsty, thanks.” How does one tell a King to piss off?
“Humour us.” There’s a slight hard edge to the words. Suddenly it’s entirely believable that he’s royalty. After all, the bint in the bed is most likely Madame de Pompadour, so this chap probably IS the King of France.
She takes a sullen sip to placate him. Pauses as the champagne hits her taste buds. Holy shyte! “This is EXCELLENT!”
“It should be,” he says. “We are the King of France.”
She takes another glug. Swallows hard. Glares at the bed. Tries to recover her fury. Surely that snog the Ninth Doctor gave her didn’t take every bit of energy she borrowed from the Time Vortex. Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf. Big Bad Wolf. Think really universe-shattering thoughts. The kind that destroy worlds and rip the balls off Time Lords.
All the better to eat you with, my dear...
The Doctor, oblivious as always, gives a contented sigh. Snuggles closer to The Bint. Oooh, he’s a dead man. And she could kill the previous him too; what’s the point of having the power of a demi-god if now she’s been reduced the doe-eyed sidekick of a tomcatting Time Lord? (With a giggling ponce of a “boyfriend”, no less.)
“Mademoiselle Rose.” She glares at the King. How best to get rid of him so she and the Doctor can have it out?
The King’s gaze is warm, but unflinching. “We presume you have come to retrieve the Doctor?”
“I--” Earth-shattering thoughts. Something aimed right at the Doctor’s bits and pieces. (And no, she’s not going to sneak a look just for curiosity.) “Yeah. I mean. You’re not going to try to stop me, are you?”
“Of course not.” He smiles. “We are frankly relieved to see you.”
Now she knows she’s stepped into some alternate dimension. “What? So you just pack him off. Just like that?”
The King gives a slow nod. “Just like that.” He cocks his head. “Tell me, Rose. In all your travels, have you learnt any skills at playacting?”
She’s starting to like this guy. That could be an issue. “Some,” she says warily. “Why?”
The King moves toward her with leisurely strides. “Our mistress has told us much about the Doctor, Lord of Time. We believe he suffers from an affliction that plagues far too many men of reason and science.”
He’s going to help her? She hadn’t figured on that. “I’m listening.” She only planned to take another little sniff of the champagne, but it’s good enough that she drains the glass dry.
The King, lovely chap that he is, gives her glass a refresher. “He thinks with his heart and loves with his head.”
She blinks. Smiles. “That’d be the Doctor.” And right there along with this damn ache in her chest is the little warm spot that thoughts of him inhabit. Ache. Warmth. Doctor all the way.
The King raises her hand to his lips. Kisses the knuckles. “We propose a cure.”
Charming, but this guy is completely bent. “But that bird’s your mistress,” she says. “Aren’t you even jealous that they...?”
“Of course,” says the King. “But we think with our head and love with our heart, and that makes all the difference.” He glances at the despicable duo on the bed. “Reinette, Madame de Pompadour, loves us. We love her. She has served us faithfully since our first encounter. All this will be no less true tomorrow than it was yesterday.” He gives a smoothly confident smile. “We would be a poor lover indeed if we denied her the occasional fantasy.” He sobers. “But we would be a poor king indeed if we failed to grasp the potential complications such a lover -- even so comely a one -- might pose.”
That’s when it hits her. The Doctor wasn’t just with The Bint. Bloody hell. She takes a hard swallow of champagne. Faces the fireplace so she doesn’t have to look at the bed or the King anymore. Resists the urge to shatter the glass, but only just. She left the Doctor alone for an hour or two and now he’s having it off with every historical person he can find?
Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf. Huff and puff and blow your house in...
“Ahhh,” says the King. “You’ve not had him yet.”
The truth hurts a little more than she wants to admit. “Please, Your Majesty...”
“Forgive us,” he says smoothly. “We meant no offence.” He reaches around her to refill her glass from the bottle of champagne. She watches the golden liquid swirl. His breath sighs past her ear. He’s warm and masculine and she’s suddenly a little too aware of how lovely he smells. He nuzzles her ear. “The Lord of Time is a fool.”
CHAPTER ONE: COMING IN, Part I
CHAPTER ONE: COMING IN, Part II
CHAPTER TWO: COMING ABOUT
Crossposted to
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