|Majik's World of Fan Fic
|Doctor Who Fic: Illusion of Control (Nine/Rose, Adult)
|Page 1 of 1|
|Author:||Measi [ Mon Mar 16, 2009 11:10 pm ]|
|Post subject:||Doctor Who Fic: Illusion of Control (Nine/Rose, Adult)|
Title: Illusion of Control
Gift for: wiggiemomsi, for the December 2008 <a href="http://supportstacie.net/" target="new">Support Stacie Auction.</a>
Rating: Adult, for sexual situations
Betas: aibhinn and talonscar, thank you both!
Author’s Notes: A huge thank you to Wiggiemomsi, both for her generous auction pledge, and for her patience as real life kept preventing me from getting this done. I hope it’s worth the wait.
Summary: The Doctor finds his control breaking, in more ways than one.
ILLUSION OF CONTROL
Although a rare occurrence, the Doctor does occasionally find himself settling into routines on the TARDIS. The daily maintenance in the ship’s underbelly does not count toward this. His morning swim before Rose wakes, however, does.
He’s thankful that Rose tends to be more of a night person. If he’s honest, he’s far more productive at night. But with less need for sleep than most humans, he tends to be up at least a couple hours before she is. Those extra hours, spent in blissful silence, allow him all the time he needs to wake and go through his morning routine before putting on the first pot of tea just before he knows she’ll be wandering into the kitchen. This body, he’s discovered, is one that just doesn’t feel ‘right’ unless he’s had that morning swim to get his blood pumping and to get his mind clear of the nighttime cobwebs that form to protect him from his nightmares and regrets. The crisp coolness of the water energizes him; the lingering smell of chlorine somehow familiar yet annoyingly pungent at the same time encourages him to keep his head in the water, moving, feeling the liquid sluice over his shoulders with every stroke.
He’s surprised, therefore, to hear the sound of water sloshing in the pool this morning as he opens the door. Rose drifts serenely as she slowly makes angel forms with her arms, keeping her body centered in the water. Her eyes are closed, her breathing calm and steady, as evidenced by the slow rise and fall of her stomach just above the water line.
The Doctor closes the door carefully, and then slinks to a corner chair, annoyed by her intrusion. But as quickly as the emotion comes, it evaporates into embarrassment. He knows she’s not intruding – the pool is not one of the areas he considers off-limits. After eight centuries of travel, mostly with humans, he’s learned one thing – if you don’t want the human to go into a room, make sure said human isn’t aware the room exists. They’ve been here several times together, soaking aching limbs after a long day out. He’s even taught her a couple of the more complex swim strokes he learned as a child, helping her with the more efficient and fast strokes than her standard Earth-bound lessons could teach her. After all, he wants her to know the simple methods that could assist her just in case she needs to escape by means of a river.
She drifts slowly toward the side, her toes bumping into the bricks that form the splash edge. Rather than push against them to propel her back into the center of the pool, she lifts her heel, allowing it to be a dry-shore anchor for just a moment before she dips her head backwards, then arches around, turning her entire body into an underwater back somersault. As she reemerges, she dunks once again to push her hair and the excess water back from her face, and heads to the steps leading into the pool.
His eyes widen. When he’d seen her stomach, he’d thought nothing of it. Rose tended to prefer bikini swimming costumes – rather skimpy ones, in fact. But this morning, apparently, she considered her skimpiest bikini overdressed.
Rose Tyler is naked – brilliantly, beautifully naked. And he can’t look away.
He realises she’s completely unaware of her surroundings as she pads against the pool decking to retrieve her towel and beach gown. The rippling shimmer of her leopard-print dressing gown reflects the ceiling lights as she swings it around her body. He stares, mesmerized by the fluid way she moves. He can imagine, thanks to the entirely too short silky dressing gown, how her naked body moves underneath. His mind decides to remove the flimsy material, visualising her once again naked, and he finds himself needing to sit down.
What the hell is wrong with him?
As Rose enters the adjoining changing room, he waits until he hears shower spray hitting soft skin, then gets up, tosses his towel onto a chair closer to the door, and dives into the pool before she has an opportunity to notice his body’s reaction. Hopefully, she won’t even know he’s been sitting there watching her. As the cool water hits his skin, he feels his morning endorphins wake, tickled by the air bubbles that dance along his skin as he moves. He quickly finds himself in his normal rhythm, twenty strokes across the pool, flip, turn, push off the side, twenty strokes back. For all of the indignation he feels about humans and their best-of-universe-species attitude, he has to admit that the freestyle stroke truly is the easiest way to start moving and feel energized. Simple, efficient – as long as he’s not forced to escape.
He continues, his mind focused only on the stroke and the count. One lap turns into five, turns into ten. And then his concentration breaks. Rose. In the pool. And that entirely too revealing dressing gown.
He loses count, his stride broken, and he’s forced to stop for a breath of air. Treading water, he wipes his eyes clear and looks around – finding her curled up in an oversized towel near where he’d thrown his.
She smiles when his eyes meet hers and uncurls from the lounge chair.
“Good morning,” she says.
He nods at her, too uncomfortable by his prior behavior to smile. “You’re up early,” he remarks. “Anything wrong?”
She shakes her head – a bit too quickly, he notes. “No, just woke up early. Had that twitchy feeling where I just needed to go do something to burn off some energy, you know?”
He swims over to the side and leans against the edge. “You sure?”
After a considering pause, her smile fades just a bit. “No, but I can’t talk about it yet.” She quickly changes the subject. “You’re really good, you know that? I could never get steady laps. Too much water in my nose at the turn.”
“Bubbles. Blow them out your nose as you do the somersault. If you’re blowing air out, water can’t get in.”
“Honestly, after watching you do that back flip in the water this morning, I don’t get how you’d have problems with water going up your nose.”
As soon as he says it, he winces. Caught.
“Were you watching me?” Her tone has switched sharply to anger.
“Well, it is my pool.” He’s already defensive, protecting himself from her confusing tone.
“And how long were you watching me?”
“Why – does that matter?”
“Of course it does!” she exclaims. “If you’re here to swim, why don’t you just get in? Why watch me?”
“You were here when I got here. I stopped and watched. If you don’t want to be watched, don’t come in here. Particularly in the morning. I’m always here in the morning. You can stay out if it’s such a problem.”
“Am I not allowed to be in it all of a sudden? You could have just told me if it’s now off limits, you know.” She turns away, grabs her towel, and moves quickly toward the door.
The indignation turns to pure anger. It’s his ship – he can make new rules whenever he feels like doing so. And besides, she’s intruding on his swim time. His. She’s never shown an interest in the pool so early. He hadn’t needed a rule.
But what is this all about, anyway? He knows something’s bothering her, and it’s not his watching her. Why did she snap at him? His mind rolls through the possibilities, none seeming any more logical than the last.
His thought is broken when he hears the main door slam. Without further debate, he storms after her. Because yes, he’s going to tell her the rules. Starting with “The Time Lord has private use of the pool until morning tea.”
* * *
It doesn’t take him long to realise that the TARDIS is toying with him. She’s taking a perverse joy in confusing him, creating corridors where they shouldn’t be and adding rooms at the ends of them where he knows he did not leave them last time he’d been in them.
With every new corridor turn, his mind churns over the image of Rose emerging from the pool. He remembers everything – counting each reflection of light on her skin, following every trail of water down her back. He reaches out to touch her as she sweeps the dressing gown over her pale skin, wanting her to stop… only to have the memory fade from existence, leaving him in an empty TARDIS corridor.
At the next turn, the memory returns, stronger than before. Again, it vanishes as he reaches out for her. And then returns again at the next corridor turn.
Two hours pass like this, wandering corridors that blended together well over an hour ago, until he hears the steady thrum of his ship’s heart that has eluded him. This time, Rose’s image turns to smile at him as she emerges from the pool – her eyes glowing with the vortex as she beckons him. But just as before, when he reaches out to her, she disappears, her image fading away.
Only this time, he sees Rose – the real Rose – in front of him. She stands in the console room, staring up at the center column. Ignoring the small voice warning him to stay calm, he strides quickly across the room, grabs her arm, and spins her to face him. And then he kisses her, fast and firm. He ignores her surprised squeak, presses harder as she tenses, and smirks openly when he feels her body finally relax against him, excited to know she’s responding to him. Within seconds, she kisses him just as frantically, grabbing at his shirt and pulling his body flush to hers.
His mind screams at him to stop and notice what he’s doing. But he doesn’t stop – the excitement, the thrill of kissing her and making her body respond to him… the act of sex overrides his sensible side, and he submits himself to it, shoving the cautionary warnings from his mind. Rose is everything: the feel of her pool-softened skin, the smell of her hair – the damp, earthy smell mixed with her shampoo, the sound of her soft exhales as he trails his fingers across bare skin. He knows he’s falling, and he’s determined to take her with him.
Only when forced to take a breath does he stop and look at her. Rose is confused, breathless as well, and staring back at him with a mixture of arousal, surprise, and… fear?
“Don’t do this,” she whispers, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had filled the room.
The Doctor frowns. “Do what?”
“This!” she replies, as if it would make everything instantly clear. Then, reconsidering, she continues, “Kissing me. Showing me that you might feel more than I thought. “
“No,” she interrupts. “I’m serious about this. Because I do feel more about you. I don’t know if it’s love, but I know it’s heading that way. So don’t lead me on. Jimmy did that. For months. And if this is like that, I can’t do it again. “
His expression softens. “It’s not like that. I don’t know how I feel either, but I’m not teasing. Not about sex. I know I wouldn’t do this if I felt nothing.”
Rose began to pull away at that – clearly he’d said the wrong thing.
“Look, Rose. If you’re looking for me to say the words…" He flounders for a moment, then says helplessly, "I can’t. Just can’t. But I can say that yes, without question, I am attracted to you, because of who you are.”
“I seem to be the one who gets us in trouble all the time,” Rose says, almost a question.
“It’s one of your special talents, yes,” he replies, deadpan. “But you’re also brave. You think about the right things to do… even at your own expense. Not many people would do that, Rose. Especially for someone they haven’t met. Particularly not for someone of another species, planet or time.”
He knows the moment is lost – his arousal has diminished and logical thought is once again in control. He is fully aware this topic will going to come up again. He will ensure it happens again, one way or another. He can’t ignore the sudden emotions he’s felt. They need to be investigated – how does he feel about Rose?
And what brought that on, anyway? A Time Lord – lusting after a human?
His thoughts are interrupted when he realizes Rose is still there, observing him.
“Rose, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I feel. I’m not trying to lead you on, but we should stop now… before you think less of me for not knowing.” He has to regain control – of his emotions, of the situation, of Rose’s reaction to him. He needs to know exactly where he’s standing, and where this is leading.
She frowns, clearly upset by his admission, but he’s sure she will realise that he’s being honourable here. With a nod, she backs away before fleeing the console room, leaving him alone as the silence envelops him once more.
* * *
Three weeks pass, and the tension has decreased for the most part. The Doctor jokes with Rose as he did before the incident at the pool. With few exceptions, she laughs, her sense of humor so quick that she returns jokes and teasing out of instinct. He’s relieved to see their friendship mending.
But now and again, he catches a glance. She never holds it for long, and he knows that she doesn’t want him to notice. The glances are curious, as if she is trying to gauge something about him, or perhaps deciding her own thoughts on a subject. And he’s certain it involves that morning at the pool.
Not that he would have done it differently. But if he’d have had total control…
He shakes his head angrily, scolding himself for the improper behavior. Time Lords did not fraternise with lower life forms. Not in what Rose might call “The Biblical Sense,” anyway. Aside from the compatibility issues, particularly in regards to male aggression during mating, there were other things – lifespan, cultural differences in the chance that offspring did result. And the emotions. The concept of love, particularly the wide range in which humans interpreted it, he doesn’t think he could ever understand it, despite his centuries of living among them. And even if he did love her, he’d never admit it.
Because ultimately, admitting love would hurt too much when she left.
He turns from the console and sees the mix of frustration and hope that flashes across her face before she once again hides it away. He knows that she wants to talk about what happened that morning after the pool.
The funny thing is, so does he. Unlike Rose, however, he’s quite certain about how he wants to move forward. He wants her, but what holds him back is the worry about how pursing a relationship would affect their future. He’s used to companions leaving, either by choice or by force… or by death. Not once has he entertained the chances of one leaving because a romantic relationship went sour. Above all else, that gives him pause.
The Time Lord philosophy he’d flaunted for centuries has suddenly become a raw, powerful code for his life since Gallifrey’s destruction. Somehow, he feels that he needs to carry on the ethics and laws of his species since he's the only one left, even if he personally disagreed with quite a lot of the individual points. That's the horror of his civilisation being gone – completely gone. If he lets those traditions die, there's no one else to pick them up. They would disappear.
He likens it to the great civilisations he’d come to both adore and abhor throughout his travels; the fourth empire of the Metaxans, the Romans on Earth, the multiple dynasties of Egypt and China. He wondered if the last surviving members of those civilisations knew how close the end was, how everything they knew about life was soon to pass by the wayside. Only a few admittedly astounding relics of architecture and some less phenomenal but no less important shards of pottery or personal objects would remain, leaving little factual information about the inhabitants that had used them.
But of Gallifrey, there is nothing left. There is only dust and a shell of a planet that had been nearly forgotten. The only mentions of it are in obscure fairy tales, dismissed as fantasy with no knowledge of the stories’ origins. No writings remained, none of the great domed buildings that gleamed against the orange tinted sky. And even if they did exist, no one could find them – Gallifrey existed outside of normal linear time. Space archaeologists wouldn’t be able to just travel to its remains for study. He and his TARDIS were the only two things of Gallifrey that remained - the only anthropological specimens.
Perhaps that is the most frustrating issue. As with all species, survival is paramount. Even the Time Lords finally succumbed to focusing on survival; pouring their collective knowledge into the Nexus, hoping against all odds that it would survive. They forgot that a civilisation requires physical presences to continue. The Doctor, now all alone, feels the pressure of his people pushing on him; to find a mate, to have offspring, and to continue his lineage. And he hates himself for it. Rose deserves more than the disturbing feelings he has along these lines. She deserves more than to be the vessel by which new Gallifreyans could be born.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shuts down his train of thought. No more thinking about how it wouldn’t work, and more thinking about how to approach Rose and solve this issue.
He glances in her direction again, only to see that she’s disappeared. Muttering a curse under his breath, the Doctor marches down the hallway. Just tell her, he berates himself silently, following the pattern of the hallway that stretches before him. The TARDIS is once again leading him to where he’s needed, where he wants to go, her playful games set aside for the seriousness of the situation.
And he finds himself once again on the side of the pool, watching Rose swim clumsy laps.
“Rose,” he says, hoping she’ll hear him. But she continues swimming. He calls her name again, a bit louder, and she stops, her limbs jerking as she pulls upright, treading water.
He moves to the end of her lane, waiting for her to meet him there. When she does, he bends down, pulls her out of the water, and kisses her firmly. Her initial tension bleeds away, her body becoming pliable beneath his hands, sighing into his kiss. Finally ending the kiss, he leans away from her, taking in the bewildered but aroused expression on Rose’s face. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her pupils dilated.
“Do that again!” she exclaims. The flirtatious twinkle in her eyes spreads across her face in the form of the brightest smile she’s ever given him.
Feeling a surge of pride, he leans over her again and captures her lips, moving forward and directing her toward the wall without releasing her. As her shoulders touch the wall, he presses flush against her, chuckling as he feels her shudder and rock her hips upward, instinctively seeking connection with his own. He groans at the heat where her pelvis presses into his.
He hears Rose gasp as she stares into his eyes. He can only imagine what she sees – the determination to make her his own, the arousal focusing each breath and movement he makes. Her response thrills him. He grasps onto it to erase the final lingering doubts from his mind. He knows she wants him, and at this moment, he wants nothing else.
With confident, quick movements, the Doctor sweeps the swim suit from her skin, smirking as she kicks it away, then delves immediately into exploring every inch of her revealed body. He runs his hands around her waist, marveling at the gentle curve of her hips, splaying his fingers to encompass as much of her as possible. He captures the trails of water that run down her breasts with his tongue before swirling it and planting wide, firm kisses near her navel. The damp, musky scent that he’ll forever identify only as ‘Rose’ fills his nostrils, beckoning him down until he tastes the warm dampness between her thighs.
Rose’s moans excite him further, and he moves his tongue faster, exploring the tiny spots near her clit that force her to gasp, or whisper his name, or make one of the myriad fascinating noises that he would have never thought possible from her human voice. Her knees shake, and then she collapses onto him, her body shuddering in orgasm. As he lowers her to the closest deck chair, she opens her eyes, laughing.
“That was…” she begins, but trails off into laughter.
“… good? Incredible? Astounding?” the Doctor suggests, crawling on top of her, positioning himself at her opening.
She smiles. “All three.”
Rose reaches between them, softly encasing his shaft in her hand. Almost immediately, he reaches down and pulls her away, stretching her arms above her head and pinning them.
“Don’t you want me to…”
“Not this time, Rose,” he interrupts. “Too close.”
She nods, swallowing nervously as she lifts her head, capturing his lips in a long kiss. “Better get to it, then,” she says, allowing her knees to fall to the sides, giving him better access.
He grins wickedly and pushes home, groaning as he relishes the velvet-soft warmth encompassing him. His thrusts are steady and strong, reminding himself and Rose with each movement that she is his. To his surprise, she appears completely at ease with his dominance, relaxing her arms under his hold, closing her eyes in a peaceful expression. For a while, he knows she’s just allowing herself to feel, to get lost in the moment as he moves above her. But then she begins to move in counterpoint, pushing him faster, harder. Her eyes fly open, and he’s lost in the sea of brown that stares at him, realizing in that moment that he doesn’t have dominance over her; she’s equal to him, commanding him to move, to fulfill both of them.
So he does, finally pushing both of them over the edge with a harsh cry as he empties himself into her. He feels her hips rock a few more times as she drifts down from her second orgasm, his heart fluttering at the sated sigh that escapes her lips.
She’s unable to say anything at first, just humming her pleasure as they lie still, savoring the afterglow. As the moment fades, the Doctor releases her arms and detangles himself, leaning over one more time to kiss her deeply on the lips, a prick of arousal building again as he feels her fingernails scrape lightly along his spine.
“Round Two later,” he whispers against her lips. “Down the hall, turn right, second door on the left.”
He figures he has about five minutes until “later.”
Assuming, of course, that the TARDIS doesn’t have other plans.
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