Weekly round up of fic I’ve read and enjoyed this week. Do yourself a favor and check ‘em out!
Take Me Home by @badwolfxoncomingstorm (Nine/Rose, UA), sequel to Last Chance (Eight/Rose, UA)
Unexpected by @perfectlyrose (Eight/Rose, AU)
What We’re Made Of: Prologue & Chapter 1 and Chapter 3 by @rishidiams and @caedmonfaith (Twelve/Rose, AU, babyfic) (Note: Not sure if I missed a chapter?)
Last Call by @sequencefairy (Nine/Rose, AU)
askbox fic (1) for @chiaroscuroverse by anon (Nine/Rose, NSFW, BDSM, Domme!Rose)
Rose and the Mechanic: Chapter 9, Chapter 10, and Chapter 11 & Chapter 12 by @annamarie83 (Nine/Rose, Human Nature UA) (Note: Now complete! And the first fic in a new series.)
askbox fic (2) for @chiaroscuroverse by anon ( Nine/Rose, NSFW, BDSM, Domme!Rose)
An Endless Bliss by @starsandfairytales (Eight/Rose)
prompt fic by @perfectlyrose (Eight/Rose)
As always, links are to tumblr posts when possible so people can reblog fic if they want to.
A mildly NSFW (but mostly just silly) one-shot for badwolfxoncomingstorm, based on her glorious prompt:
Because he is part human, Tentoo can’t process alcohol as fast as his full Time Lord counterpart and this leads to some awkward situations, namely Tentoo blurting out things that should really be kept private, much to Rose’s chagrin. For example, at a party for Torchwood someone asks about his plans for the weekend and he, quite happily, announces that he plans to spend a majority of it between Rose Tyler’s thighs.
—————
Rose and the Doctor haven’t seen the other Tylers much since moving out of the mansion three months ago.
While they’d both been very ready to start their new lives together after so many years spent apart, the fact that she can’t play with Tony every day anymore, or hug her mum whenever she feels like it, upsets Rose more than she lets on.
Tonight’s black-tie optional Torchwood dinner party wouldn’t ordinarily be her first choice of free time activities. From experience, she knows it will probably be horribly dull. But Tony will be there (at least until Mum sends him to bed), and so will her parents. All told Rose finds she’s looking forward to the event much more than she normally would.
As she and the Doctor finish getting ready she looks herself over one last time in the full-length mirror. More or less satisfied with her appearance she glances over at the Doctor, who’s looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he straightens the bow tie of his tux. His mouth hangs open, and his tongue is pressed up against the backs of his front teeth the way it does whenever he's focusing very intently on something.
Three months into their new, intimate relationship, and the sight of the Doctor doing characteristically Doctorish things with that nimble tongue of his still never fails to drive Rose wild.
She clears her throat loudly – both to get a grip on herself (they’re going to a dinner party at her parents’ house for Christ’s sake; she can’t show up all randy) and to get the Doctor’s attention. Hearing her, and still fidgeting with his tie, he turns his head a little until he’s facing her.
“How do I look?” Rose asks, striking what she hopes is a sexy pose in the slinky black dress she chose for tonight. The Doctor’s hands fall to his sides in an instant as he looks at her, his eyes roaming unabashedly over her body.
“You look brilliant,” he says earnestly, his voice a little husky. “Err, Rose – do we really have to go to this thing?” He’s at her side in two long strides and gathers her into his arms, wasting no time at all in pressing needy, wet, open-mouthed kisses along the slim column of her throat.
“Yes, we do need to go,” she says with a groan as he nibbles on a particularly sensitive spot. She reluctantly extricates herself from his embrace, ignoring his protests. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen the Torchwood people socially, Doctor. We have to.”
The Doctor sighs. “Fine, fine,” he says in a petulant sing-song. He walks slowly back to the en suite, muttering something under his breath about bollocks and cockblockers on the way.
Rose bites her lip, reluctant to bring up the next subject. She knows the Doctor isn’t going to want to discuss it. But there will be alcohol at this party, and it’s a very formal, very important event for Torchwood.
This is a conversation that needs to happen. And it needs to happen now, before any more damage can be done.
“Um… Doctor?” Rose closes her eyes and grits her teeth. She can do this. She destroyed a fleet of Daleks with a flick of her wrist. She crossed countless timelines and dimensions to find the Doctor again. She can do anything. “Behave yourself tonight, okay?”
The Doctor turns to look at her again, his left eyebrow raised in confusion.
“Rose Tyler – you know I’m smart enough to keep my hands to myself in your father’s home,” he chides. “Or, well – I’m at least smart enough to keep my hands to myself in locations where we might be discovered. Don’t worry, Rose: I’ll leave grabby-hands-Doctor at home.” He beams his thousand-watt smile at her and turns back to the mirror, whistling a little as he starts in on his hair.
“It’s not that,” she says. “Although, yes – it would probably be best to leave… err, grabby-hands-Doctor at home.” She can’t help but blush at his cheeky choice of words. “What I’m really talking about, though, is… um. Well. It’s your drinking.”
The Doctor’s hands pause in his hair mid-tousle. He turns to look at her again.
“Oh,” he says, very quietly.
“Yeah,” she says. “I know you don’t like to think about how you’re different, now, from… um… from the other you,” she says, very carefully. “But your alcohol tolerance just isn’t what it used to be. You remember what happened last time you and Dad went out to the pub.” Rose cringes at the memory of the Doctor coming home at half two in the morning a few weeks back, his arm slung round a very apologetic Pete Tyler’s shoulder and a dodgy lampshade from God only knows where perched on his head. The Doctor ended up waking up the whole building that night with his loudly off-key rendition of the Portuguese national anthem. Even worse, days later, she learned from a colleague that the Doctor had shared way more information with her father, and with all the other blokes at the pub, about exactly what it is they get up to together in their new bedroom.
If the Doctor notices Rose’s discomfiture he doesn’t show it. “Hm,” he says, shrugging dismissively.
“Doctor, listen to me. You have the same alcohol tolerance as any other human bloke now. And when you drink, you get… um… you get…”
“I get what?”
Rose pauses, searching for a diplomatic way to put it. “Uninhibited,” she finally says after a long moment, deciding it’s the kindest possible way to describe what she’s trying to convey.
The Doctor pouts all the same.
“I am not uninhibited when I drink, Rose Tyler,” he says defensively. “I just like to… well. Have fun.” He harrumphs a little and turns back to work on his hair. “Nothing wrong with having fun.”
Rose sighs.
“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with having fun. But please – will you promise me you’ll only have one or two drinks tonight at the party? And that you’ll drink loads of water?”
“Okay, Rose,” he says, nodding at her. “Sure. I can do that. No problem-o. One or two drinks. And lots of water.” He gives her a wink and a mock salute. “Scout’s honor.”
——-
At first, Rose thinks that despite her earlier worries, the party may just go smoothly after all.
The evening certainly gets off to a good start, anyway. Tony greets them happily at the door when they arrive, wearing a little suit and tie combination that reminds Rose irresistibly of what the Doctor must have looked like as a little boy. He bounds into the house when he sees Tony and scoops him up into his arms – much to Tony’s delight and Jackie’s loud disapproval.
“You’ll get his suit all wrinkled!” she shouts, as the Doctor (ignoring her, as he usually does) flies Tony around the room, making loud whooshing noises as he goes.
“Again! Again!” Tony cries out, protesting, when the Doctor sets him back down on the floor.
It looks, for a second, like the Doctor is going to indulge Tony in his request. But then out of the corner of her eye Rose notices Alonzo, that bloke from Torchwood’s IT department, mixing banana daiquiris in the kitchen. A moment later the Doctor looks up at Rose and, seeing she’s looking off into another room, follows the direction of her eyes with his own.
He swallows visibly, and his brown eyes widen at the sight of Alonzo and his giant blender full of banana-flavored cocktails. And then Rose knows, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is not going to end well.
“Just one drink, Doctor,” Rose implores, reminding him of his earlier promise, as he leaves her side, about to make a beeline for the kitchen.
“Yes sir,” he says, giving Rose another mock salute. But he’s still staring at Alonzo, the bananas stacked up beside him, and his blender. “I’ll be back in a tick, Rose. I promise. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
—–
As it happens, Rose doesn’t see the Doctor again for quite a while.
Though she’s trying to take a step back from some of her heavier responsibilities now that she finally has the Doctor back, Rose is one of Torchwood’s most renowned personnel. As such, no matter how much she hates doing it she still needs to make the rounds at parties like these. “Face time,” Pete Tyler calls it.
Each time Rose thinks she’s finally finished making small talk with boring, important people, and sets off to go find where the Doctor’s wandered off to, she’s stopped by yet another person who wants a quick word with the woman who strode through dimensions and parallels and lived to tell the tale.
It isn’t until about two hours into the party – when Rose is deep in conversation with a long-necked Torchwood investor from Norway – that Rose finds the Doctor again. Or, rather, that the Doctor’s loud, booming, slurred words find her ears.
“I love this woman!” the Doctor shouts at the top of his lungs from someplace across the room. As if in slow motion, everyone’s heads turn in tandem towards the source of the shouting.
To Rose’s horror, the Doctor is listing a little to one side and pointing at her from where he’s standing. And somehow he’s once again found a completely rubbish lampshade to wear on top of his head.
“I love her! Do you hear that? I love her – and I always will!”
Handing her own drink to the Norwegian gentleman with the long neck, Rose rushes across the room until she’s at the Doctor’s side.
“Doctor -” she begins. He’s drunk, obviously. Very drunk. God only knows how many banana daiquiris he got into his very human system with bloody Alonzo. She needs to get him out of here. Now. Quickly. Before he makes any more of a scene than he already has.
But he isn’t finished. “Rose Tyler crossed universes to find me! And she puts up with so much, living wiff me.” He’s shouting all of this in the general direction of Torchwood’s executive director, who looks like he’s never wanted to leave a room more in his life than he wants to leave this one right now. “I’m a regular human bloke now you know. So I forget things all the time. Like, say -- putting down the toilet seat after I wee, and recapping the toofffpaste, and -- “
Rose grabs at his arm. Gives him a shake. “Doctor –”
But he continues on, undeterred. “Oh, but I’m gonna make it all up to my Rose this weekend. Oh yes. Before noon on Saturday I’m gonna give her two – no! three! – orgasms. Is that the word? Yes. Yes. Orgasms. And I’m gonna give ‘em to her with this!” He opens his mouth and waggles his tongue at a very elderly woman who also happens to be the Queen of England. “She loves it when I do that thing I do with my tongue, you know.”
The Doctor raises his glass to his mouth in an apparent attempt to take another sip of his drink. Unfortunately, he manages to spill it all down the front of his tux in the process. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, and takes a long slurping gulp from his empty glass when it reaches his lips.
“Doctor, please –”
“Gonna spend all Saturday with my face between her gorgeous thighs and my tongue lapping at her bloody gorgeous clit, oh yes.”
“Doctor…” Rose knows everybody in the room is staring at them now. Slowly, methodically, she begins moving the Doctor bodily towards the front door of her parents’ home.
But he’s still got more to say.
“’m sorry I’m a bit of a slob,” he tells Rose, changing the subject so abruptly Rose does a double-take. His voice is still loud enough that everyone in the house can likely hear him, but now it’s gone slightly maudlin. He wraps an arm around her drowsily as she continues to inch him towards the door, and he sniffs a little, like he’s trying to hold back tears.
“Doctor,” Rose says, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder as they walk. “It’s okay. Look, Doctor, we should probably –
“And I’m sorry I cry sometimes. You know. When I come inside you.” He’s shouting again, loudly enough for everyone in the city of London to hear him, even though he seems to think he’s only speaking to her and she’s standing right beside him. “‘Sjust… ‘sjust… you’re so bloody gorgeous, Rose, and the way you look, all pink and yellow on your hands and knees with my cock in your mouth, I just can’t – and the way it feels, Rose, God, I just can’t – ”
But Rose isn’t listening anymore. As he continues to babble horrifically filthy, mortifying things to everybody and nobody at all, Rose quickly bustles the drunk, lampshade-topped Doctor out the front door and into their waiting car.
——
“I love you so much, Rotthe,” the Doctor tells her as she drives them home.
“Yes, Doctor,” she replies through clenched teeth. She pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes deeply in a feeble, ineffective attempt at calming herself down. “I love you too.”
At least this probably means we won’t ever have to go back to one of these boring parties again, she thinks morosely as she drives, while the Doctor, sitting besides her, laughs heartily as he tries to make shadow puppets on the ceiling with his hands.
