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The Doctor's New Coat

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"In here!" Rose called out, wrapping the fluffy robe around herself and securing it. She sat on the armchair by the window and drew her knees up to her chest as the Doctor burst into the room, grinning widely.

"What do you think?" He did a circle on the carpet, arms held out, his new knee length brown coat fully on display.

It was cut perfectly, tailor made to fit his shoulders and arms. He had the collar popped upright, a bit David Beckham, a bit cheesy, a lot sexy. Rose stared, unfurling her legs and sitting up straighter. The Doctor’s smile slipped a little bit, in lieu of her silence.

"Rose?"

"Can I touch?" she asked abruptly, stretching a hand out towards him.

He came forward eagerly, holding out both lapels, his grin back in full force. He bent over so they were at eye level, allowing Rose to put her hands on his chest and bragged, “It’s a blend of cashmere, sheepswool, and qiviut.”

The wool was finely woven, beautifully brushed, and soft to the touch. Extremely expensive. They were going to have to have a talk about managing finances, what with the collection of designer ties he was hoarding in his closet and now this.

"Feels nice," she admitted, stroking his shoulders.

"Doesn’t it?" He was pleased. "I’m told the colour brings out my eyes."

"Was that the sales clincher?"

"Obviously."

"I knew it. Always works. I sold all sorts of shirts to middle-aged blokes hankering for a compliment from a shop girl."

She grinned at him and wrapped her arms around his neck while he feigned outrage over the middle-aged remark.

"I am nine-hundred and five. I am six months old. Neither of those things are ‘middle-aged’ no matter how you look at it."

"I take it back."

"Good."

He shifted forward and half-knelt on the edge of the chaise, his knee pressing against her thigh. A tiny shiver sent goosebumps lifting against the wet strands of hair at the nape of her neck, under the towel turban she wore on her head. Suddenly Rose was very aware that she was naked under her robe, and she wondered if the Doctor was aware of it too.

His expression was still fully and wholly excited, a man completely enamoured with his new worldly possession. He was a bit vain, wasn’t he? she thought fondly. He did so like to be admired.

(It was her mum’s private and unvoiced thought that the majority of his posturing and preening was done when Rose was within earshot and the very idea made Jackie feel a surge of motherly fondness for the half-human timelord. It amazed her, the shows of insecurity in his and Rose’s relationship. She would have thought that crossing universes multiple times to be with one another would have laid any doubts to rest but perhaps love was just like that: always wanting more, always craving more.)

"Look at the collar! It stands on it’s own, for wind protection, but I think it looks quite smart, don’t you? I might wear it this way all the time, I like-"

"No, don’t," Rose interrupted quickly, running her hands down his sleeves to catch at his hands, linking their fingers together.

"You don’t like it?"

Oh, she liked it. She liked it too much. Despite everything, there was still a streak of jealousy inside her when it came to the Doctor and she didn’t want anyone else oogling him.

"It’s a bit much for everyday," she said, hoping it wouldn’t deflate him.

"You think so?"

"Uh huh," she replied, twisting and lifting herself so she kneeled on both knees as well, pulling their joined hands back and around so that he circled her waist in a loose embrace.

"You’re certain?"

"Yeah. Too showy."

"Really?"

"Definitely."

"It fits you perfectly. Did you have it custom-made, then?"

"Just altered by a very talented fellow in London. Not cheap, but such fine work demands suitable compensation."

She rested her chin on his shoulder as he continued extolling the virtues of hand-tailored clothing and the miraculous properties of wool as the fabric of choice for men’s apparel. Man-made fibres, at least in this century, could not compare. Rose dreamily listened, enjoying the prolonged embrace and the sense of well-being that suffused her. The wool that had felt soft to her fingers was slightly scratchy against her cheek and when he paused for breath she told him as much.

"Oh, but you haven’t felt the lining, Rose!" The Doctor chorused with glee. There was such enthusiasm in his tone she felt he must have been waiting for this opening to prove a point. He pulled back to open the coat and slip her under the flaps like he was welcoming her into a tent with him. Rose giggled and went willingly, her hands sliding against the fabric inside.

"Pure silk," he said into her ear, and was it her imagination or had his voice gone several octaves deeper? "I’m usually not this much of a hedonist but I couldn’t resist. Donna’s influence, I reckon. She always did have a taste for fine clothing. Spent a ridiculous amount of time in the wardrobe room."

"Feels lovely," she praised, since he clearly wanted compliments.

"Thought you’d like it."

Rose nuzzled his oxford, the crisp cotton warm and smelling of him. Happiness surged through her, she was glad she’d slept in, glad to have spent an hour in the tub with scented bath salts, and glad to have the Doctor home, looking devastatingly handsome in his new coat.

"I chose it especially for you," he said, running a hand down her back slowly, pressing her closer to him. "Every time we attend one of those fancy Vitex parties you always end up borrowing my jacket. You’re always wearing those dresses - didn’t want the wool to scratch your skin," he murmured, rubbing circles into the small of her back.

He meant her party dresses, the designer ones, the ones that were invariably backless or strapless or whatever combination of fashionably revealing was decided upon by her mum and the shop girls. Rose wasn’t fooled into thinking this was a complaint: she knew he liked those dresses.

The Doctor smiled against her shoulder, pressed a kiss there. He spoke, muffled, the words vibrating against the thin membrane of her skin. “How was your day?”

"Lazy," she replied, feeling warm and languid. "I slept in. Took a bath. I’d just got out, when you came in. My hair’s still wet."

She felt him inhale, slowly, as if to verify her story. What did he smell, she wondered, when he sniffed her? He was always doing that, always taking in great big deep breaths when they embraced. Rose did it, too, always tucked her nose into his shoulder, the scent of his coat reassuring. It had always meant safety, and home. Did she smell the same to him? Did her skin invoke the same images of wrinkled sheets and warm beds and making love until dawn?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the path of his hands meandering down her hips and thighs, to where her robe ended. He’d pushed it up past her knees, palms coasting along bare skin until he reached her pelvic bone, where it became all too obvious-

"Oh," he breathed, pulling back to look down, his eyes darkening as he realised there was nothing under the terry robe.

A thrill of excitement, as always, zipped along her spine. Expectation coiled in the air between them. Rose tilted her head and kissed him, lingeringly, suggestively.

He released her and made to remove his clothing. It was usually something Rose looked forward to, watching her Doctor undress, her favourite activity, really, aside from the pleasant events that occurred after he took off all his clothes (and hers). But he looked so good in his new coat, and she felt daring.

"No," Rose stilled him with a hand on his wrist. She tried not to blush. "Keep it on."

The Doctor paused, his breathing laboured. He gauged her expression carefully. “Really?”

"Yeah," she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

A switch seemed to flip in the Doctor's brain. He went from cautiously interested to intent in 0.0001 seconds, his mind made up. “Right. Coat on. Bed.”

With an urgency that made her want to laugh, he dragged them both upright and bounced them onto the bed. He landed atop her, grinning like a chesire cat.

"Shoes off," he said, kicking them off. "Robe. Robe comes off." Without hesitation he untied her dressing gown and shoved it off her shoulders, baring her chest. She felt a surge of delight at the way his mouth fell open, slightly, at the sight of her breasts. They never failed to have that effect on him. She hoped that would never change.

Her legs parted without any help or urging on his part - Rose was ready, ready, ready. As the Doctor insinuated himself between her thighs, his clever hands and even cleverer tongue roamed along her skin, in an unpredictable pattern, heightening her desire. His sleeve brushed against her belly, and instinctively the muscles of her stomach twitched. Desire pooled and settled in a wet, yearning heat at her centre.

Then his mouth was there, where she wanted it badly.

He was so good at this. So good at working her clit between his lips, gently sucking before letting go. His tongue swirled around it, tasting and teasing. It was in the Doctor’s nature to get caught up in tasks that required his full attention. She had seen him spend hours meticulously repairing bits of the Tardis, his dextrous fingers handling wire and metal with surgical precision.

He devoted the same attentiveness, now, to pleasuring her. Deliberate strokes of his hands, along her thighs. Caressing swipes of his tongue into her core, making her tremble and quake.

With a strength of will Rose didn’t know she possessed, she forced her eyes open and looked down. The sight of the Doctor, fully clothed, his collar bent askew and his tousled hair between her legs made her groan, loudly. It tipped the scales and she came with an explosion of lightning that ricocheted through her body, leaving her breathless and elated.

Her fingers clutched at the Doctor’s hair, pulling his up. The silk and wool dragged along her skin, raising gooseflesh where it went. She was  sensitized all over, like a live wire.

"Rose," the Doctor groaned, lips capturing her own in a fervent, dizzying kiss. A feeling of light-headedness overwhelmed her and so Rose wrenched her mouth away, lungs desperate for air.

"You’re so hot and wet," he said, his breath moist and warm against her jaw. "Drives me mad, you know. I love tasting you. I crave it."

"More," she begged, hotly. "Love you, love you so much. Please, please. More."

Without pre-amble he undid the placket of his trousers, yanking them down along with his underpants, his cock springing free. The sight of it made Rose’s insides clench in anticipation. She licked her lips - he paused, only for a second, at the sight, his mind envisioning that tongue of hers returning the favour but they were both too far gone for that particular treat at the moment.

He lined himself up and thrust, sliding through her wet, hot folds. She moaned his name and  arched her hips to meet his downward stroke. They both sighed with relief at finally being joined together.

"Fuck me," she whispered into his ear. Her plea made him shudder, and for a second she thought he would lose control and come. But he didn’t, somehow, and gritted his teeth as he did exactly what she asked - he fucked her, harder, gave her what she wanted.

Letting go of her hand, the Doctor grabbed the headboard for leverage. She immediately felt the effects in the increased pace of his thrusts and the intensity of it left her gasping for air.

Her name spilled from his lips, again and again, spurring her pleasure to new levels. The Doctor sank into Rose, over and over, and Rose reciprocated, taking, taking, every movement, every sensation - oh, all of it. The rasp of his coat on her thighs, the silky lining against her sides, his rhythmic thrusts - all of it was so good. So, so good.

Rose let her eyes slide shut, imagined an eagle’s eyed view of the sight of them tangled on the bed. She pictured the Doctor fully clothed, his coat spread open and covering her from view, everything but her legs, spread in the air, shaking from his hard, delicious fucking.

It was an absurdly wanton, ridiculously hot vision. Rose came from it, her inner walls clamping down on the Doctor’s cock, making him gasp. Then, he too came with a strangled cry of her name, flooding her insides with warmth.

Afterwards, they lay side to side, sweaty and content. The Doctor eventually rolled off the bed to take his new coat off, along with his socks, shirt, and trousers. He returned to bed, sliding in beside her and pulling a sheet over them. Rose snuggled up to him, dreamily accepting his kisses. She loved After. She loved all of it, but especially After, when they cuddled and talked and held each other until they regained the energy to do it all again.

"You know," he said casually, peering at her with one open eye, "I’ve always liked that red skirt thing, you’ve got. The flippy one, with the zipper down the back."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Okay," said Rose, happily recalling that said skirt had been dry-cleaned last week and was hanging pristinely in her wardrobe, ready and willing. "Later."

Rose loved Later, too. Just as much as After, and Before, and Again.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed with sleepy satisfaction, "Later."