#metacrisis doctor

Paring: TenToo x Rose Tyler
Rating: Mature
Word count: 2200
Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Smutty-ish

Summary:

That’s it. He’s getting old. And he doesn’t like it.
Thankfully, Rose does.

Read onAO3

Tagging@doctorrosepromptsand@timepetalscollective for the second chapter of this little TenToo x Rose fluffy work!

Kept it under Mature because it’s far less smutty than I expected it to be!

“Rose, please,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he nimble fingers reached into his pants.

“Please what?” she smiled at his reflection through the mirror. “Stop, or don’t stop?”

“Stop,” he answered before she gave his erection a squeeze and kissed the side of his neck. “Okay, maybe don’t. But I won’t be blamed if we’re, ah, late.”

“Fine with me,” she giggled as she withdrew her hand just to take his and lead him back to the bedroom. “Now lie down and let me do my thing, handsome.”

“Handsome,” he snorted, plopping down on the mattress as asked, shuffling back to nestle his head in a pillow. “As if you believed that. Seriously, Rose, this is all pointless. I’m a fat wrinkled apple. You won’t change my mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” she grinned, toeing off her heels and getting rid of her tight skirt. “Now shut it, old fart, and let your wife prove you wrong.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t detach them from her. She still had this power to hypnotize him at all times, but more specifically when she was undressing. He had trouble accepting the epitome of perfection that she was could already be forty-six years of age, because to him, she was as beautiful as the day he had fallen in love with her for the first time. He watched, enthralled, her deft fingers unbutton her blouse, pull it down her arms, drop it to the side, that one insolent smile tugging at her lips.

“Since when does my wife wear red lace?” he asked, eying the underwear ensemble he had never seen before.

“It’s your birthday next week,” she explained as she joined him on the bed and straddled his waist with an elegant throw of her leg - her flexibility, among many other things, was still something he particularly enjoyed. “Wanted this to be a surprise, but you know how much I hate brand new underwear. Wanted to wear it once to get used to it for the big day. Guess I’ll have to find another surprise. So, Doctor, shall I begin with my… Presentation?”

“Like I have a choice,” he sighed, his hands finding their way to her hips out of habits.

“No you don’t, indeed. Part one. Me.”

“You? What do you mean, you?”

Her only answer was a soft smile. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, shrugged it off her shoulders and discarded it to the side, glad to see his sweet chocolate eyes darken almost imperceptibly. She laced her fingers with his and brought his hands to her breasts, splaying his them over the mounds of creamy flesh. Without really thinking about it, he did what he usually did. He caressed their swell, weighed them in his palms, brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. She breathed out a groan and momentarily shut her eyes to enjoy his touch, but remembered she had to carry on with her presentation. She caught his wrists and pulled them down so his fingers trailed down her abdomen to settle on her lower belly.

“See?” she said softly, ignoring the gooseflesh that spread to her skin under his warm hands.

“See what?” he raised an eyebrow as he caressed her body he knew by heart, trying to spot something out of the ordinary.

“Forty-six, four kids, Doctor,” she smiled, mirroring the patterns of his gentle strokes over his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as fit as I used to be either. Saggy boobs, little fat belly, a few stretch marks.”

“Nonsense,” he protested with a vehement shake of the head as he rose into a sitting position to hug her body close to his. “You’re as beautiful as ever, love, just as gorgeous.”

“Then why can’t you accept that I still think you’re as handsome as ever, Doctor?”

“Because I’m vain?”

“Well, at least we’re getting somewhere,” she giggled, giving his jaw a playful bite. “Now, part two. You.”

She pushed him back on the bed and shifted higher up his waist, smirking at the gasp that fled past his lips when she ground over his lap in retaliation for his sigh of defeat. She buried her fingers through his mane of brown spikes that felt just a tad stickier than usual, thank the many layers of gel he had used, but the result was the same. She knew he husband, and she knew he loved it when she played with his hair, pulled on his strands and scratched her nails on his scalp. Sure enough, at the first tug he closed his eyes, and at the first scrape he bit into his lip. She found the grey spot he had tried to bury among the brown - how he had even believed he would have been able to hide it, she didn’t know. The tuft stood out almost comically, like a single white petunia planted in a large bed of red ones. But only the colour was different. It felt the same under her fingers, just as soft and thick as the rest, just as rewarding when she pulled on it and he answered with a moan.

She could see all the years they had spent together in that grey hair, all that time she had been blessed with with this beautiful man on her side. Twenty years into their marriage, four beautiful children, and when she looked at him she still saw the man she had fallen in love all those years ago. She loved the grey hair because it reminded her time was a precious thing and should not be wasted.

“Don’t touch that horror,” he whined, shaking his head to divert her fingers away from the patch of silver hair. “I’ll have it dyed tomorrow.”

“I like it,” she said as she clenched her fingers tighter around his spikes, using her hold to pull his head back and lick her way up his throat to suck the soft patch of skin under his jaw into her mouth. “I think it’s important. When I look at it, I remember the chance I’ve been given to spend my life with you. I remember I love you more than life itself, and I remember you love me. I want to see it everyday. I want to see it and remember. Don’t dye it, please. I like it.”

She pulled on his hair again to turn the objection she felt coming into another one of his throaty moans and kept going. She trailed her fingers down his sternum, traced the edges of his pectorals that had softened over the years, teased his nipples with her fingertips and watched his face. Like she expected, his eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth pinched, the tendons in his neck straining under the skin. She kept a hand over his chest to continue with her ministrations, and brought the other back to his face. She ran her index over the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that spread out to his temples, followed the curve of the hollow of his cheek, swept over the prominent dimple dug into his skin, pressed against the wrinkle that fell from the edge of his mouth. As far as she could remember, the corners of his mouth had always had a tendency to be pulled down by a mysterious gravity. The years had only made it more visible. Deeper, longer. She replaced her finger with her lips and tweaked a hardened nipple between her knuckles.

“I like to think I contributed to those wrinkles,” she murmured against his skin, shifting down his body to rub her center against the erection she still felt under the layers of clothes. “When I pleasure you, you always make the same face.”

“What face?” he grunted, prying an eye open to see her smirk at him.

“That one,” she said just as she slid her hand down his body to grab his length through his trousers - the face he made that came with his groan perfectly illustrated what she meant, and it seemed he realized. “But I also like to think… Those wrinkles show just how much you’ve smiled for the past twenty years. When I see those wrinkles, I see your happiness. I remember all those times we’ve laughed and smiled and shared our love. The day we got married and you couldn’t keep that stupid grin away from your face. The day I told you I was pregnant for the first time and you couldn’t stop laughing like a loony. The day our first daughter was born and you couldn’t stop crying. I love your face, because when I look a you, I see my handsome husband, and I remember why I’m happy.”

She knew that, after this, he would never dare to think his wrinkles made him ugly again, lest he’d hurt her feelings. She knew he was vain, but she also knew he was vain mostly because he didn’t want he to think he was growing unattractive. She hoped that was enough to convince him she still thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen - the lack of protest was already a good sign.

She heard him suck in a gasp when she shuffled down his leg, grinding down hard on his crotch before she did, and she stole one last deep kiss from him before she went on a journey south. Her mouth followed the shallow line between his pectorals, planting wet, open-kisses on the way down, until she reached the soft curve of his belly.

“Hm, not much to say about this,” she smiled, cushioning her cheek against the flesh, drawing little heart shapes with a fingertip over his side. “But I like it. And you can’t do anything about that, darling, because you can’t judge what I like. There’s plenty of things I love that you hate.”

“You love sappy novels and pear pies,” he huffed as she scraped her teeth over the underside of his bellybutton. “Not very reassuring, given your more than questionable tastes, love.”

“‘Kay, let’s put it that way, then,” she nodded, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand as she lazily rubbed his hardness. “You love me and you trust me, yes? So, if I say I like it, you have to believe me. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

“I…” he started, but had to swallow when she finally tugged on his trousers and underwear to gather them around his knees. “I suppose.”

“Sorry?” she teased, kneeling between his thighs before she wrapped her fingers around his hard base and squeezed hard, just to steal to the last thread of his coherence and win the fight.

“Yeah, ‘kay, I believe you,” he whimpered as his hips jerked up to follow her movements. “I mean, ah, it’s just a bit a fat, right? And it’s kinda, God, your fault, so…”

“Exactly.”

She didn’t wait for another reaction on his part and bowed her head to take him into her mouth - the only efficient way she had ever found to keep his gob under control. It didn’t stop him from moaning and cursing and growling his pleasure, but at least that hadn’t changed. She knew exactly how to get him there, knew every little thing he loved and every little sound he made depending on how she touched him. It was comforting, in a way. To know her husband was exactly the same as he’d ever been, no matter how much he thought he’d morphed into something he loathed. She could only hope he understood she still loved him just as much. Hope he accepted she did.

It didn’t take long before she heard the low groan he usually made at the pinnacle of his pleasure and felt his fingers tangle in her hair as his back arched from the bed and his toes curled into the sheet. She brought him down from his high with gentle caresses and a few kisses pressed on the swell of the belly he didn’t like, then plopped down next to him to wrap her arms around his chest heaving with the remnants of his pants. She nuzzled his cheek with the tip of her nose, dropping a few more kisses on his jaw, brushing a hand through his hair.

“You’re beautiful, my Doctor,” she murmured, watching his softening features, a glint of adoration and a gleam of affection in the depth of her eyes. “You’ll always be.”

“You’ll always be, too, my Rose,” he answered softly, content to bask in the love and the warmth of his perfect wife. “I love you.”

“I know, darling. I love you, too. And I love your belly.”

“Don’t push it,” he grinned, poking the soft spot above her hip where he knew she was ticklish.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Now, get your old ass up, we really need to go. And you have quite the belly to drag behind.”

“I take back what I said, I hate you.”

His hearts only soared with more love when she patted the soft lump with a cheeky grin and climbed off the bed.