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Story: Avremo Sempre Venezia
Author: the still-packing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loveslashangst
Beta: the itchy-knitting-fingeredophymirage
Characters: Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor, and a drop-in cameo
Rated: Is there a category for past NC-17? Naughty, naughty, NAUGHTY fun...
Disclaimer: Russell T Davies WISHES he'd thought of this plot.
Spoilers: Set sometime in Season 2 (Tennant!Season 1), but in the Dancing Lessons AU. Post DL Epilogue.
Summary: All they wanted to do was to find Jack...
Okay, so here's the dealio...
First, a word about Faithful. Yes, it's still a work in progress. Yes, I will get back to it. Lately, I've been avoiding it this long because it was too painful to look at. See, I unwittingly predicted the destruction of the Hub and a character death. I couldn't deal with Jack's anger and betrayal, nor with Ianto's pain once he finds out what he's ACTUALLY done. After CoE, it would've driven me to genuine emotional trauma to go back immediately to where I left things.
So in the meantime, I've done a lot of healing. I've done a lot of writing. I've done a lot of grieving. I've done a lot of odd projects, both in the Whoniverse and IRL. I only have a few more loose ends to tie up, then I promise I'll go back to finish what I started. Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Please believe me when I tell you that nothing heals my own pain quite so thoroughly as knowing that, in my own small way, I'm helping others.
In the meantime, have another round of PWP that -- you know me -- ended up being more plotty than I'd intended.
By way of intro: O and I loved DANCING LESSONS, my OT3 Nine/Rose/Jack. But Faithful kinda ate my writing life, and after I learned that DT is leaving DW, I wanted to see what Eleven would be like before I returned to the story. And since O begged me ages ago for a Rose/Ten/Tennant!Casanova with costume-y porn, this is the result. (And guess who else's ears pricked up at the thought of getting to be part of this little threesome?) Consider it a belated four-part epilogue to Dancing Lessons. What happens after this? I have no idea. Ask me once Series 5 has started. In the meantime, I'll return to my OT3!ZOMG! = Faithful.
“Though there are some disagreeable things in Venice there is nothing so disagreeable as the visitors.”
-- Henry James (American expatriate writer 1843-1916)
On with the show...
It's not that Rose doesn't love sex with the Doctor. Quite the opposite -- the man really ISN'T human in all the best ways. Travelling with him is a bit like knocking about the universe with a porn star in a brown pinstripe suit. And those adorable brainy specs that make her just want to...
Anyway. She loves the sound of the TARDIS landing someplace new, now not just for the sheer fun of seeing where they've ended up, but for the knicker-soaking anticipation that the Doctor will make good use of any semi-private, mostly-clean horizontal surface they happen upon.
Vertical surfaces are equally good, especially when she wears her little flirty skirts with the ruffles that make the Doctor ogle her arse hungrily with every step she takes.
She wears the little flirty skirts a lot.
(She also wears the ring a lot. It's a pretty ring -- a gold band with strange flowers in relief -- and it just bugs her that she can't remember where she got it.)
So it's not that the shagging isn't fantastic, because it IS. It's absolutely better than anything she could've imagined. (The Doctor isn't kidding when he says "prehensile" with that cocksure little grin of his.) And for the first several trips after the Doctor she loved became the Doctor she now adores, she's not sure what's bothering her. Like something half-remembered. Like she's lost something.
Like the damn ring. She exiles the thing to the pretty little jewellery box in the bedroom she shares with the Doctor, but the gorgeous band keeps appearing in the oddest places. It acts innocent, like she's been wearing it all along and has just taken it off to wash her hands. To do dishes. To take a shower. To make ever more passionate love with this lunatic she's travelling with...
She keeps telling herself to just buck up and enjoy her x-rated escapades through all of time and space. (And that it doesn't matter where the ring is from because it's just a damn ring.) Three months post-regeneration, her Doctor is more fun than ever, in every possible sense of the word. They laugh, travel, save worlds, make friends, have Adventures, run for it, and fuck like deranged minks at every opportunity.
But her libido refuses to listen. Even after she ups the daily shag quotient to three or four times per twenty-four hour period, she's still hankering. (Hankering. God, she's even starting to THINK like him.) Hankering for... Something... Someone...
Then the TARDIS takes her down a wrong turn into a strange room. A bedroom with twin metal plates embedded in the headboard. A room with a whole closet of... well, she's not exactly sure what it's a closet of, other than that she's pretty sure if her mum saw even one of those gizmos, Rose would NEVER hear the end of it. When she picks up one of the scarier models, it starts to vibrate in her hands, like it knows her. (Frightens her half to death, it does. And why does her body remember...?) There's a smell to the place. Sweet. Clean. Warm. Sexy. Masculine. Whatever it is, it's hard-wired to her groin, and her libido kicks in so hard that by the time the Doctor comes in looking for her, she throws him down on the bed and has him almost three full times before she lets him up. (Not that he seems to mind. And they would've made it a full three times if she hadn't had that stupid cramp in her right foot.)
"Not that I'm complaining," says the Doctor as he massages her foot firmly but gently into submission. "But why are we having it off in Jack's room?"
Jack. Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness. Sudden memories of him send sweet shudders through her.
Wearing that "I'm going to get laid and I know it" grin, the Doctor presses his advantage. And as they have a leisurely third-and-a-half shag on the bed, he doesn't seem to mind that she never gives him a straight answer.
Jack. Jack is everywhere from then on, in bits and bobs. His sky-blue eyes. How he'd intently devour a book when he thought no one was watching him read. How he could just sprawl, boneless and coiled at the same time like an overfed (and oversexed) tom cat. His hands. His hair. His film-star grin. His knack for looking edible in everything he put on, no matter how outrageous. (The sensual strength of him, grinding...)
But the Doctor doesn't seem to remember Jack as anything more than a brief passenger aboard the TARDIS. Fun, but harmless. A passing fancy, like Adam. The first Doctor used to tease her about her "boyfriends", and she supposes that's what Jack was. It's what he'd be... It's what... and where was he now? (Why did we leave him behind?)
Curiosity becomes fixation. Fixation becomes obsession. Obsession becomes a steady part of her fantasy life, as Jack Harkness keeps showing up in her head right in the middle of the really fantastic sex she continues to have with the Doctor.
The first time she gives in to the need to imagine Jack there, the Doctor has her pinned to the wall in a nice little alcove of the royal palace of... well, truth be told she hasn't really been paying much attention to where or when, the point being there's a palace populated sparsely by aliens who strongly resemble animate, plush cheese graters. (The Doctor warns her that staring is just as rude here as on any human world.) And fortunately, the aliens are just as good at making nice little shag-worthy alcoves as they are at looking utterly ridiculous in royal robes.
The Doctor grinds against her now, both of them still mostly-clothed. (That's part of the game -- keep as much clothing on as possible while having it off in as scandalous a place as possible.) He slides in, hard and cool and deep. Hits just the right spot to have her biting his shoulder to keep from screaming in pleasure. (She's now conditioned to associate a mouthful of smooth wool with really fantastic sex.)
And usually, between gasps, she murmurs "Doctor" in his ear, because that seems to do it for him. (The throatier, the better.) Usually, she wraps a leg around him and whispers dirty things in his ear because that always gets him off too. And usually, she braces herself for him to go all golden-energy and wild. (Nothing matches a man who goes into quantum flux when he comes.)
Instead, she gasps, "JACK!"
To his credit, the Doctor doesn't just pull out, zip up, and start the Silent Treatment, though by rights he could've. (And maybe should've. She would've been well pissed if he'd come back with "Sarah Jane!" or somesuch.) No, instead he brings her harder, deeper, and longer than he's ever done before. Determined, like he's marking her for his own. The energy shivers over her. Through her. Infuses every cell in her body. And she damn near bites a hole through the shoulder of his jacket.
It takes them both ages to come down afterward. Traces of quantum energy zip and shimmer in the air like mad fireflies. He holds her, face buried in her shoulder, that lovely cock of his still buried inside her. Usually, this is her favourite part -- the coming down -- but it's kind of hard to concentrate on the afterglow when she's mortified in ways she doesn't have words for.
He doesn't mention The Name. Not after he gives the rousing speech to rile up the oppressed cheese-wheel peasants to revolt against the cheese-grater royals. Not after the mob turns ugly and she and the Doctor end up taking refuge in the palace. Not even after they end up running for their lives from the incensed royals. (Apparently, animate plush cheese graters can really shift when they want to.)
Rose usually finds running hell-for-leather back to the TARDIS bracing -- a bit of adrenaline to extend that endorphin/quantum high from the shag. But this time, she can't meet the Doctor's eyes. Add to her misery that he seems a bit more serious than usual as they scramble down the dining hall table, royals and their guards hard on their heels.
And when they get safely back to the TARDIS, the Doctor slams the door behind her. Fires up the engines. And as soon as the time rotor starts making that odd, grinding hum, he has her bent over the console, legs wide. She never bothered to find her knickers after the last shag, and he's unzipped his trousers in a trice.
She has to admit as she braces herself, the run was fantastic foreplay. But even as the Doctor slides home, she fumbles for ways to apologize for calling The Name in the throes of passion. (And just as much to convince herself that she doesn't want Jack... here... now.)
And it's damn irritating to have these kind of distracting thoughts with the Doctor fierce and wanting behind her.
He bends over her, holding her to him as he continues the slow, smooth strokes. "You want him."
Ooooooooooh, that voice is a cold slice of heaven in her ear, innit? She lets her head fall forward even as she tightens around him. (She could swear she remembers...) "Who?"
He pulls out. Spins her up and around. Picks her up just enough to land her arse on the console. Buries himself in her, deep and slow. She clings to him, dizzy and confused and so close to coming she probably couldn't form coherent words if she tried.
He punctuates every word with a deep thrust. "Captain. Jack. Harkness."
"No." But it sounds breathy and false, even to her.
A rough hand in her hair pulls her head back so she can look him in the eyes. And he circles his cock into that OH YES PLEASE!
"No." But she's weakening already under that merciless brown gaze. "Maybe... Yes... I don't know. Oh GOD, Doctor!"
He releases her hair. Holds her close, a strange flush of heat running through him. A seductive whisper in her ear. "Say it."
Who can think clearly at a time like this? "Erm... Please?"
"He's on your mind," he says. "You want to be loyal to me, but he keeps coming back, doesn't he?"
"Doctor..." But all she can think of is Jack's hands in her hair. Jack's mouth, hard on hers. Jack holding her. (Jack stroking her while she rides the other Doctor...)
"Admit it." It's part cajoling, part command. "I can already hear it in your mind."
And she bites her lip, in part because she's afraid of what they'll both do if she admits it aloud.
A fierce nip at her ear. "Say it, Rose," the Doctor growls. "Say you want Jack to fuck you."
The heat starts at the place where the Doctor's cock is grinding into her. Pleasure shivers through her viscerals. Up her spine. The scream tears its way out her mouth. And she comes so hard her hands convulse closed on brown pinstripes.
"Oh GOD YES JACK!"
The Doctor is watching her as she recovers herself. Weirdly, he's stopped moving, still rock-solid and buried inside her. He caresses her hair, his face unreadable.
"I'm... sorry," is the first thing she can think of.
"Why?" Moments of genuine puzzlement like this remind her that the Doctor is, in point of fact, an alien.
"Well..." she's trying and failing to get her heart to calm down, "Most blokes don't take it kindly when a girl..."
"Calls someone else's name during orgasm?" he says.
Blushing furiously, she nods.
He considers this for a moment. "Suppose they wouldn't. But you also came harder than you have in quite some time, and that feels lovely, so I can't think how calling Jack's name while in flagrante delicto would be a bad thing."
Yep, the Doctor is definitely an alien. "So... erm... you don't mind that I...?"
He shrugs. "Not really sure -- bit out of practice with the whole shagging-and-jealousy thing." He nuzzles her neck. She arches into the touch, heart pounding in all the right ways. He chuckles, kissing his way back up to her ear. "Near as I can figure, it'd only bother me if you stopped wanting me."
"Nevergonnahappen."
And just like that, he's moving inside her again with a sweet sigh. She clings to him, her legs tight around his lovely, slender arse.
"Do you want another lover, Rose?" That voice in her ear is driving her barmy.
"I love you," she gasps.
"I love you too," comes the amiable reply, calm as if she were just helping him effect repairs and not being shagged into the console. "That's why I'm offering."
"Oh God." Jack. Hot between her legs. Losing herself (again) in that kissable mouth. The (familiar?) ripple of that muscled back as he... "Oh GOD!"
"I will give you anything, Rose Tyler," murmurs the Doctor. "But you have to ask for what you want."
"I want you!" Building. She's building with him again, heavenly friction and a strange heat.
He nips at her earlobe. "And...?"
"Oh God -- I want him too!"
"Say his name."
"Jack." Her whole body tightens, pleasure verging on pain.
"Jack who?"
"Captain... Jack... HARKNESS...!"
The Doctor reaches. Jerks a lever down. The TARDIS lurches giddily as he thrusts up, coming sweetly.
And that's pretty much the last thing she remembers.
***
When she comes to, the Doctor -- now buttoned and straightened and no more rumpled than usual -- has sunk to a crouch before her. She's laid out at the foot of the console, her clothes more or less righted. And the Doctor's in his overcoat, which is always a sure sign he's expecting to leave.
"All right, Rose?" he says, so gently that she can't help staring at him.
"Yeah." And she wants to ask him if he has bits and pieces of Jack that he can only half-remember too. Instead she settles for, "You?"
His eyes are warmer than usual, and a bit suggestive. "Oh, yes."
"Is there--?" But he's already got a glass of water that was sitting on the console. She quirks an eyebrow at him even as she takes it, surprised.
The suggestiveness goes out of his eyes, replaced by something deeper and more possessive and just perfect to make her feel all warm inside. "I want you to be happy."
She swallows the mouthful of water hastily. Pulls him in so she can snog him a good one.
"I am," she says at last.
The Doctor stands and offers her a gentlemanly arm. She takes it (nothing like several good orgasms to make her a bit wobbly). And thought the sudden courtesy is awfully nice, she can't help looking at him funny. "What's got into you?"
He shrugs as he turns toward the door. "Not sure, exactly. Thought I knew m'self pretty well by now -- ten regenerations means I'm not a young man anymore -- but apparently, in my old age, I've got a bit kinky."
"And that kink kinks toward Jack?" Please let him say yes.
"That kink is willing to consider the option."
She doesn't bother to repress the grin as he leads them out the door...
...And straight into historic somewhere. Italy, maybe. Venice, actually, judging by the way the TARDIS is perched right at the edge of one of them canals.
After a few confident steps, the Doctor stops dead, the way he only does when the TARDIS lands somewhere very, very unexpected. "What?"
He looks around, adorably puzzled and blinking. Takes out the sonic screwdriver. Buzzes it surreptitiously to get a reading. Squints at whatever it says. Blinks again in confusion. Wanders off farther down the street like a bloke looking for a better signal on his mobile.
"What?" he says again.
And while the Doctor's otherwise occupied, a man in a frilly red shirt and an unbuttoned waistcoat drops from a second-storey window. Lands right in front of Rose. Dusts off some very yummy tight silk breeches. Adjusts the thigh-high boots. Grins hello. Presses a brief but sensuous kiss to the sensitive inside of her wrist. "Bella signora."
A fancy coat hits him in the back of the head. The half-unlaced tart who threw it out the window glares at Rose, then looks worriedly at the man. "Hurry, my love!"
From inside the fancy house behind the man, a voice bellows, "CASANOVA!!!"
With an apologetic shrug, the man releases her hand and runs for it.
And she's more gobsmacked than she's ever been in her life -- the man who just kissed her hand and ran off looks exactly like the Doctor, only with blue eyes...
"Must be Venice," says the Doctor absently, wandering back up the street, his eyes still fixed on the screwdriver. "Not so good for finding Jack..." He grins with his usual enthusiasm. "Oh, but Venice is BRILLIANT! I love Venice! Especially eighteenth-century Venice!"
"GIACOMO CASANOVA!!!" A very fat, very angry merchant (who a bit of basic arithmetic would pin as the husband of the coat-flinging tart up in the window), blusters out the door. "Which way did that bastard run?"
"Erm," said the Doctor. "Sorry. Can you be more specific on the bastard?"
The merchant's eyes widen. He looks the Doctor up and down.
"Run," Rose suggests quietly, teeth gritted into a smile as she pulls him backwards.
"Whatever for?" the Doctor returns softly.
The very fat, very angry merchant blanches. Makes the sign of the evil eye. Calls for his personal bodyguards.
In the window above, the tart is wringing her hands. "He will kill you if he catches you, my love!" she shouts down to the Doctor.
"Ah," says the Doctor. "Running it is, then."
When they turn back to the TARDIS, a group of locals have clustered around her and are rocking her. Violently. The interest is just enough to overbalance her. She tumbles backwards into the canal and -- belying the appearance of a wooden exterior -- sinks like a fecking stone.
"OI!" the Doctor shouts.
The crowd, who's now started in with talk of "witches" and "unnatural", turns on them, and they ain't exactly lookin' to throw them a "Welcome to Venice" party.
The very fat merchant emerges from the house again, angrier than ever and this time backed up by six blokes armed with various sharp-and-nasty looking weapons. He points to the Doctor. "Alive if possible. Dead... just as good."
The Doctor and Rose run like hell.
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time_and_chips, better_with_3
Author: the still-packing
loveslashangstBeta: the itchy-knitting-fingered
ophymirageCharacters: Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor, and a drop-in cameo
Rated: Is there a category for past NC-17? Naughty, naughty, NAUGHTY fun...
Disclaimer: Russell T Davies WISHES he'd thought of this plot.
Spoilers: Set sometime in Season 2 (Tennant!Season 1), but in the Dancing Lessons AU. Post DL Epilogue.
Summary: All they wanted to do was to find Jack...
Okay, so here's the dealio...
First, a word about Faithful. Yes, it's still a work in progress. Yes, I will get back to it. Lately, I've been avoiding it this long because it was too painful to look at. See, I unwittingly predicted the destruction of the Hub and a character death. I couldn't deal with Jack's anger and betrayal, nor with Ianto's pain once he finds out what he's ACTUALLY done. After CoE, it would've driven me to genuine emotional trauma to go back immediately to where I left things.
So in the meantime, I've done a lot of healing. I've done a lot of writing. I've done a lot of grieving. I've done a lot of odd projects, both in the Whoniverse and IRL. I only have a few more loose ends to tie up, then I promise I'll go back to finish what I started. Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Please believe me when I tell you that nothing heals my own pain quite so thoroughly as knowing that, in my own small way, I'm helping others.
In the meantime, have another round of PWP that -- you know me -- ended up being more plotty than I'd intended.
By way of intro: O and I loved DANCING LESSONS, my OT3 Nine/Rose/Jack. But Faithful kinda ate my writing life, and after I learned that DT is leaving DW, I wanted to see what Eleven would be like before I returned to the story. And since O begged me ages ago for a Rose/Ten/Tennant!Casanova with costume-y porn, this is the result. (And guess who else's ears pricked up at the thought of getting to be part of this little threesome?) Consider it a belated four-part epilogue to Dancing Lessons. What happens after this? I have no idea. Ask me once Series 5 has started. In the meantime, I'll return to my OT3!ZOMG! = Faithful.
“Though there are some disagreeable things in Venice there is nothing so disagreeable as the visitors.”
-- Henry James (American expatriate writer 1843-1916)
On with the show...
It's not that Rose doesn't love sex with the Doctor. Quite the opposite -- the man really ISN'T human in all the best ways. Travelling with him is a bit like knocking about the universe with a porn star in a brown pinstripe suit. And those adorable brainy specs that make her just want to...
Anyway. She loves the sound of the TARDIS landing someplace new, now not just for the sheer fun of seeing where they've ended up, but for the knicker-soaking anticipation that the Doctor will make good use of any semi-private, mostly-clean horizontal surface they happen upon.
Vertical surfaces are equally good, especially when she wears her little flirty skirts with the ruffles that make the Doctor ogle her arse hungrily with every step she takes.
She wears the little flirty skirts a lot.
(She also wears the ring a lot. It's a pretty ring -- a gold band with strange flowers in relief -- and it just bugs her that she can't remember where she got it.)
So it's not that the shagging isn't fantastic, because it IS. It's absolutely better than anything she could've imagined. (The Doctor isn't kidding when he says "prehensile" with that cocksure little grin of his.) And for the first several trips after the Doctor she loved became the Doctor she now adores, she's not sure what's bothering her. Like something half-remembered. Like she's lost something.
Like the damn ring. She exiles the thing to the pretty little jewellery box in the bedroom she shares with the Doctor, but the gorgeous band keeps appearing in the oddest places. It acts innocent, like she's been wearing it all along and has just taken it off to wash her hands. To do dishes. To take a shower. To make ever more passionate love with this lunatic she's travelling with...
She keeps telling herself to just buck up and enjoy her x-rated escapades through all of time and space. (And that it doesn't matter where the ring is from because it's just a damn ring.) Three months post-regeneration, her Doctor is more fun than ever, in every possible sense of the word. They laugh, travel, save worlds, make friends, have Adventures, run for it, and fuck like deranged minks at every opportunity.
But her libido refuses to listen. Even after she ups the daily shag quotient to three or four times per twenty-four hour period, she's still hankering. (Hankering. God, she's even starting to THINK like him.) Hankering for... Something... Someone...
Then the TARDIS takes her down a wrong turn into a strange room. A bedroom with twin metal plates embedded in the headboard. A room with a whole closet of... well, she's not exactly sure what it's a closet of, other than that she's pretty sure if her mum saw even one of those gizmos, Rose would NEVER hear the end of it. When she picks up one of the scarier models, it starts to vibrate in her hands, like it knows her. (Frightens her half to death, it does. And why does her body remember...?) There's a smell to the place. Sweet. Clean. Warm. Sexy. Masculine. Whatever it is, it's hard-wired to her groin, and her libido kicks in so hard that by the time the Doctor comes in looking for her, she throws him down on the bed and has him almost three full times before she lets him up. (Not that he seems to mind. And they would've made it a full three times if she hadn't had that stupid cramp in her right foot.)
"Not that I'm complaining," says the Doctor as he massages her foot firmly but gently into submission. "But why are we having it off in Jack's room?"
Jack. Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness. Sudden memories of him send sweet shudders through her.
Wearing that "I'm going to get laid and I know it" grin, the Doctor presses his advantage. And as they have a leisurely third-and-a-half shag on the bed, he doesn't seem to mind that she never gives him a straight answer.
Jack. Jack is everywhere from then on, in bits and bobs. His sky-blue eyes. How he'd intently devour a book when he thought no one was watching him read. How he could just sprawl, boneless and coiled at the same time like an overfed (and oversexed) tom cat. His hands. His hair. His film-star grin. His knack for looking edible in everything he put on, no matter how outrageous. (The sensual strength of him, grinding...)
But the Doctor doesn't seem to remember Jack as anything more than a brief passenger aboard the TARDIS. Fun, but harmless. A passing fancy, like Adam. The first Doctor used to tease her about her "boyfriends", and she supposes that's what Jack was. It's what he'd be... It's what... and where was he now? (Why did we leave him behind?)
Curiosity becomes fixation. Fixation becomes obsession. Obsession becomes a steady part of her fantasy life, as Jack Harkness keeps showing up in her head right in the middle of the really fantastic sex she continues to have with the Doctor.
The first time she gives in to the need to imagine Jack there, the Doctor has her pinned to the wall in a nice little alcove of the royal palace of... well, truth be told she hasn't really been paying much attention to where or when, the point being there's a palace populated sparsely by aliens who strongly resemble animate, plush cheese graters. (The Doctor warns her that staring is just as rude here as on any human world.) And fortunately, the aliens are just as good at making nice little shag-worthy alcoves as they are at looking utterly ridiculous in royal robes.
The Doctor grinds against her now, both of them still mostly-clothed. (That's part of the game -- keep as much clothing on as possible while having it off in as scandalous a place as possible.) He slides in, hard and cool and deep. Hits just the right spot to have her biting his shoulder to keep from screaming in pleasure. (She's now conditioned to associate a mouthful of smooth wool with really fantastic sex.)
And usually, between gasps, she murmurs "Doctor" in his ear, because that seems to do it for him. (The throatier, the better.) Usually, she wraps a leg around him and whispers dirty things in his ear because that always gets him off too. And usually, she braces herself for him to go all golden-energy and wild. (Nothing matches a man who goes into quantum flux when he comes.)
Instead, she gasps, "JACK!"
To his credit, the Doctor doesn't just pull out, zip up, and start the Silent Treatment, though by rights he could've. (And maybe should've. She would've been well pissed if he'd come back with "Sarah Jane!" or somesuch.) No, instead he brings her harder, deeper, and longer than he's ever done before. Determined, like he's marking her for his own. The energy shivers over her. Through her. Infuses every cell in her body. And she damn near bites a hole through the shoulder of his jacket.
It takes them both ages to come down afterward. Traces of quantum energy zip and shimmer in the air like mad fireflies. He holds her, face buried in her shoulder, that lovely cock of his still buried inside her. Usually, this is her favourite part -- the coming down -- but it's kind of hard to concentrate on the afterglow when she's mortified in ways she doesn't have words for.
He doesn't mention The Name. Not after he gives the rousing speech to rile up the oppressed cheese-wheel peasants to revolt against the cheese-grater royals. Not after the mob turns ugly and she and the Doctor end up taking refuge in the palace. Not even after they end up running for their lives from the incensed royals. (Apparently, animate plush cheese graters can really shift when they want to.)
Rose usually finds running hell-for-leather back to the TARDIS bracing -- a bit of adrenaline to extend that endorphin/quantum high from the shag. But this time, she can't meet the Doctor's eyes. Add to her misery that he seems a bit more serious than usual as they scramble down the dining hall table, royals and their guards hard on their heels.
And when they get safely back to the TARDIS, the Doctor slams the door behind her. Fires up the engines. And as soon as the time rotor starts making that odd, grinding hum, he has her bent over the console, legs wide. She never bothered to find her knickers after the last shag, and he's unzipped his trousers in a trice.
She has to admit as she braces herself, the run was fantastic foreplay. But even as the Doctor slides home, she fumbles for ways to apologize for calling The Name in the throes of passion. (And just as much to convince herself that she doesn't want Jack... here... now.)
And it's damn irritating to have these kind of distracting thoughts with the Doctor fierce and wanting behind her.
He bends over her, holding her to him as he continues the slow, smooth strokes. "You want him."
Ooooooooooh, that voice is a cold slice of heaven in her ear, innit? She lets her head fall forward even as she tightens around him. (She could swear she remembers...) "Who?"
He pulls out. Spins her up and around. Picks her up just enough to land her arse on the console. Buries himself in her, deep and slow. She clings to him, dizzy and confused and so close to coming she probably couldn't form coherent words if she tried.
He punctuates every word with a deep thrust. "Captain. Jack. Harkness."
"No." But it sounds breathy and false, even to her.
A rough hand in her hair pulls her head back so she can look him in the eyes. And he circles his cock into that OH YES PLEASE!
"No." But she's weakening already under that merciless brown gaze. "Maybe... Yes... I don't know. Oh GOD, Doctor!"
He releases her hair. Holds her close, a strange flush of heat running through him. A seductive whisper in her ear. "Say it."
Who can think clearly at a time like this? "Erm... Please?"
"He's on your mind," he says. "You want to be loyal to me, but he keeps coming back, doesn't he?"
"Doctor..." But all she can think of is Jack's hands in her hair. Jack's mouth, hard on hers. Jack holding her. (Jack stroking her while she rides the other Doctor...)
"Admit it." It's part cajoling, part command. "I can already hear it in your mind."
And she bites her lip, in part because she's afraid of what they'll both do if she admits it aloud.
A fierce nip at her ear. "Say it, Rose," the Doctor growls. "Say you want Jack to fuck you."
The heat starts at the place where the Doctor's cock is grinding into her. Pleasure shivers through her viscerals. Up her spine. The scream tears its way out her mouth. And she comes so hard her hands convulse closed on brown pinstripes.
"Oh GOD YES JACK!"
The Doctor is watching her as she recovers herself. Weirdly, he's stopped moving, still rock-solid and buried inside her. He caresses her hair, his face unreadable.
"I'm... sorry," is the first thing she can think of.
"Why?" Moments of genuine puzzlement like this remind her that the Doctor is, in point of fact, an alien.
"Well..." she's trying and failing to get her heart to calm down, "Most blokes don't take it kindly when a girl..."
"Calls someone else's name during orgasm?" he says.
Blushing furiously, she nods.
He considers this for a moment. "Suppose they wouldn't. But you also came harder than you have in quite some time, and that feels lovely, so I can't think how calling Jack's name while in flagrante delicto would be a bad thing."
Yep, the Doctor is definitely an alien. "So... erm... you don't mind that I...?"
He shrugs. "Not really sure -- bit out of practice with the whole shagging-and-jealousy thing." He nuzzles her neck. She arches into the touch, heart pounding in all the right ways. He chuckles, kissing his way back up to her ear. "Near as I can figure, it'd only bother me if you stopped wanting me."
"Nevergonnahappen."
And just like that, he's moving inside her again with a sweet sigh. She clings to him, her legs tight around his lovely, slender arse.
"Do you want another lover, Rose?" That voice in her ear is driving her barmy.
"I love you," she gasps.
"I love you too," comes the amiable reply, calm as if she were just helping him effect repairs and not being shagged into the console. "That's why I'm offering."
"Oh God." Jack. Hot between her legs. Losing herself (again) in that kissable mouth. The (familiar?) ripple of that muscled back as he... "Oh GOD!"
"I will give you anything, Rose Tyler," murmurs the Doctor. "But you have to ask for what you want."
"I want you!" Building. She's building with him again, heavenly friction and a strange heat.
He nips at her earlobe. "And...?"
"Oh God -- I want him too!"
"Say his name."
"Jack." Her whole body tightens, pleasure verging on pain.
"Jack who?"
"Captain... Jack... HARKNESS...!"
The Doctor reaches. Jerks a lever down. The TARDIS lurches giddily as he thrusts up, coming sweetly.
And that's pretty much the last thing she remembers.
***
When she comes to, the Doctor -- now buttoned and straightened and no more rumpled than usual -- has sunk to a crouch before her. She's laid out at the foot of the console, her clothes more or less righted. And the Doctor's in his overcoat, which is always a sure sign he's expecting to leave.
"All right, Rose?" he says, so gently that she can't help staring at him.
"Yeah." And she wants to ask him if he has bits and pieces of Jack that he can only half-remember too. Instead she settles for, "You?"
His eyes are warmer than usual, and a bit suggestive. "Oh, yes."
"Is there--?" But he's already got a glass of water that was sitting on the console. She quirks an eyebrow at him even as she takes it, surprised.
The suggestiveness goes out of his eyes, replaced by something deeper and more possessive and just perfect to make her feel all warm inside. "I want you to be happy."
She swallows the mouthful of water hastily. Pulls him in so she can snog him a good one.
"I am," she says at last.
The Doctor stands and offers her a gentlemanly arm. She takes it (nothing like several good orgasms to make her a bit wobbly). And thought the sudden courtesy is awfully nice, she can't help looking at him funny. "What's got into you?"
He shrugs as he turns toward the door. "Not sure, exactly. Thought I knew m'self pretty well by now -- ten regenerations means I'm not a young man anymore -- but apparently, in my old age, I've got a bit kinky."
"And that kink kinks toward Jack?" Please let him say yes.
"That kink is willing to consider the option."
She doesn't bother to repress the grin as he leads them out the door...
...And straight into historic somewhere. Italy, maybe. Venice, actually, judging by the way the TARDIS is perched right at the edge of one of them canals.
After a few confident steps, the Doctor stops dead, the way he only does when the TARDIS lands somewhere very, very unexpected. "What?"
He looks around, adorably puzzled and blinking. Takes out the sonic screwdriver. Buzzes it surreptitiously to get a reading. Squints at whatever it says. Blinks again in confusion. Wanders off farther down the street like a bloke looking for a better signal on his mobile.
"What?" he says again.
And while the Doctor's otherwise occupied, a man in a frilly red shirt and an unbuttoned waistcoat drops from a second-storey window. Lands right in front of Rose. Dusts off some very yummy tight silk breeches. Adjusts the thigh-high boots. Grins hello. Presses a brief but sensuous kiss to the sensitive inside of her wrist. "Bella signora."
A fancy coat hits him in the back of the head. The half-unlaced tart who threw it out the window glares at Rose, then looks worriedly at the man. "Hurry, my love!"
From inside the fancy house behind the man, a voice bellows, "CASANOVA!!!"
With an apologetic shrug, the man releases her hand and runs for it.
And she's more gobsmacked than she's ever been in her life -- the man who just kissed her hand and ran off looks exactly like the Doctor, only with blue eyes...
"Must be Venice," says the Doctor absently, wandering back up the street, his eyes still fixed on the screwdriver. "Not so good for finding Jack..." He grins with his usual enthusiasm. "Oh, but Venice is BRILLIANT! I love Venice! Especially eighteenth-century Venice!"
"GIACOMO CASANOVA!!!" A very fat, very angry merchant (who a bit of basic arithmetic would pin as the husband of the coat-flinging tart up in the window), blusters out the door. "Which way did that bastard run?"
"Erm," said the Doctor. "Sorry. Can you be more specific on the bastard?"
The merchant's eyes widen. He looks the Doctor up and down.
"Run," Rose suggests quietly, teeth gritted into a smile as she pulls him backwards.
"Whatever for?" the Doctor returns softly.
The very fat, very angry merchant blanches. Makes the sign of the evil eye. Calls for his personal bodyguards.
In the window above, the tart is wringing her hands. "He will kill you if he catches you, my love!" she shouts down to the Doctor.
"Ah," says the Doctor. "Running it is, then."
When they turn back to the TARDIS, a group of locals have clustered around her and are rocking her. Violently. The interest is just enough to overbalance her. She tumbles backwards into the canal and -- belying the appearance of a wooden exterior -- sinks like a fecking stone.
"OI!" the Doctor shouts.
The crowd, who's now started in with talk of "witches" and "unnatural", turns on them, and they ain't exactly lookin' to throw them a "Welcome to Venice" party.
The very fat merchant emerges from the house again, angrier than ever and this time backed up by six blokes armed with various sharp-and-nasty looking weapons. He points to the Doctor. "Alive if possible. Dead... just as good."
The Doctor and Rose run like hell.
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Crossposted to:
time_and_chips, better_with_3