Chapter Text
Rose Tyler sat on her mother’s couch, reading a book and sipping tea, when she heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing above her, followed by a shout.
The intensity of it shook the wall, knocking a few pictures out of place, and she immediately ran upstairs to her brother's room, where her boyfriend was supposed to be tucking him in quietly. They were babysitting, like they do most Friday nights now, and when she threw the door open she found him standing on the dresser with a pillow tied around his waist, arms in the air, roaring like a monster.
Tony was on his bed, giggling, bouncing up and down.
(A shelf had toppled over, apparently, and was now laying on the floor.)
“Rose!” the Doctor meeped, noticing the look on her face and choosing to pretend he didn’t know what it meant. “Just in time! Help me explain to T what happened when the Slitheen -”
“It’s way past his bedtime,” she scolded. “What are you doing?”
“Telling him a bedtime story.”
“On the dresser?”
“You wound me, it’s not a dresser -”
“It’s 10 Downing Street, Rosie!” Tony’s little voice sang, and Rose couldn’t help but smile and shake her head, pressing her body against the doorframe. “The Slitheen just farted and then shed their skin and are running around and -”
“He’s six years old, Doctor,” Rose said. He nodded.
“Why do you think I told him about the farting?” he asked. “Kids love it! You loved it, right, T? Farting is funny?” Tony nodded enthusiastically. “I even told him what I said to them, before we knew who they were, remember? I said - what did I say, T?”
“ Do you mind not farting while I’m saving the world ?” Tony repeated proudly. The Doctor winked.
“Okay… You’re both okay?” Rose clarified, walking over to Tony and slicking his hair back as she kissed his forehead, and her heart clenched with love when he smiled at her playfully. She then looked at the Doctor, who was still standing on the dresser. “You’re not hurt?”
“Of course not.”
She glanced at the clock.
“Carry on, then,” she demanded with a faint smile, sitting on the bed next to Tony, who snuggled against her as the Doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He then continued, picking up right at the point where they meet ‘a complicated woman named Harriet Jones’, but Tony, now warm in Rose’s embrace, was asleep a few minutes later, enthralled but unbothered by the way the Doctor and Rose Tyler once prevented World War 3.
To him, it was just a story.
To them, a memory.
Those days were over.
This was life now. Babysitting on Fridays so they could enjoy the weekend alone, shagging every chance they got. Family dinner on Tuesday, sometimes Thursday. Going to work every week. Not at Torchwood - they had terminated Rose’s position on account of the whole she-wasn’t-supposed-to-come-back thing, and the Doctor tried working there for a bit until he went against protocol and landed himself in hospital, having saved the day brilliantly by also testing just how mortal this body was, and they’d fired him. For everyone’s safety.
(And Rose’s sanity.)
They opted for the domestic approach, securing positions in the archeology department at a museum. He’d protested initially, making sure his clever life partner knew that he had a tendency to, as he put it, ‘point and laugh at archeologists’, but when Rose suggested that it meant they got to spend all of their time together (which was all that mattered after so many years apart), he relented rather quickly.
So with Pete’s help, they secured the qualifications, and when they weren’t reliving the good old days for Tony’s entertainment they were studying artefacts, trying to get a sense of this universe’s rich history. He may be over 900 years old with a pedometer of a trillion suns, but this place was still an undiscovered country, and Rose had never bothered to learn anything about it except for how to leave it.
It’s funny, how things change.
“Ow,” the Doctor hissed when he poked his finger on one of Tony’s toys, and Rose glanced up, realising that while she’d been tucking her brother in, he’d been putting the shelf back up and hiding all evidence of roughhousing from Jackie. She smiled.
“You gonna live?”
“Close call, but yeah. I think so,” he whispered, shaking the pain away, only to wrap his arms around her when she went in for a hug. The audible sigh of relief she heard from him sped up her heart. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why were you roaring? If you were the Slitheen?”
“That was Harriet.”
She laughed, muffling the sound in his shoulder. Briefly, something thoughtful flickered across his face, but it was gone by the time she pulled away and cupped his cheek, giving him the sheepishly adorable smile he knew so well. “What?”
“I’m starving,” she admitted. “All we had were dino nuggets and a cheese stick. I need chips.”
“The more nutritious option,” he teased, but Tony had stirred a little at the sound of the word “cheese” - his favourite snack - and they both smirked, quietly sneaking out of the room so he could rest.
“I’m serious, though, wanna see what Mum has in the fridge?”
He kissed her instead, making it clear in an instant that what he was craving was best served wet, and to say she melted into it would be…well…
“That alright?” he asked against her lips. She smiled, then pulled him back.
It had been nearly two years, but snogging him like this still took her breath away, and when he darted his tongue out to taste her she couldn’t resist reaching for his t-shirt, tugging at it the way she once had his lapels, when she cemented their fate to the stars.
He responded the same way, wrapping his arms tightly around her, pressing her against the wall, and she gasped when he began to stroke her waist, bunching her t-shirt up to her bra. “ Ohhh God…”
“I didn’t get to tell my favourite part of that story,” he purred in her ear. She whimpered. “After the Slitheen were, quite effectively I might add, crushed…”
“Except for one.”
“Right, well… not the point,” he said, peppering kisses along her jaw. “You came back to me with a rucksack of all things. Told me I was stuck with you. Changed my bloody life.”
She smiled.
“And see? I was right. It’s not so bad, is it?” she whispered, arching off the wall when he slipped his fingers past the waist of her jeans, delicately tracing the top of her knickers. She groaned his name, lapping at his tongue when he kissed her next. “Mum still has that bottle of Amaretto. I mean, ahh… It’s a new bottle. But…oh, Doctor, fuu-”
He had moved his fingers, testing the water. He smirked.
“Amaretto…?”
“Mhm. We should toast.”
“To what?”
“Mortgages,” she groaned, and he laughed as he began to properly touch her. “C-carpets. Doors.”
“Walls?” he asked, more daringly than he meant to, and she pulled away, staring at him. God, he was gorgeous, backlit by the hallway light, in his tight shirt, messy hair, and glasses. It was completely unfair, actually, and she moaned when he had the audacity to smile. “Breaking them?”
“Now that’s the best part,” she said, playfully swatting at his chest, but he managed to catch her hand and pin it to the wall by her head as he claimed her next kiss. She cursed, louder this time, and he felt his control slip.
(Like she had, once. )
“Oh, hello , ” he chimed when she began to move against him, perfectly slick around his fingers, desperately chasing her release. He watched her aptly, drunk in love, occasionally kissing her jaw, rocking against her, not hiding his own desire as it throbbed , but he kept his jeans on, far more interested in watching her come undone.
“How nice it is to do this, against them? The walls?” he panted, flicking in just the right place, and she squinted her eyes shut, teetering right on the edge. A filthy smile fell on his cheeks, his tongue dancing with his teeth. “Come for me, Rose. Come on. Come . I want to see it…”
She nodded, so so close , when the jingle of keys rattled downstairs, and they both froze.
“Oh, my God.”
“Run!” he whispered, slipping his hand out of her jeans just long enough to race her to the guest room, locking the door behind him as she not so subtly tore her shirt off and tossed it on the floor, followed by her bra, jeans, and all other articles of restricting clothing.
He smiled at her, sliding his own shirt off, revealing his sculpted chest, and he hovered above her on the bed, kissing her slowly, languidly, adoringly.
“I love you,” he murmured. She kissed him again. “so much.”
“I love you.”
“Show me,” he pleaded as his fingers found their way back to her heat, sliding into place once more, making her moan. But it wasn’t long before it wasn’t enough, and with a throaty voice he rarely got out of her she demanded he get naked, too.
He tried, pausing when he heard Jackie and Pete walking upstairs, and then shimmying out of his jeans when they clearly walked past the door, sharing a matching smirk with Rose.
“No better than bloody teenagers,” they heard Jackie mutter, and the Doctor stifled a laugh as Rose’s mouth fell open.
“How does she know?!”
“Oh, who cares? I’m due for a slap anyway,” he said, kissing her again once he was ready, lacing their fingers together near her hips as he sank down to his knees. He looked up at her, and her consent was given in nods and a desperate ‘yes, please’, and soon his tongue replaced his fingers.
He moaned her name.
Her whole body reacted, releasing his hands so she could grab his hair, and he closed his eyes, savouring her taste. Small, circular motions became longer strokes, slow and wet, and after a few minutes he could feel how close she was, could taste it, even, gushing on his tongue - the tangy, wonderfulness that was her, and he pinned her hips to the bed as he pulled her entire body closer to the edge of the mattress, graduating from slow and reflecting love-making to something more urgent and powerful - devouring her like a man starved, and she came. Hard.
Before she’d caught her breath he stood, bracing himself.
“Can I–?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she begged, then screamed when he filled her completely in one smooth motion, transfixed.
It was abrupt, but it was so good, and she no longer cared that her mother could probably hear them, knowing that by this point, there was no way she was going to knock on the door. She didn’t know where this passion of his was coming from, however, but it was incredibly arousing, and it made her flush and gasp and cling to the headboard like it was her lifeline while he pounded into her, smiling at her in that same filthy way from before, before she began to move too.
And when their hips met, he dropped his forehead to hers, shifting so their bodies were touching in every possible way.
“I love you,” he repeated, hips rocking and sliding, mouths kissing and moaning, and she cried out, digging her nails into his back. “ ROSE! Ooohhhh -”
“Keep going, yes, ” she urged. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuuuuck.”
“I w-would have done this, b-back then,” he said with gritted teeth, thrusting. “That night. On the r-rucksack,even. Fuck, if I’d known. Would have had you, if you’d…. if you’d wanted me…”
“If you’d known what?” she asked. He smiled, then shook his head, panting and sweating and reacting to her in a way that reminded her just how human he can be.
(How human he is.)
“Everything, Rose. Just… all of it.”
The hand he was born from clasped hers so tightly their knuckles were white, and when he rammed into her again she convulsed beneath him, her release ripping through her like a tidal wave, and triggering his own, and he kissed her through it, letting his love spill out in sighs.
He collapsed against her, catching his breath, smiling as the afterglow warmed their entire souls. She licked her lips, then turned to the bedside table, checking the time on her phone.
“It’s almost ten,” she whispered. “We can go home, if you want? Sneak out? Do this again in our kitchen?”
“We wasted so much time,” he whispered softly, and she set the phone down, cupping his cheek. He kissed her palm. “You want to go again?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m happy.”
“I know you are,” she said, humming when he shifted onto his back and pulled her into a cuddle. Her fingers found his chest hair and began to twist, dancing right over his heart, but for a moment that should be so perfect something felt odd, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Is that what that was? Happiness?”
“That was sex,” he mused, sniffing. She smirked.
“It was… passionate,” she whispered. He stiffened.
“I’m… Rose, I’m so sorry -” he said earnestly, pulling away a little, clearly afraid he’d somehow pushed her in some way, but she just smiled and shook her head. “I tried to be -”
“I loved it,” she said. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
(Her tongue did its thing, calming his beating heart.)
“I…” he began, but he trailed off, sighing when she rubbed her leg on his. “Fair enough.”
“This is my parent’s house, is all,” she said, returning her hand to his chest. “And you were talking about farting aliens half an hour ago, so I… I guess I just didn’t expect it? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Are you?”
He swallowed. “I’m happy.”
“So you’ve said.”
His grip on her tightened, and she closed her eyes when he began to stroke her arm, running his fingers up and down. It was silent, for a moment, but she waited.
“I don’t… miss it,” he whispered.
“The TARDIS?”
“No, I miss that,” he admitted sadly. She kissed his chest. “It’s the other stuff. The…. I can’t feel the way the centre of Earth moves. I can’t quite tell if a decision is creating a fixed point. I can suspect, of course, but…I can’t…We’ve talked about this, Rose.”
They have. Many times. In many different ways.
It’s been an adjustment, the last two years. One they’re still figuring out.
“Is it travelling?” she asked.
“Sort of, yeah,” he told her, shuddering when her lips found his skin again. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said, looking up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob once, then twice, before he smiled. “Quite right, too.”
She couldn’t control it, the way she slapped his chest.
“OW!”
“Sorry!” she said, alarmed. “I’m sorry. Gut reaction. Just sort of have to slap you when you say that, you know?”
He rubbed his eye, hiding a smile, and she sat up, pressing her lips to his cheek. Once. Then twice. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered. “I’m happy, Rose. Everything is fine. It’s just funny, telling Tony that story and realising none of it matters anymore.”
“Of course it matters,” she said. “How can you say that?”
“Because it doesn't’,” he repeated, and when her face was utterly crestfallen, his immediately scrunched in self-loathing. “Not like that, Rose. We’re together. Growing old. The one adventure I… It’s not bad , it just doesn’t matter. Life before, it…”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head, kissing her. “Nothing. I want you, Rose. Always. I’m happy. Forget about it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Her lip tucked between her teeth, she laid back down, snuggling next to him as he somehow managed to pull the duvet over their naked bodies, and he kept his hand on her arm, lulling her to sleep.
It didn’t matter.
So why did it feel like it did?