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Flowers in Her Hair

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It feels like a dream. They’re in a seemingly endless meadow, rippling grass and wildflowers as far as Rose can see. Twin suns shine down, warm but not hot, and the same breeze teasing the grass cools their skin. The Doctor tells her there’s a forest in the distance, but she secretly thinks he’s just trying to show off. She knows there’s a forest there too; before they left the TARDIS she saw the map. But if he wants to act like he can see something, she’ll let him have his little moment.

He’s quite a peacock in this body. He’s always liked to get attention, of course, but since his latest regeneration she’s noticed he’s especially showy, if in an understated sort of way. He preens, too, but only for her.

“How did we get here, Doctor?” She’s laying on her stomach, hands propped under her chin. The Doctor is sitting up next to her, braiding flowers into her hair.

“We came in the TARDIS, love. It was two hours ago. I know your brain is only human, but even so you can’t have forgotten.” His fingers brush against the sensitive skin just behind her ear, and she shivers.

“I don’t mean here. Not this planet here. I mean…” She sighs, just letting his fingers in her hair send her adrift. “It seems impossible, doesn’t it? That we could be here, spending our forevers together, after everything we’ve been through?” She’s trying not to think of the moment she fell into the other universe, of the pain of separation, of the hard work of getting back to her Doctor. Of how many nights she cried herself to sleep, only to relive the worst bits in her dreams.

His fingers pause. She wonders what he’s thinking.

“You should know by now that impossible is my specialty,” he says lightly.

“Quite right, too.” Her voice is lazy and soft, but she knows without looking that her words make him smile.

Without warning she rolls onto her back. She wants to see his face, to get lost in the depths of those ageless eyes.

He swears under his breath. Then, more clearly, “You’ve ruined your braids.”

“Only the last one. You can fix it.”

And then he is above her, one hand cupping her cheek and the other resting lightly on her stomach, drawing teasing lines on the bit of skin that is suddenly showing just above her jeans. Her breath hitches. They’ve been together for so long, all across time and space, but his touch still makes her brain short circuit.

“I’d planned to weave a garland of flowers to crown you my faery queen, but you’ve done a good job distracting me,” he teases. “I’m quite good at multitasking, but right now I think you deserve my full attention.” He’s still drawing slow, tantalizing symbols on her bare skin, and heat pools low in her belly.

“Doctor,” she breathes.

His thumb ghosts across her lips, her skin sparking as he moves. Impulsively she lifts her head enough to pull his thumb into her mouth. He groans. He shouldn’t be allowed to make noises like that.

“Don’t tease, Rose.” His voice is a low rumble.

She smiles around his thumb, then nips him gently. He groans louder, deeper.

“’m not teasin’, Doctor.” She makes her eyes wide and innocent. “You know I always want you.”

He winks at her. “I’m yours, love.” His hand ventures under her shirt, rests just below the swell of her breast. When his thumb flicks over her nipple she sucks in a breath.

“Now who’s teasin’?” she asks, but there’s no heat to her words; it’s all breath, all catching, all yearning. But she doesn’t have to beg, doesn’t even have to ask; he knows what she wants, and he’s happy to give it to her. When he kisses her stomach she can feel his desire pressed against her skin; when he pushes her shirt up with his nose she starts to giggle but it becomes a gasp when his mouth finds her other breast. She tangles her fingers in his already wild hair and loses herself in pure sensation: sunshine on her face, grass on the small of her back and tickling the side of her flushed face, lips and tongue and fingertips on her breasts sparking electricity across her already too-hot skin.

She’s so far gone she barely notices him repositioning himself, unbuttoning her jeans, slipping his hand lower and lower on her belly, until his fingers slide across her clit and her whole body sings with the release. Her fists clench in his hair as she rides the waves of pleasure, babbling sounds more than words but “Doctor” making an appearance more than once.

“I’ve got you, love,” he says, and she can barely take the raw emotion in his voice. She comes down slowly, all her rough edges softening until she feels one with the land, with the flowers and the sky, and with her Doctor.

“Now you, Doctor,” she says, and she barely recognizes her own voice. But he already has his cock in his hand; he doesn’t need her encouragement but the sound that escapes his lips lets her know he likes it. He looks down at her, eyes full of lust and longing, and for just a moment she wonders what he sees on her face. Love? Desire? The perfect ache that fills her whenever she remembers that this man loves her and has given her the universe?

And then the moment is gone, replaced by the nowness of his hand on her thigh, the touch igniting her even through her jeans. All at once it’s just the Doctor and Rose, two bodies longing to intertwine into one. “Inside me?” she begs, hands reaching out to draw him down. He makes a noise of frustration--there are too many clothes in the way, layers of fabric to slow him down. She lifts her hips as he pulls off her jeans, not rough but not careful either. The cool grass is almost sharp against the heat of her skin. He kneels between her now bare legs, gazing intently, the tiger stalking its prey.

But she is not prey, she is hunting at his side, and she does not have to wait for him to come to her. She wraps her legs around him and he stumbles forward; he catches himself on his palms, hovering just above her. She twists her hands in his shirt and pulls him down until their lips are just touching.

“Please, Doctor,” she says, her lips teasing his as she speaks. “Don’t make me wait.”

And he doesn’t; he doesn’t waste time going slow, just buries himself deep. She gasps, still oversensitive, and then he begins to move and she stops thinking.

“Yes,” she whispers, barely able to get the word out. Her pleasure is building again, filling her to nearly overflowing, and she doesn’t know if she can take the overwhelming sensations.

He’s kissing her forehead, her temple, her hair. “Oh, Rose,” he breathes, and the sound of her name, his voice nearly broken, pushes her over the edge a second time. He’s not far behind, chasing her again, and when he comes he gasps into her hair.

And then he’s kissing her again, soft kisses against her lips. She smiles into his kisses, then laughs outright.

“What’s that about?” the Doctor grumbles, but she’s known him long enough to know it’s a teasing grumble.

“Oh, don’t pout, Doctor.” She kisses his nose. “I just wasn’t expectin’ that this afternoon. You’re still full of surprises.”

They partly disentangle, ignoring their scattered clothes to just sprawl in the grass, holding hands. “I’m going to keep surprising you on into forever, love,” the Doctor murmurs into the stillness.

She squeezes his hand. “Forever.”