#I love the belts. If I relax my leg I can slide like a banana under them like a holster lol

[solradguy]

I wish I had more reasons to wear my belt pants but they're a pain in the ass to wash because I have to take the belts off and turn them inside out and then air dry them but maybe I should start just like wearing them around the house for no reason. To remind them that they're still loved

[frannyzooey]

Weeknights Drabble

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit AF

Summary: Valentine's Day in the Morales household ❤

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves! ❤️

--

“Dad?”

“Yea, baby.” Frankie’s eyes narrow at the red construction paper in his hand, his movements deliberate as he carefully cuts out a heart.

“I’m gonna draw a dog on this one, I think. For the teacher. Because she’s always asking about her, you know?” 

Lucia’s body rocks as she swings her feet under the table, her crayons a colorful scatter across the kitchen table and she leans forward, her look of concentration a direct mirror of her dad’s. 

Their darkly curled heads bent in task, you smile at the image and then scrape the rest of the bananas from the jar of baby food in your hand, feeding it to your son. He spits most of them out in his enthusiasm for more, before giving you a gummy smile. 

“Does she always ask about her, or are you always talking about her?” Frankie asks Lucia, placing another heart by her hand and when he catches you looking at him, he winks.

Lucia ignores his teasing, and he nudges his chin in the direction of the high chair, taking in the sloppy bib. “Seems like he got a little more in his mouth this time, huh?”

“Just a little,” you smile, reaching for the rag next to you. 

“Mom?” Lucia asks, scrawling her name across the bottom of one of the paper hearts. “Can I make one of these for brother?”

“Oh, that would be so nice, baby. He’d love that,” you reply, standing to pull him from the chair. “Just don’t give it to him though. He’ll eat it.”

“He really would,” Frankie says, getting up himself to come take the baby from you. He gives him a kiss on the cheek, uncaring about the smear of food across it. “Oh, yum. Banana.”

He gives him another kiss, low murmurs of Spanish endearments spoken into his small ear and then he shifts him to a one armed hold, one you love because it affords a good look at the taut muscle of his forearm when he does it.

He leans in to give you a peck on the cheek; the baby between you. “Why don’t you go take a shower, baby. I got it.”

He smiles down at you, the crinkles surrounding his eyes soft with affection and you lean in for a wordless request for another kiss, one that he grants you. The baby pulls at your hair, and you smile against Frankie’s lips. One, then another; the baby cooing.

Bending down, you place your hands on Lucia’s head and tip it back just enough for you to place a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight you. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, okay? I’ll see you in the morning for school.”

She waves you away, another Valentine created and carefully set aside and you leave them in the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway. 

–

“They go to bed okay?” you ask, padding into the bedroom, cinching the belt of your dark green robe. 

“Yea,” Frankie answers, shifting to sit up in bed. He tugs at the band of his watch, sliding it off his wrist before reaching to set it on the bedside table and you take a moment to admire what he’s wearing: one of his worn t-shirts and briefs, his leanly muscled legs long and relaxed against the mattress.

You crawl up on the bed to join him, curling into his side. 

“You smell nice.” He leans in, letting his lips rest in the dip below your ear and his nose nuzzles the fine hair behind it before he places a kiss to your shower warmed skin. You hear him inhale, his lips finding purchase again and when you feel the tip of his tongue touch your skin, you sigh, letting your head tip back. 

He turns to face you, his mouth opening wider and drunk on his open mouthed kisses, you hum in contentment, your eyes closed. “You want your present today, or tomorrow?”

He pulls back, his eyebrows raised. “You got me something?” His expression slips into an apologetic wince. “Shit baby, I didn’t think we would be exchanging anything. I didn’t –”

You shake your head, stopping him. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know it’s been busy with the –”

You stop talking, Frankie’s arm slipping behind his back to fish for something under the pillow and he grins, sliding an envelope out. You tilt your head, biting your lip with a smile and give him a gentle shove on his shoulder, making him laugh. 

“Francisco Morales,” you scold him and he grins, leaning in with a teasing sound. 

“Say it again, baby. You know I love when you say the full name.”

You know exactly the kind of reaction you can draw out of him when you do it, and a mental image flashes through your mind, along with his pleading, breathless voice. You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk, and he places the envelope in your hand. 

Opening it, It’s a spa certificate, from the place you normally go when you want to feel pretty for him after endless weeks in leggings with the kids and you thank him, leaning forward for a kiss. 

“I love it,” you say, placing it on the bedside table. “I feel like my gift is kinda lame compared to yours, though.”

He makes a skeptical face at your statement and you move to crawl into his lap, sitting down on the top of his thighs. Your fingers brush back his curls, the grey threaded with the brown highlighted in the dim warmth of the bedside lamp and his hands settle on your hips as he looks up at you. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Aged since you met him, but in a way that’s only made him look more handsome, his eyes almost black in their thick lashed depths, save for the rich, deep brown that reflects in the light of the lamp and you trace the hollow of his throat, your thumb resting there for a moment before drifting down to catch on the neckline of his t-shirt.

Your hand splays across the fabric, the heat of his firm chest leaching through. He’s so broad, so strong and solid, the cotton of his shirt fitting so nicely around the rounds of his shoulders and you’re lost in your open admiration when he pulls you from your daze when he speaks.

“Well? You gonna give it to me?”

You meet his gaze, holding it when your fingers move to untie the knot of your robe and parting the fabric slowly, his eyes drop to watch.

He doesn’t say anything as you open it, letting it fall from your shoulders and onto the bed, but his eyes - his eyes tell you exactly how he feels about it. 

“Jesus, baby.” His voice is low, husky, thick with arousal as it gets caught in the back of his throat and his hand comes up and hovers, as if you’re too pretty to touch. Silk wrapped and see through in all the places he loves best, he takes it all in with a swallow, eventually dragging his eyes back up to your face. 

His hand finally settles: a broad splay across your chest, gliding down the plane of it before it moves worshipfully over to your breast. His thumb glides across the nipple, watching as it buds under the silk and you let out a heavy, slow breath - one that makes him sit up straighter. 

“I can’t believe how fucking good you look.” His hands move with more confidence now, curving over your sides and sliding down to map the globes of your ass and then he’s tugging you forward into him, forcing you in for a kiss. 

It’s a hungry one, his mouth already so eager to taste and you thread your fingers through his curls, pulling him closer as you slide your tongue against his. He groans into it to match your soft moan, his arm banding across the middle of your back as he shifts to force you backwards and down onto the bed and soon you’re spread out on the mattress, laid out beneath him.

“I can’t believe this is my present, baby,” he breathes between kisses, his mouth dragging along the curve of your bare shoulder, his lips brushing aside the thin strap that rests over your collarbone.

He keeps going, placing his mouth over the silk covering your nipple, breathing hot and dampening the fabric. He nips at it, giving it a suck. His hand slips under the hem, pushing it up over your hips and when he finds you bare underneath, he groans. 

“Take your shirt off,” you ask him, knowing what he is about to do and he complies, tugging it over his head.

His curls are a mussed halo, his cheeks flushed as he kisses a path down your body and when he hooks his arms under your thighs to tug you swiftly closer to him, you let out a breathless laugh - one that slides into a moan when he drops into position between your legs, his mouth immediately seeking you out. 

“Frankie,” you whine, your thighs opening wider for his shoulders and the groan of savor that he lets out reverberates into your slick core, adding to the skillful glide of his tongue.

You look down, admiring the dip and flex of his back muscles as he delves his tongue deeper inside you and then his eyes are on yours, looking up from his place between your thighs. His hand reaches up, palming your breast and you place yours over it, squeezing. 

The soft frown of concentration between his brows makes you wetter, your hips beginning a gentle roll against his open, worshiping mouth and then his hand is leaving yours, reaching beneath him to slip two fingers into you. 

“Goddamn, your pussy is so tight,” he praises over your moan, his mustache and beard already darkened with dampness. “It tastes so good, I could eat it all night.”

He goes back for more, his tongue swiftly gliding over your clit as his fingers push in down the knuckle and then he’s fucking you with them, sucking a release from you as he rubs it out from within. 

You cry out louder than you should when he adds a third finger, and inching them in, his eyes are fixed on the way you stretch around him, his fingers glistening.

“Always gotta work my baby open. Gotta get you ready to take me, huh?”

You nod, his fingers slipping in and out in their confident stroke, and when his tongue laves a wide, firm stripe up the seam of you, he can feel you start to pull him deeper, fluttering around him. 

“You wanna come like this?” he asks, his bicep flexing as his hand moves. “You wanna come on my hand, or on my cock?”

“Your –,” you can’t get the words out in time, his mouth descending again and before you can answer him, he’s slipped his fingers from you in order to hold you tight against his mouth; his damp fingers smearing against your skin in his tight hold.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue working you exactly the way he knows you like and forgetting everything else but the slick warmth of his mouth and the scratch of his beard, you start to fuck his face. 

“Make me come, Frankie. Make me come.” It’s a breathless chant, one that starts out and then slips into a heavy pant when you get closer and when you finally come into his mouth, he groans just as loud as you.

He’s not done, his damp hand catching on the fine silk as he guides you into place on all fours and you’re still buzzing from the aftershocks of your release when he shoves his briefs down to line himself up with your entrance, his hips pushing forward just as you rock back. 

“Goddamnit, baby,” he groans, shoving the hem of the silk nighty up to wrap his hands around your bare hips as he buries himself inside. His hands fit your waist perfectly, so broad his thumbs almost touch across your back and he’s mesmerized by the bounce of your ass with every pound of his hips against your skin, the sound of it filthy in the low lit room. 

Your fingers curl into the bedding for purchase, your face dropping down to hide in the comforter to muffle your sounds, but he doesn’t want that, and so he clamps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you up and back, sitting in his lap. 

“Fuck,” you cry out at the change in position, slight discomfort pulling at your features with how deep he is and knowing just how much he is to take, his fingers seek out your clit, rubbing tight circles over it until you relax around him. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he praises, his tongue dragging along the shell of your ear. “Take it for me, okay? I know you can.”

You start to move on his lap, grinding yourself backwards on his cock as he guides your movements with his other hand and he can’t stop it from roving, touching every piece of your body through the silk that he can reach. 

“You look so fucking good for me like this,” he groans, his hips meeting your every glide down. The curve of his nose rests between your shoulder blades, his mouth warm and delicate on your skin. “So fucking good. Gonna make me fill this pussy up. That what you want?”

“You know I do,” you gasp, working your fingers with his. “That’s all I want. For you to fuck me.”

“What do you want me to fuck you with?” It’s a prompt, one he gives before nipping your shoulder, biting the firm round before soothing it with a kiss. Your hips move faster on top of his, the bright edge of another release creeping up on you. 

“I want –” you pant, biting your lip.

He feels so good, so filling, so full and thick, no room for anything else inside your brain with how he’s moving his hips behind you and his hand against you. You clench around him, your spine curving to rest your head against his shoulder so he can see your face. “I want – I want it harder. I want –”

He doesn’t let you finish, pushing you from his lap back to all fours and then he is pounding into you; one hand digging into your hip to keep you in place, and the other splayed over your back to keep your upper body down.

The angle is consuming, devastating, all coherent thought gone.

He growls behind you, keeping pace. “Say it, baby. Say it. I wanna hear it.”

“Fuck me, Fransisco,” you moan, the words twisting into a sob and he groans loudly at your use of his full name. “Fuck me with your big cock. Please. Please.”

You come around him just as he starts to come, your pleading words tipping him over the edge and the two of you are locked in position for a moment; spurts of him spilling into you, filling you full. He pulls his hips back, just enough to see the glistening mess and he groans, pushing wetly back in again.

You’re still trembling when he drops to the mattress and gathers you in his arms, his own heart thundering when he pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Jesus,” you sigh, smiling. “I guess I should buy you presents more often.”

He hums a laugh, closing his eyes. “Yes, please.”

Letting him catch his breath, you lay there for a moment and run your hands over the planes of his body. The curve of his ribs, the solid width of this chest, the soft give of his belly. He’s tucked himself away in his briefs, the front of the black fabric dark and damp, and you trail your touch down over his hip, dragging your nails along the top of his thigh.

You bring them back up, your fingers lingering on the trail of hair beneath his belly button and he hums sleepily: sated, tired, splayed out on the bed.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, continuing your exploration. “I’m glad you liked it,” you say lowly, bending to place a kiss just above his nipple and he’s half asleep already, acknowledging you with another hum.

You smile down at him, your hand making a slow, but deliberate path down to the front of his briefs. You trace him through the fabric, finding the thick tip of his cock and when it twitches under your touch, he let out a soft sigh, one of encouragement. 

“Would now be a good time to tell you I bought more than one?” You breathe the words into his ear, your lips trailing along the curve of his whiskered jaw and you feel it against your mouth when he slowly smiles.

He rolls to face you, gathering you in his arms to settle between your legs and when he’s in place, the solid weight of him presses you into the mattress.

Your arms winding around his shoulders, he bends to give you a kiss, but then stops himself and pulls back; the smile of a happy man. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Mine

The green-eyed monster breaks the stalemate between Rose and TenToo, Rose decides it’s high time to claim what’s hers.  NSFW - smut

Based on this prompt.  @doctorroseprompts, @timepetalscollective, and @dwsmutfest for office smutty times.

In hindsight, Rose knew she should have been open and honest with the Torchwood research and development team.  At the time, though, she'd been more concerned with the appearance of nepotism.  There had been whispers about her since day one, and she hadn't wanted to subject the Doctor to that.  Instead, she  presented him to the team as a new but promising recruit, with the intention that once he'd proven himself, they'd come clean.

What she hadn't counted on was Jessica Spencer.

-

Making her way down to the cafeteria to grab a quick lunch, Rose allowed herself a few moments to worry about how the Doctor’s first day was going.  He'd been reluctant to work for the organization, parallel though it might be, that had separated them in the first place.  In the end he’d agreed to give it a week, and she was hopeful he would enjoy it. She knew he'd done similar work before for UNIT, but he'd been trapped on Earth then.

She didn't want him to feel like that here.

Making her way through the double doors into the lunchroom, she immediately spotted a large group gathered around a table near the front.  Following a hunch, she wormed her way through the crowd until she could see - and sure enough the Doctor was holding court, gesticulating wildly as he imparted a ridiculous story that seemed to involve alien wasps and Agatha Christie.

He glanced her way then, grinning when he caught her eye but not breaking his flow.  Rose smiled back, relaxing at the happy look on his face.  Her peace was fleeting, however, when she realized how closely one of the other scientists was sitting to him.  The Doctor was, naturally, seated on the tabletop with his feet on the bench and a number of people arranged around him.

The one who caught her eye, though, was a woman.  Rose had seen her around plenty, and thought Mickey might have even gone out with her a couple of times.  The woman (Janice? Juliette?) was pressed up against the Doctor’s side, staring up at him with rapt attention.  Her chin was practically on his thigh, separated only by her own elbow.  He didn’t seem to be paying her a bit of mind, and though Rose was certain of their relationship, it didn’t stop her treacherous heart from lurching.

Jasmine(?) was everything Rose’s deepest insecurities feared the Doctor truly wanted.  Brilliant and beautiful, the woman was tall and thin, with the right amount of curves. She was similar enough to Reinette that in her mind, she and the Doctor had already kissed and run off together by the time he finished the story.

“- and that is how I solved a murder with Agatha Christie!”

The crowd immediately burst into cheers and Rose was shaken from her reverie, blinking her eyes as the fantasy (waking nightmare) vanished.  Catching the Doctor’s eye again, she gave a small smile before retreating, heading straight for her office.

She wasn’t hungry anymore.

-

Barely acknowledging his new fans, the Doctor watched in worry as Rose vanished back towards the elevators.  She’d been positively giddy when he first spotted her, but by the time he’d saved the day she’d had a sad, hurt look in her eye he recognized all too well.

Carefully extricating himself, he made his way towards the elevator bank he knew led to the executive offices, scanning his badge to have access to the top floor.  Not many people did, so he had the lift to himself for the thirty second ride. Remembering the path from that very morning, he traced his steps back to Rose’s office.

Peering around the doorway he saw her standing at the windows, staring out over London.

“Rose?”

She didn’t jump, merely glanced over her shoulder.  “Hey.”

“Everything all right?”  Hands in his pockets the Doctor shuffled forward, coming to stand at her side as they looked out together.

“Yeah.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he ventured a guess, reaching for her elbow but pulling back at the last moment.

Rose shook her head slowly, still not looking at him.  “No.  Not really.  Not today, at least.”

He laughed, thinking it was a joke, though he sobered quickly when she didn’t.

“Should I not have told that story?  I thought it’d be okay - if it wasn’t…”

“It’s not the story,” she laughed softly, before sniffling.  “I’m just being stupid.  Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

“You’re not stupid,” he argued, not knowing what else to say but unwilling to let that stand.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied automatically; it had taken him surprisingly little time to get in the habit of saying those words, but if she needed to hear them once a day he’d say them a hundred, to get her to smile.

She did grin at that, and though it was small, there was a genuine Rose warmth to it.

“D’you want me to go?” he offered after a minute, when she didn’t say anything else.

“She brought up old insecurities,” Rose blurted, looking up at him.

“Who did, Agatha?  What insecurities?”

She laughed then.  “No, not Agatha.  The woman who was all over you at story time.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed as he tried to follow.  “What woman?”

“Jennifer- Jane- whatever-”

“You mean Jessica?”

“Yeah, her,” Rose confirmed.  “She was hanging all over you, and she just reminds me so much of Reinette, and… like I said, I’m being stupid.”

“I didn’t notice,” he told her honestly, tentatively wrapping his arms around her waist.  “I was just telling the story.  The only woman I noticed was you.”

She reluctantly smiled at that, leaning into his chest.  “That was cheesy.  Sweet, but cheesy.”

“It’s true,” he argued, pressing his lips to her temple.

“I believe you,” Rose reassured him.  “She just seems like your type, is all.”

“You are my type.”

She merely hummed, resting her head over his heart.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured into her hair.

“Is that so?”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, pulling their hips together so she could feel his budding arousal.

“Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?” she teased, hands sliding down and into his back pockets.

“I’ve always been happy to see you,” he said, rocking his hips slightly against hers.  “Only now I can’t control my reaction as well.”

“Brilliant,” Rose grinned up at him.  “It was sometimes so hard to tell.”

The Doctor laughed, dipping his head to kiss her.  “I’m all yours, Rose.  Forever.”

“Mine,” she repeated softly, and he felt her humor drain away.  “All mine.”

“As you are mine,” he confirmed.  “I have no interest in anyone else.”

She gently squeezed his bum through his trouser pockets, biting her lip as she looked up at him.  “Mind if I prove it?”

“What did you have in mind?”  He kissed her again, just because he could.

“Have a seat,” she offered, pulling away as she gestured to the couch situated in front of the window.

“All right,” he agreed readily enough, flopping down in the middle and stretching his legs out in front of him.  Watching over his shoulder, he saw her shut her office door and flip the lock before sauntering back to him.  “You know, if you’d mentioned the perks included lunchtime snogs, I’d probably have started weeks ago.”

“Who said anything about a snog?” she teased, coming to stand in front of him.

The Doctor pouted up at her.  “I thought… I mean, you said-”

“I said I was going to claim what was mine,” Rose nodded.  “A snog doesn’t require a locked door.”  She dropped in front of him then, tapping on his knees in encouragement to open and let her near.

“I don’t understand,” he informed her, genuine bewilderment on his face as he stared down at her, unchanging when she reached for his belt buckle.

“You will,” she promised with a laugh, getting his trousers open with little trouble.  “Lift up.”

“Are we having a shag?” he perked up then, emotionally and… physically as she eased his trousers and pants to the floor.

“Not quite,” she smiled, shuffling closer and rubbing her hands along his bare thighs.

“I still don’t get it,” he admitted, watching her hands move along his skin in curiosity.

Rose looked up at him, pressing soft kisses to his inner thighs.  “Really?”

“Really.  Why are you so far away?  And clothed?”

“Aw, honey, you’re so innocent,” she cooed, taking him in hand and pumping slowly.

“Guh,” he responded intelligently, head thunking against the back of the couch at her first touch.

“Let me know when you start to get it,” she said brightly, before sliding her mouth wetly over him.  She held him there for several seconds, swirling her tongue before popping off and stroking him again, using her saliva as a lubricant.

He mumbled something she couldn’t make out, one of his hands gripping tightly to the couch cushion as the other buried itself in her hair.

She continued to kiss and nip at his thighs as she worked him with her hand, coaxing him to full hardness.  His sighs and soft moans aroused her as well, and she shifted to try to relieve some of the ache.  Eventually she decreed him ready, and moved in for the kill.  “Doctor?”

“Yeah?” he groaned, and she could feel his muscles contracting in unknown anticipation beneath her touch.

“Hold on.”  With that vague warning she sank down, wrapping her lips tightly around him.  He whined, tensing automatically at the stimulation.

“Oh- Rose… yes,” he hissed, flexing underneath her.  Rose used her forearms to anchor him to the couch as he strained inside her mouth.  She worked him over slowly, taking her time and drawing it out.  He was hot and hard in her mouth, and the noises he made every so often went straight to her core.

After a solid ten minutes he gripped her hair, keeping her from bobbing back down on him.

“Something wrong?” Rose looked up, trying not to let her relief at a break show.

“I’ve got a better idea how we can prove we belong to each other,” the Doctor rumbled, his voice dark and needy.

“Is that so?”  She stood up, holding his hands as she bent down to kiss him.

“Mmhmm,” he sighed, dropping her hands to grip her hips, fingers flexing against the wool of her skirt before getting a grip and pulling it up to bunch at her waist.

“Hang on,” she giggled, pulling the skirt back down at the same time she shimmied out of her knickers, both items puddling on the floor.  She carefully climbed onto his lap, settling down over him without taking him inside.

“Rose,” he whined, bucking his hips up against her.  His firm grip on her hips was probably going to cause a bruise, but she didn’t care - it only made her more determined to mark him for herself.

“Yes, Doctor?”

She shifted until he was nestled between her lower lips, and she rocked slowly to coat him in her wetness in preparation.

“Please, love.”  The muscles in his neck were tense, and he was panting slightly.

“Please what?”  She shifted slightly, and the head of him bumped against her clit, sending pleasure shooting through her.  “Shit.”  She did it again, almost going cross eyed at the sensation.

“Need you,” the Doctor grunted, eyes rolling back when she began to kiss and suck at his earlobe.  “Please.”

Rose kissed her way to his adam’s apple, biting gently at it.  His hips jerked against her, and she could feel him throbbing in desperation.  Timing it carefully, she sucked hard on the protuberance just as she lifted up and slid him inside in one smooth motion.

“Oh, fuck.”

She’d never once heard the Doctor curse in English before, and the surprise of it made her burst into giggles.  Carefully lowering herself over him, she took as much as possible before stopping.  “How you doing?”

“Unh,” he groaned, clutching at her hips tightly.  “So good.”

“You too.”  She kissed his mouth, letting their tongues swipe at each other as she adjusted to him and he attempted to calm down.

After a minute of leisurely kissing, he mumbled against her lips, “Can we start, please?”

“So polite,” she teased softly, easing up and then back down over him.  “I like it.”

“I’d do anything you asked, so long as you keep doing that,” he sighed, helping her keep her movement steady.

“You close?”  Panting, Rose added a twist to her hips on every downward glide, bumping her pelvis against his every time.

“Yeah.  You?”  He managed to blink his eyes open, meeting her gaze.

“Sort of.”  She wasn’t receiving much stimulation, even when she began to rock over him.  He felt delicious inside her, and she certainly enjoyed it, but she wasn’t going to be able to finish without more.

“Let me…” he trailed off, right hand leaving her hip to sneak between them.  It only took him seconds to find what he was looking for, her muttered curse letting him know when he did.  She was sopping wet, and his fingers slid easily against her. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned forward, using the back of the couch to help her move against him.

“This is brilliant,” he muttered in her ear, and she let out a breathless laugh.

“Now you see why we humans are so obsessed with dancing,” she shot back, squeezing around him.  He was doing an excellent job of building her up, to the point where she was starting to lose the rhythm in favor of chasing her release.

“Told you I had the moves,” he smugly replied, making her snort.

“I don’t see you doing much moving.”  Rose rocked desperately against him, fighting to get there but not close enough.

He merely moaned, pressing harder against her as he became overwhelmed.  “Close.”

“Me too,” she whimpered, shifting slightly.  She moved just as he adjusted his touch against her and she froze, tensing above him before releasing with a breathy exhale.  As she rode the wave of pleasure down, her head fell forward and her forehead brushed against his.

For a moment, just a split second, everything vanished and Rose was no longer Rose - she was one with the Doctor, joined in an unspeakable joy that made their spectacular orgasms seem ordinary.

As quickly as it came it was gone, and she blinked back to herself to find the Doctor staring at her wide-eyed.

“That was different,” she said, slightly shocked, and though his lips quirked he still looked flabbergasted.

“Yeah…”

They just looked at each other, and it wasn’t until he began to soften inside of her she fully returned.  “Uh, can you reach those tissues?” Rose grimaced, nodding her head towards the side table.

They half-tipped over sideways, but he was able to grab a handful.  “I’d forgotten how messy human sex is,” the Doctor wrinkled his nose, cleaning them up the moment she lifted off him.

“Me too,” she snorted, grabbing a few herself to help.  “Been a long time?”

“How long?” he looked up at her, before his eyes widened.  “Sorry.  Rude?”

“Not rude.  Not with me, at least,” she reassured him, bending over to peck his lips before pulling up her knickers and shirt.  “And, uh, a while.  A long while.”

Standing himself, he raised an eyebrow as he adjusted his own clothing.  “You don’t have to say, obviously…”

“How long has it been for me since we met?”

“Eh… five years?” he guessed, redoing his belt.

“Then five years.”  She didn’t meet his eye, instead grabbing an aerosol can from the side table’s drawer and spraying it, hoping futilely it wouldn’t still smell of sex at her meeting in an hour - considering it was just with Pete.

“Really?”  He looked so genuinely surprised, and she sheepishly met his gaze.

“Well, yeah.”

“But…” he gestured vaguely, before sticking his hands in his pockets.  “Mickey.”

“Nope.  Not that I was actively not, you know, but… it never worked out.  And then we were- Our time had long since passed before we were both here,” she admitted quietly, and his heart thumped painfully.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Doctor?”

“Yes, love?”  He stepped up to her, tentatively putting his hands on her hips and drawing her close.

Rose went eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and going on tiptoe to kiss him.  “Promise me something?”

“The moon and the stars,” he answered eagerly, before frowning.  “Well, eventually.”

“Promise I’ll never have to go five years without again.”

“Deal.”