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It had started innocently enough.
(Well, as innocently as anything they did these days, which is to say not at all. The two of them were like teenagers, Rose had decided, discovering sex for the first time. Acting like they’d invented it. Hours spent on the console jump seat with her hands in his hair and his mouth on hers. Bite marks on shoulders, on necks; red lips sucking on skin, making rough outlines, bright and livid. Torn knickers and popped buttons and never enough clean laundry, ‘cause it was all on the bedroom floor.)
But it had started innocently, with Rose undressing him - slowly, for a change. Savouring the tension of his fly over his erection; the groan the metal zipper gave when she drew it down; how he tried to stifle his own between gritted teeth. Enjoying, for the moment, the rush of power, the way it prickled down her spine and made her skin too hot. The way he remained still when she took off her jeans and lifted the hem of her shirt, stroking her belly, her breasts, just to see him watch her, his eyes dark and pupils wide.
When she’d come back to him to undo his shirt she saw that his tie had slipped free of his collar. She’d held it loosely, feeling the cool-crisp silk of it run over her palm. The length of fabric draped down until the tapered edge tickled the Doctor’s thighs, and she swung it back and forth, back and forth, a pendulum in bronze and blue swirls. She’d grasped it in her hands again, the idea forming, and smoothed the material over his arms – first the right, then the left – disturbing manly hairs.
At his wrist, she’d paused. Had held her breath and met his gaze.
He’d smirked at her, his eyebrow raised. She knew that face, knew it in a different context, now, where it didn’t mean let’s investigate, but instead meant I’m game, Rose Tyler.
In silence, he offered her his wrists, hands facing up so the pale skin of his inner arm was exposed. Blue lines ran and divided under the surface, branching out on to the ball of his thumb where she knew he was sensitive – when they held hands she like to sneak her fingertips up and over that area, just to make him shiver.
Instead of delicate touches, she wound the tie around one wrist then the other. Not tight enough to cut off blood supply, or hurt, but enough that he couldn’t wriggle free. Tight enough for him to be aware of it.
She cinched the knot and finished binding his hands.
And now, he was close, and so was she. Her sweat-dampened fingers caught on the sheets and tangled there, clutched in her hands as she arched into him, on to him. The Doctor’s back was curved, his arms raised, bent, locked behind his head by the knotted tie. His hips thrust shallowly – too shallow to push him over, she knew, she had his movements pinned with her thighs, her calves, forcing the rhythm. She kept them both there, right there, on the edge.
‘Rose.’ Her name came out short, tight, fitting somewhere between his panted breaths. ‘I -,’
Hearing his voice was almost as good as his hands on her, touching her. ‘Say it,’ Rose demanded, rocking against him harder, just for a moment. The Doctor’s knees trembled under her, and his head lolled back, exposing his jaw and throat, and the tendons, taut and aching. Her own pleasure fizzed impatiently, but she tamped it down, not yet not yet not yet. Not when he was nearly undone.
‘What’s on your mind, Doctor?’ Rose managed, even throwing him a grin – the one with the tongue, in the corner, the one that snagged his attention no matter where they were. It worked here, too, focusing him at once, and her tone turned wicked. ‘Spill it out.’
Glazed eyes met hers, leaping from her filthy smile. ‘I am completely…all yours. Rose Tyler.’
Her name, again, and the way he said it, the way he rolled it in his mouth was almost too much; muscles tightened in anticipation, her vision started to fade at the edges. She clung on desperately, long enough to say: ‘Good’.
And then the fiercely wound coil inside her snapped. The tension released, all at once - a continuous and shuddering wave. Her eyes slammed closed and she gasped a series of breaths, her lungs crushed under the weight of her orgasm. Somewhere far away she felt her toes curl and cramp.
Rose heard him, above her, choking on words. His hips jerked, erratic. Sentence fragments resolved, finally, into: ‘Rose, I’m – I’m gonna – come.’
His hands fisted, and his body went rigid, and then her name poured out, again, again, again. Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose – Rose – Rose – Rose… Rose… Rose… R o s e…
Sagging, doubled over almost, the Doctor dripped sweat on to her exposed stomach, belatedly wiping it away from his forehead with his sleeve, the part where it was bunched up on his upper arm. ‘Rose Tyler,’ he murmured, sounding surprised and exhausted and entirely satisfied.
Rose wasn’t sure if he was talking to her: his eyes were half-shut, and he looked dazed. She rolled off him, wincing at the feel of his cock slipping out, and the stickiness left behind, and fell on her side. The Doctor slumped forward awkwardly, lying down next to her. Their faces were close enough that the heat from his cheeks radiated on to hers, and her breath stirred his fringe.
‘Mmm,’ she said, half-giggling from post-sex giddiness. ‘That was good.’
‘It was. Very good. Excellent work from all involved.’ The Doctor nudged her chin with his nose, tipping it up, enough for him to kiss her. It was a tired, comfortable kiss, one that didn’t make her heart race, just ache pleasantly from how familiar it was now. He wriggled, frowned, and gave an annoyed huff. ‘Untie me?’
‘Oh! Sorry!’ Rose knelt beside him and tugged at the loose end of the tie, unravelling the knot from around his wrist. There were marks on his skin where he’d strained against the material. She traced them with a fingertip, and wondered why she didn’t feel guilty, not really. It was sort of like the love bites on his neck, she thought, and smiled to herself at the comparison, snuggling down next to the Doctor again.
As if reading her mind, he brushed a kiss across her temple and said: ‘I am, you know. Completely yours.’