fannishliss | who fic: "Against a Wall" (Nine/Rose, nc17)

title: Against a Wall
author:

fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: nc17
warnings: none
spoilers: none
length: 2900 words

Summary: Rose is a little more psychic than the Doctor realizes and picks up on his secret desires.

Author’s Note: doctor_rose_fix Summer '11 Fixathon, prompt from bird_by_snow for Nine/Rose. "Rose gets frustrated by how closed off the Doctor can be and wishes she could know what he is thinking sometimes. After her discussion with Jack in his ship about how you have to be careful when handing over the psychic paper, she wonders if that would work on the Doctor. So one day, after an argument or something, Rose asks to see the psychic paper and a baffled Doctor hands it over without thinking, essentially granting her a pipeline to his thoughts. Except Rose gets more than she bargained for and the paper confesses his feelings or details something naughty he’d like to do to her. What happens next is up in the air (she may decide to mull it over before confronting him, or check the paper again another day), but it would be great if there was some Doctor/Rose lovin’ by the end of the story :)"

Additional Author's Note: I'm indebted in this story to jessalrynn 's ideas about Gallifreyan being related to Music, as I read in her wonderful story, "Storm Song."

His back was to her but the tips of his ears shone red. He was furious. His shoulders were like stone, his neck arched, his jaw immobile, his stride as graceful and precise as ballet.

"May I at least borrow the psychic paper?" Rose asked, teeth gritted.

Without a word he handed it over.

--spitfire little minx with her bedroom eyes and come fuck me mouth, savage and beautiful and brilliant, face first against the wall, begging me to do it, cover her, slide in so deep she feels it in her soul, two worlds colliding--

The letters faded, but they'd already engraved themselves into Rose's psyche. Jack had warned her this could happen.

Shock had nearly deadened her feet. Her pulse was pounding, her eyes so dilated she could see nothing but him, mind revolving endlessly around those filthy thoughts he'd put in her brain.

She swallowed, shook her head. Now was not the time nor the place. He'd warned her not to touch anything and then he'd spent almost two hours preventing her being sold into slavery when she'd inadvertently touched something worth a king's ransom.

The market guards had trussed her up, hands bound together and lifted high in the air so that she was on tiptoe, and a crowd of lascivious would-be buyers had already begun looking her over, though none of them had dared to touch her for fear of the Doctor's murderous glare.

Finally he revealed himself as an agent of one of their supreme religious leaders. He'd been testing them for mercy, he said. Would they fail?

Quailing before the proof on the paper, they'd bowed and untied Rose.

Now they were striding back to the Tardis, and Rose had learned much more about the Doctor's secret thoughts than she'd ever dreamed.

She spent a restless night, burning with shame and arousal, agonized by the thought of him wanting to take her as roughly as the paper had revealed.

In the morning she shuffled blearily to the galley. There were fresh pastries in the breadbox, and she made a cup of tea, but she couldn't even taste the sweet milk and sugar.

Hoping the Tardis would have mercy, she roamed the corridors until she found him in his quarters, showered and changed into fresh clothes.

"Doctor," Rose said.

"Yeah, what?" said the Doctor. He was standing at one of those old fashioned writing desks, making some sort of notations. He slid whatever he was working on into one of the cubbies and closed the lid.

Rose blushed. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was stupid."

"Yeah, you were," the Doctor said shortly.

Rose felt the heat of her face increase. "I'll be more careful from now on," she promised, her voice catching.

"Why should I let you out onto an alien world," the Doctor growled, "when you can't even obey the simplest rule?"

His eyes were so bright, so intense, focused on her like he could see to her core, the very electrical impulses that made her heart quiver. She would've promised him anything.

The corner of her mouth turned up. "I'd make it worth your while," she joked.

The blood drained from the Doctor's face and the emotion leached from his eyes. "What?" he said.

Rose was mortified. It was only meant as a joke. "You, you didn't think I…"

"What kind of a man do you think I am, Rose? D'ye think I'd invite someone to travel with me and then make them 'pay their way'?" His face had gone from white to red.

Rose was embarrassed by what she'd laughingly implied, but she was horrified that the Doctor would think she was serious. In a flash she was as furious as he was.   "I may be a your little savage with bedroom eyes and 'come fuck me' mouth, but that doesn't mean…"

Rose shut up as recognition hit the Doctor's face like a slap, stunning him.

"The psychic paper… " he whispered, pale eyes widening impossibly. "Oh, no."

"Busted," Rose said, humorlessly. "Now I know what you really think of me." She was appalled to hear her the tremor in her voice.

His standing desk was near the door. As she crossed past him to get out, his hand shot out to catch at hers.

Reflexively she returned his grip. His hand in her was ice cold, much colder even than usual. She wanted to pull away, but something made her stop. So she just stood there unresisting, head hanging, facing the door.

"Please, Rose," he whispered. "Let me…. let me explain."

She didn't turn, but nodded shortly. She waited, but he said nothing. Just as she went to pull free, to flee out the door and pray the Tardis would lend her some quiet nook where she could cry her eyes out and wash her heart clean, the Doctor caught her other hand, then deftly turned and pressed her to the wall. He didn't hurt her, but she knew she wasn't strong enough to pull away.

"Ah, no, no way, you're kidding me!" Rose began, stiffening, but in a flash, the Doctor was pressed full-length against her, pinning her against the wall, his front tight as glue to her back.

"Rose, Rose, listen," the Doctor said. "Sh."

She was so accustomed by now to doing what he said, that she turned all her focus to listening.

Together she and the Doctor stood, pressed against the cold coral wall of his bedroom. His hearts were pounding hard against her. His breathing was harsh in her ear. The Tardis hummed quietly around them, and every so often, they could hear the eerie sound of the vortex slipping past them, as though someone had drawn a thumbnail down a piano string.

Then she began to hear something else, a low, soft, pealing that became more musical the longer she listened.

"Doctor -- are you singing?" she asked, surprised. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, but then she realized that his throat and chest were empty of vibrations. He was singing only in his mind -- in her mind!

She jerked but there was no room to get away from him. "Are you trying to get inside my head?" she yelled in outrage.

"Can you hear it?" he said.

She turned her head and he was right there, a soft smile creeping up on his face.

"You can hear it?" he asked again.

"Yeah!" Rose said, eyes flashing angrily, "stop it. You can’s just mess around inside a person’s head."

"I'm not," he said, his sweet smile broadening. "You're picking it up, out of thin air or the like."

"You tryna say I'm psychic," she said, voice thickening with scorn.

"A bit, yeah, so it seems," he answered lightly. "Pretty inconvenient for me, really, you picking up on my private thoughts like that."

"But Jack said that might happen!" Rose said.

"But Jack's also psychic!" the Doctor said overly slowly.

Rose was undeterred. "So? So what! You just want, you want to fuck me against a wall," she said hotly. It was all a bloody mess. Was she meant to be furious, outraged that he'd taken her joke for a proposition of trade? or flattered, that a Time Lord could be attracted to a stupid little ape? She did want him, she couldn't deny it, but not at the expense of her own self-respect.

"I do, Rose," he whispered. She could hear the tremor of emotion in his voice, and his hands on hers were like ice.

She froze. "What?"

"I want to," he said. "I'm half mad with it. Every minute of every day. I don't even sleep, maybe one hour a night, but most nights not even that since you've been around."

His words set her on fire. She struggled to seem unaffected as he pushed his nose into her hair, behind her ear, breathing deeply. "You're so delicious, Rose, your scent up in my brain. You're all I think about. So delightful, so young and full of life. You can't know what it means to someone like me, ancient, jaded, broken --" his voice cracked, but he breathed in again, and as he exhaled his body pressed deeper into hers against the wall. "You make me feel whole again, like I can do what's right, like I might possibly be able to do something that won't echo with horror to the end of days--"

"But Doctor--" she protested, not even knowing what she meant to say.

"You don't know me, Rose. You don't know what I've done, what I've become. You're right to think the worst," he said, and she felt him start to pull away.

Urgently she gripped his hands tightly. "I don't think the worst," she said softly. "I think you're brilliant."

"Well, I am that," he said, shifting a little. Then he whispered, "So are you."

"Not really," Rose said.

"Yes, really," the Doctor answered. "You saw it in my thoughts, in plain English: savage, beautiful, brilliant --"

"You remember, word for word, what you were thinking?"

"Perfect total recall, me," the Doctor grinned. "Helpful at times, not so much others," he said.

Rose swallowed. Now or never, she thought.

"Don't you remember what else you thought?" she said, and arched her back slightly towards him.

She shivered at the touch of his lips against her earlobe as he breathed: "face first against the wall, begging me to do it, cover you, slide in so deep you feel it in your soul, our two worlds colliding--"

"You say I don't know you, but I do," she said, giving herself over to him as she stood there, held against the living coral of his Tardis. "And I wanna know all of you."

She felt a vibration travel through his whole body at her words. "Do it, Doctor," she said, pushing her bum out against him and grinding softly. "Do you really want me to beg? Cover me," she whispered.

She'd never used that phrase before, but it was so sensual, almost animal, that it made her face burn hot. She spoke it anyway.

"I'm covering you right now," he groaned. "Can't you feel it?"

"Feel it?" she repeated, thinking of the times men had pressed up against her, their hardness insistent against her body. She didn't feel what she expected. "I, uh," she stammered, unsure what to say.

"Feel with your mind, Rose, the same way you listened," he explained. “Don’t you want to?”

Rose did want to, more than anything. “Yes,” she said.

“If you’re sure, then please don’t move. Leave your hands on the wall, just for now, will you?” His voice was just slightly desperate.

“Isn’t this a little, I dunno, kinky for a Time Lord?” Rose asked.

“Gallifreyans can’t have sex without covering, and an unwilling female can’t be covered.” The Doctor’s explanations were breathless, a bit forced, but his hands, slowly soothing their way down her arms and warming slightly as they went, gentle, thorough, and hungry, exploring her with intent and abandon.

“So...” Rose asked softly, licking her teeth. “I mustn’t resist?”

“If you do, I stop. No means no,” he said seriously.

And then she felt it, familiar and comforting, that same current of peace and protection that seemed to flow into her whenever they held hands, except now, it was flowing all around her.   A tingling warmth caressed her skin and sank down into her muscles, leaving her energized and relaxed at the same time.

"As I cover you, my body attunes itself to the flow of energy within you. Feel," he said, and in her mind he sang, as we align our currents of life as one being.   "You’d call it chi," he murmured. "In Gallifreyan it's ~ ~~ ~~ ~" and he spoke a beautiful series of tones that translated itself in her mind as she listened, that energy of life that flows in harmony.

Who knew Time Lords were so New Age, she thought. “How come I know what that means if you’re not--”

“I’m linked into your sensorium. If I were in your head, you’d be in mine as well. And I wouldn’t do that, not without asking.”

“You could do, though,” Rose said, blushing.

“What?” the Doctor asked.

“You could. Just ask.”

“Well, then, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor drawled, as though every sound of her name was ambrosia to his lips and tongue, “I’m asking.”

Rose savored the weight of solemnity and impending joy, and she wondered if Time Lords felt like this often, with their sense of the cusp of things, the heft of the inevitable moment.

“I’m saying yes,” Rose answered.

With his body’s mysterious physiology somehow linking in to hers, she thought he couldn’t possibly press any more tightly against her, but at her assent his embrace grew even more intense and intimate. His hands traced the contours of her sides, soft and hypnotic. It felt heavenly.

“I’m going to touch you now, Rose, okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with passion.

“mmm, yes,” Rose said, glad of the wall holding her up, as his hands slipped under her clothes. One hand found her breast, gently tweaking, while the other dipped below her waistband, his hand cool against her moist heat.

“Mind to mind, my Rose?” he asked as he touched her, delicate, precise. She could feel him trembling slightly all around her.

She didn’t think he’d noticed the possessive, but it made her smile happily. “Oh, yes,” she said.

He laid his temple to hers and slipped inside her, his words singing in her mind, sliding in deep. He begged her surrender, the gift of herself laid bare, and as she offered herself, the pleasure built as he touched with his hands and stroked her senses with his entire body.

She pushed back against him, and at last she felt the familiar evidence of male arousal, but he kissed her neck and whispered, “Not like this, not against a wall. I’ll have you in my bed for that,” and Rose caught an image of herself spread out naked on orange sheets, his crimson coverlet thrown aside. It was a fuzzy image, but the important thing was that it was his own imagining.

“Do you like that picture?” he groaned, stroking her more intently. She was so wet now, his fingers slipped easily, thrillingly across their target.

“Like it better with you in it,” she moaned, picturing for herself the lovely image of his long, muscular frame lying sweetly atop her own, fitting her perfectly.

“Rose,” he sang, but in Gallifreyan, her name was more than a flower-- it was a diagram of the birth of the Universe, exploding outward symmetrically in every dimension, colored in his head with bursts of crimson and burnished gold.

“May I go deeper?” he asked, and she wasn’t really she what he meant, but she didn’t care. Whatever he asked of her, at this point, all she could give for an answer would be a resounding Yes.

“May I, please?” he begged. She’d forgotten he needed her complete and unquestionable assent.

“Yes!” she replied, out loud for good measure, and like a dam had broken, he poured into her mind, filling her with the storm of his emotions. With heartbreaking joy, she heard him sing of the return of the longed for (despaired of) solace. She felt his awe, happiness, disbelief, passion, and so much gratitude that the silence in his head had finally been broken.

As he filled her heart and mind, his fingers buried themselves inside her body, still thrumming with the linkage of his energies to hers. With his thumb he lightly caressed her, but through the connection she felt so much more. With a shout, she felt her body seize around his fingers; even her mind contracted around his. She tried to sing back his name, Doctor, inside her head, and she felt his joyful response as he sang her name, the design at the heart of the universe.

As she came back to herself, he was still stroking her, featherlight, too reluctant to let her go. He was nuzzling behind her ear, filling his lungs with her scent, repeatedly singing her name, the new name she’d never heard, that had always been hers.

“Take me to bed, now, Doctor,” she sighed.

“I’m not going to be,” he said, “exactly what you expect.”

“Really?” Rose asked, trying not to seem concerned, but she could hear the laughter in his voice.

He turned her to face him, and with a sigh, she wrapped her tired arms around him. He smiled down at her, his blue eyes fairly beaming with masculine confidence. “I’ll be so much better,” he said, and he was.