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The Doctor shifted slightly and desperately engaged his respiratory bypass.


Even as he did it, however, he knew it was a bad idea. He and Rose had been trapped in this ruddy broom closet for last two hours, twenty-six minutes and seventeen seconds, and it might be as long again before they got out, and had to bolt back to the TARDIS to boot. It was foolish, exhausting himself now, when they might have to run for it later.

Sighing in defeat, he grudgingly disengaged the bypass and shifted slightly to the left, trying not to growl in frustration. No matter which way he turned, no matter how he tried to move, the cupboard was barely big enough to support them both clinging to one another, standing, each with a wall at their back and they didn’t dare move too much or even whisper least they alert the soldiers to their hiding place. Consequently, he’d been clutching Rose (or had she been clutching him?) tightly to his body for the past two hours, twenty-six minutes and twenty seconds, now, in utter silence. She’d taken one look at their surroundings and slipped her arms under his leather jacket, gripping tightly to his waist, her face buried in his chest.

For the first half hour, he’d deliberately ignored the sweet smell of clean hair and vanilla-scented shampoo and Rose tickling his nose, the feel of her warm, soft body pressed tightly to his. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been…bearable. The longer it went on, however, the worse it had gotten. His nose had been buried in her hair for almost the entire time, her body pressed firmly to his, and worse still, the one time he’d tried to turn his face slightly aside from her dangerously sweet-smelling hair,, his blasted superior sense of smell had immediately detected another scent- a dangerous, addictive, siren call of a scent that was getting stronger and stronger the longer they were trapped in this cursed closet. 

Rose was aroused.

Worse still, her arousal was calling forth an answering response from him.

He cursed his own weakness, wrestling his hormones under control and reminding himself that Rose wasn’t aroused by him, that it was matter of automatic human biological responses that she had no control over. She wasn’t attracted to him- he was a nine-hundred year old alien with the blood of two peoples on his hands, and this daft, odd-looking body was nothing like the pretty boy he’d been in his last. It was just the natural biological response of a young, healthy female in close proximity to a biologically compatible male capable of breeding. 

It was biology, a matter of pheromones and the genetic drive to procreate.

That’s all it is, he told himself. Nothing more.

And so he continued to battle his cursed hormones, suppressing his response to the delicious scent that now filled their little closet and trying desperately not to react to the feel of her warm, luscious body pressed so close to his.

This went on for another forty-three minutes when, unable to inhale the sweet scent of her hair any longer, he shifted his nose to the side for a small respite.

It proved to be his undoing.

Had there been space in the closet, he would have reeled back at the scent of her arousal, for it was strong, now, reaching into every fibre of his being and calling forth an answering response. He could almost feel his control shatter as his hormones broke free of the suppression block and his body finally responded to Rose’s siren call. He felt himself harden, and the tips of his ears burned hot. Closing his eyes, he hoped in vain that the leather jacket would offer her some protection from his traitorous body’s response. Hearing her tiny gasp, however, put paid to that idea, and he cringed.

Carefully, he tried to shift his pelvis slightly away from hers, to give her some distance, however small, from the physical response of a perverted old alien several hundred years her senior. It was no good, however; the blasted closet was just too small.

Taking a quiet breath, he tried in vain to corral his response, to calm his hormones and hide the evidence of his disgusting, perverted feelings for his innocent young companion, this ray of light who’d forced her way into his darkness and lit the way for him to follow.

He had no right to force his darkness on her, to consumer her light with the blackness of his soul.

At that moment, however, a gentle touch to his cheek interrupted his self-castigation, and his eyes flew open to see Rose trying to catch his eye. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look her in the eye, dreading the disgust and revulsion he was sure he’d find.

Catching her gaze in the dim light, however, he gasped.

She didn’t look disgusted at all.

Instead, her eyes burned with want, and something he was too frightened to name.

Staring, he slipped a finger under her chin and pulled her face slightly closer, convinced that the dim lighting had fooled even his superior eyesight. However, her intent expression didn’t change, no matter how he stared. If anything, it grew stronger and his hearts began to pound at the way she was looking at him. Stranger still, the scent of her arousal grew stronger and her heart rate increased.

Rassilon….it couldn’t mean….she couldn’t… could she?

Then, her eyes still hot on his, she very deliberately pressed her hips into his and his eyes rolled back in his head. He was barely able bite back a whimper at the heavenly feel of her against him.


Panting quietly, he gazed intently at her, her hungry gaze firing responses he hadn’t thought himself capable of any longer, things he thought he no longer deserved to feel, and especially about her.

As thought sensing his self-doubt, she stretched her neck as far as she could and leaned up towards him. Moving slowly, in a haze of disbelief, he bent his head and leaned towards her, thinking she meant to whisper something into his ear.

Instead, she pressed her nose against his throat and to his shock, inhaled deeply, a tiny moan of bliss escaping her lips before she turned her face slightly, pressing her lips against his throat.

And then she bit him, whispering a single word.


The blood roared in his veins, and it was too late, too late to stop the primal response that drove him to press his hips hard against hers, to tilt her face to his, closer and closer until he could feel her breath against his lips, those sweet petals almost touching his. She had claimed him, and with that act had destroyed the last of his resistance. She wanted him, she had claimed him, and he would claim her.


The harsh sound of shouts and metallic boots intruded, clearing his thrall-clouded mind and reminding him of where they were. He pressed his forehead against hers, silently begging her to wait, and, feeling her nod, he squeezed her tightly to him as they waited for their chance to escape.

It came a few minutes later, when the last sounds of the Kapfolian soldiers had died down. Chancing it, he poked his head carefully out into a deserted corridor and before long, he and Rose were running hand in hand down the twisting corridors, making for the storage room they’d left the TARDIS in.

A shout not far behind told them they’d been discovered and, with a final burst of speed, they rushed into the storage room, slamming the door behind them as he whipped out his key. Finally managing to open the TARDIS doors, he pushed her inside ahead of him and locked the door behind them, dashing to the console. As soon as he’d sent them back into the Vortex, he turned back to Rose.

She stood before the doors, exactly as he’d left her, the want still strong in her gaze, but now mixed with what seemed to be a growing uncertainty, as though she wasn’t sure that he really wanted her.

Well, he wasn’t having any of that.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he let it fall to the grating with a muted thud as he prowled towards her, thrilling as her eyes flared with renewed heat. He prowled closer and closer, until he’d pinned her against the door, her body flush against his as it had been in the closet.

“Rose,” he said lowly, speaking for the first time.

“Doctor,” she said huskily as he drew closer, close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her lips, feeling her answering smile against his mouth.

“Question is, are you?” she challenged, nipping his bottom lip.

With that, he growled, bowing his head to crush her mouth with his own, devouring the lips and tongue that had tormented him for months.

Moments later, he drew back and growled a single word against her lips.