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Black lace knickers, black push-up bra, and black motorcycle boots. He’s sensing a pattern here.
He’d told Rose not to wander off, and yet here she is in the satellite’s Starlight Gentleman’s Club, prowling across the stage’s catwalk with a strut designed to make the stiff-lipped visiting diplomats blush. Sure they could cloak it in posh invitation-only trappings, but in the end it’s still a sex club. And Rose is giving a hell of a floor show as she cocks her hip towards the Gregorian delegate and swoops in to pluck a stiff bill from his grasp before stalking back to center stage. He had suspected that she had something up her sleeve when they learned of the council leader’s predilections, but he never dreamed she’d go this far. As he impatiently waves off the waitress in a corset and stilettos, it crosses his mind that a certain Captain Jack would have been right at home here.
He is just beginning to see the trouble he’s in when she hooks a leg around the pole and spins. She kicks her leg up high and stops, suspended, with her thighs tightly clenched around the middle of the pole. And in an impressive display of acrobatics, she releases her hands, slowly arching back until she is dangling upside down, shoulders shimmying, and the diplomats whistling appreciatively.
Yes, Jack would have thoroughly enjoyed the performance. He’d even have the bills lined up for her.
It’s too late to avert his eyes when he realizes she has snaked her hands behind her back and unfastened her bra. Bloody hell, Jackie will never let him hear the end of it if she ever learns that he let her daughter moonlight as a pole dancer. It doesn’t even cross his mind to think where Rose picked up these skills until she tosses her bra into the audience, or more specifically to him.
He stares down at the sheer fabric in his hands, unconsciously fingering the lace. The material is still warm from her body, and he’s too distracted to question the waitress congratulating him on his prize. Before he knows it, he’s been whisked into some dark back room complete with velvet-covered banquettes and a kitschy mirrored ball. Funny how strip clubs all across the universe have a mirrored ball. Not that he has made a habit of visiting them. Well, not since his university days . . .
As his eyes adjust to the low light, he notices he isn’t the only patron here, but he is the only one unattended. It occurs to him that he should find the waitress and explain that this all must be a big mistake when Rose appears before him, hips swaying with feline grace. Swallowing suddenly, he has a feeling that trouble won’t just be the bits in between tonight. Tonight it’s the main course and judging by the look in her eyes, he’s the canary.
Black lace knickers, no bra, and black motorcycle boots. But this time she had found a decidedly familiar and well-worn leather jacket that he thought had been safely stowed in the TARDIS.
“Rose, have you been in my wardrobe?” he asks incredulously.
She ignores the question and boldly straddles his legs to face him and perch on his knees. The jacket swamps her frame, but it still gapes enough to reveal the soft swells of her breasts. Her skin glints and shimmers unnaturally in the low light, and he squints in realization. “You’ve got body glitter all over my jacket!”
She rolls her eyes in mock annoyance. The next song comes on – classic rock with heavy guitar riffs. “Now that’s more like it,” she exclaims as she starts to move with the music. “It’s your lucky day, and I’m all yours for the next set.”
He wonders if he should be concerned about the way she is fingering the worn leather of the collar until she shrugs her shoulders and unceremoniously dumps it on the floor with a little shimmy. Shadows flicker seductively across her exposed skin, but he is distracted by the brazen expression she is wearing. She’s never been one to back down from a challenge, but something about Rose is not quite right, as if she is the reverse image of a looking glass. Something occurs to him and he cups her face in his hands with concern, his index fingers resting at her temples.
“Doctor?” she asks.
“Rose, do you have to go around trying everything that has a neat little label saying ‘Drink Me’ attached?”
“But I did-”
He interrupts her protest by probing her temples with his fingers, ready to dip into her mind and test her altered state. “Every cocktail in this club is probably spiked with a designer blend of hallucinogens, amphetamines, and aphrodisiacs. They make your Earth’s recreational drugs look like sugar pills.”
She shakes her head exasperatedly, breaking his embrace before he can establish a connection. “Oh no you. No hands allowed – house rules.”
He’s caught off guard by her evasion. “And just where did you learn the house rules?”
“What?” she asks innocently. “You were the one who asked me to question that dancer. Oh! You should hear the dirt she had to share about the council leader. What we learned is only the tip of the iceberg. He’s definitely the source of the illegal drug trade.”
And as if that ends the subject, she sets about enforcing the aforementioned house rules by taking his hands in hers. With a wink she guides his hands to the supposed safe zone of her hips, so his thumbs rest just above her knickers. The play of her hips is quite seductive as she catches the beat of the music.
All that scandalously bare skin makes him twitchy. He usually goes to great lengths to ignore Rose’s sexuality, even if it’s always there lurking just beneath the surface. They have managed to stick to deceptively neutral territory – a careful routine of innocuous hand holding and celebratory hugs, but he is having a hard time remembering why sticking to that regiment is so important. Tonight she’s all firm young flesh and temptation – bouncy tits and deliciously round ass, and so very up close and personal. His brain is racing to catalog every curve, every freckle, and even every little blemish.
He finds that he is staring when she leans in and says, “You aren’t my first, ya know?”
He squeaks as he unsuccessfully tries to keep his voice from rising an octave. “What?”
“My first lap dance,” she swivels her hips with practiced skill to illustrate her point.
“What is it with you humans? So eager to prove that you are just randy apes?” he says grasping for a coherent defense, but still unable to stop his fingers from tapping over her hips.
“It involved a bet from Shireen on my eighteenth birthday,” she says with a wicked look in her eyes. “Won a 100 quid. And that’s not including the tips!”
“I have no doubt,” he manages to choke out in admiration as he is filled with naughty images of Rose dancing over some other lucky bastard.
It’s then that he finally realizes what her unsettling confidence means. They’re always flirting, playing, teasing, but always withdrawing. Tonight though, it seems that she is done playing games.
She rises up on her knees, still straddling him and raising her arms above her head as she gives into the guitar rifts of the chorus. Her pert upturned nipples stand at attention before his eyes, and he notes that her right breast is slightly fuller than her left. He doesn’t know if he is drawn into her or she is leaning towards him, but the result is one of those nipples, inches from his mouth and he is unconsciously licking his lips. When her giggles shake her torso, he realizes she is watching his appraisal with utter amusement.
“See something you like?” she teases.
He’s not supposed to rise to her challenge but she’s all temptation and right there, and that primal urge to fall is just too great. It’s been so long and for once there’s nothing else to distract him. He latches onto the teasing nipple and garners a shocked squeal as he swirls his tongue around her and then lets go with an audible pop. A rosy bloom flushes over her skin, and it’s easy to guide her back onto his knees with a gentle pressure on her hips.
“You were saying?” he prompts her, hoping she will realize the danger in this game because he’s so close to no longer caring.
She recovers as the next song kicks in. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and he shifts uncomfortably at the tension in his trousers. Her hands roam over him, driving him slowly insane with her blatant curiosity. Her tongue peaks out of the corner of her mouth as her clever fingers undo his tie and the top few buttons to expose the skin underneath. When she traces her thumbs over his collar bone, he can sense it’s something she has imagined many times.
He revels in her attention even as it burns him. It’s never been in his nature to sit passively by, and his fingers itch to slide over her bare skin, now that it has been offered so plainly. The itch is like a little voice inside his head saying Go on, go on, go on. Touch. Touch her.
His hands act with a mind of their own, migrating up her waist to learn the curve of her breasts and drink her in through his fingertips. He’s not the only one feeling intoxicated. Her eyes flutter shut as she gives into his touch, and when she opens them again, the sex-drenched haze of her dilated pupils makes him even harder.
“Now what did I tell you about the hands?” she scolds him.
She laces her fingers in between his as she moves his hands back to less dangerous territory. He does his best to look contrite.
“Do you promise to be good?” Her tongue quirks at the corner of her mouth again.
He traces the lacey edge of the top of her knickers. “Oh, but what fun would that be?”
“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll be forced to restrain you,” she grasps the ends of his tie.
He gives her his best puppy dog eyes but she obviously isn’t having it. Instead, she closes the distance between them and slides fully into his lap to press herself against him. She gasps with delight when she discovers his obvious arousal.
“Oh now you’re catching on,” she purrs. “Really, a girl could get insulted, sitting half-naked in your lap and you hardly even raising an eyebrow.”
“Trust me Rose, I am very aware of the half-naked nineteen-year-old in my lap.” He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his hips and wins a wide grin.
She moves her hips against his, matching his thrusts. “And here I was beginning to think you were some type of monk.”
“Oi!” He feels the blood rush to his cheeks. “Now really. Just because I don’t shag every alien I meet does not make me celibate.”
His hands are inching away from the safe zone again to trace the contours where her legs meet her thighs.
“It’s the hands, isn’t it?” She leans in and whispers. Her consonants are explosive and tickle his ear.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says a bit hoarse.
“Sometimes I fantasize about your hands,” she says, nervously chewing on her lower lip.
He is struck by her confession. Ever since they first clasped hands, she’s given him her almost unconditional trust. It’s unfathomable to him, yet it’s such a simple connection. One that has always made Rose his. And he feels so unexpectedly vulnerable now that Rose has called him on it.
“Doctor, do you want to touch me?”
He groans as he watches her hands ghost over her body taunting him. She cups her breasts allowing her thumbs to brush over her nipples. Her hips grind into his and he can tell that she is unashamedly enjoying the friction of her lace knickers.
“I know you want to.”
Of course he does. He wants to mercilessly explore every single inch of her with his hands and map her senses until she begs him to stop. Just as he is about to call her bluff, she leans back, to afford him a better view and slides her hand into her knickers. Her fingers make a subtle movement beneath the fabric and a look of pure pleasure washes over her face.
His mouth goes dry as she removes her hand. It is glistening with her arousal, and she offers her hand to him. He inhales her like a drug, sucking her fingers greedily and savoring her taste.
The song is over and the next one is starting. It’s more intense and the thudding base thrums through them demanding action. She stands up and turns around to provide him a whole new view of her gracefully curved spine. Her measured tease is deteriorating into something considerably more carnal, and he responds in turn as she presents her backside to him. Her hips meet his again, and she begins to ride him. He can’t help but get caught up in visions of bending her over and thrusting into her. She slyly looks back at him over her shoulder as if she knows exactly what he is thinking.
He pulls her against his chest and gives into the desire to taste the sweat on the back of her neck. His hands splay over her hips, and he is struck with the need to brand her with his fingerprints, so he can prove his ownership of this one moment in the ever changing sea of time.
Until now, they’ve been playing but he can feel the mood infinitely shifting as if it were the timestream. His hips thrust against hers searching for the right amount of friction. It’s becoming too much, and his fingers bite harshly into her hips as he strains to maintain control and not embarrass himself.
He is eternally grateful when she turns back in his lap, taking his hands in hers, threading their fingers together, and finally giving him permission to break the rules. It’s like a first kiss - better than a first kiss as he feels something fierce inside him rush forward and revel in their connection.
She guides one set of hands to the space between them, and to his relief she wastes no time in undoing his trousers. He lets out a groan as her nimble fingers take him in hand, touching him, stroking him for the first time.
As sinful as it feels to thrust into her hand, his mind eventually catches up to his body, and he remembers that he can actually touch her. Not wanting to waste the moment further, he pulls her knickers to the side and slides his fingers into her wet heat. She’s so slick and hot and primed for him. And he knows he’s found the right spot when her thighs start to quiver.
It’s so tempting to give into the urge to sink into her and shag her senseless, but he knows that they should revel in this illicit moment because time is fickle, and the best moments are the unexpected stolen ones. So they gasp in greedy insistent movements, stroking, stealing, searing each other’s pleasure to unbearable heights.
Ecstasy builds in a heady rush; she is the first to fall, twitching against his hand in as her orgasm crests over. When her shallow breaths slow down, he guides her hands with his own to create a fist so he can thrust into them. It doesn’t take him long to reach that erratic edge. She licks her lips with something akin to envy as she watches him, and the gesture finally does him in. He erupts and it’s messy and all over her hand and stomach and she doesn’t seem to care. She just gives him a full and sated smile at the evidence and licks her hand.
As they settle into that euphoric lassitude, she whispers into his ear, “I’m not really drugged, you know.”
“I know,” he says and his hands itch to start exploring her all over again.
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Author's Note: Welcome to one of my bulletproof kinks. I always wanted to do a Sydney / Sark lapdance, but that never happened. And then "I'm game for anything" Rose seemed the perfect way to fluster the Doctor
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