Pommes d'amour

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Doctor Who but unless I suddenly become The Moff overnight, I don't think it's gonna happen...

Disclaimer Take Two: I don't own Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Blackadder, Star Trek(or, indeed, the conversation about Star Trek which, as some smart-arsed reviewer took the time to comment about, was taken and edited from Gilmore Girls), or any other vaguely obscure references you can find in this...

Warning: This author in no way condones anything to do with trees and thunderstorms...it's only ok for those super-dooper beings known as 'Time Lord-Human Hybrids' who are portrayed by David Tennant =P

Pairing: Alt!TenRose.

Rating: Adult for smexy times...(if this is not your cup of tea, please feel free to take a cookie before you leave =D)

A/N: This is my entry for the smut-a-thon over at sistersofguh on Livejournal. I used two picture prompts and the quote below from Henry Ward Beecher (which, just in case any copyright people haven't guessed, I don't own...). The picture prompts can be found here: .#cutid1 ...I used #15 and #25. Anyway, I hope you enjoy...

A/N Take Two: Please remember that all reviews are greatly appreciated, especially since they stop the plot bunnies from hassling me...but seriously, folks, there may be a very pretty Time Lord in it for you...

...

"All men are tempted. There is no man that lives that can't be broken down, provided it is the right temptation, put in the right spot."

Henry Ward Beecher - Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit, 1887

…

The rain was a sheet of crystalline droplets against the stormy grey sky. It hit their bodies like needles, bouncing off their skin in wide splashes of clear water. He held the umbrella in his hands but it was closed and held to his side, collecting rainwater in its spokes. Neither of them noticed that they were soaked to the skin, that their clothes were clinging to them in that sticky-sweet slide of sweat and summer rain; they just stared at each other before resolve broke and everything came crashing down around them, mixing with the fat droplets of lightening-soaked water.

…

It had started with an apple. Well, that was how 'Snow White' got started, wasn't it? Weren't they always being told how damn fairytale they were? He'd always loved apples; it was just some strange hankering that he had for midnight fruit that wasn't long and yellow. Bananas are all well and good until you find out that your potassium levels are unmanageable and Villengard isn't in need of a paint job on Parallel Universes. So his obsession became apples. He liked the beauty of them; silky, glistening crimson skin and a juice that was some place between sickeningly sweet and sucking on a lemon. Tangy, he supposed humans would call it. Tangy. It reminded him of something forbidden and mysterious. It reminded him of Rose…Was it any wonder his Torchwood co-workers looked worried whenever they caught him eating one behind a plant pot so as to avoid being disturbed? The idea of Rose and any kind of fruit was a tantalising one but there was something about the thought of her and an apple that made it even more difficult to control his temperamental human libido.

It had been a conversation he'd always hoped he'd never have to deal with, but she knew. Oh, not about the apples, of course…although they were part of it. A big part. He spent a long time wondering if he'd have this much of a problem with bacon and yoghurt too, but decided not to worry about it for the time being. No, the time for regeneration had arrived and the link with his Time Lord counterpart was seemingly still very much active, however tentative it had been to begin with. He tried to avoid it. He knew that Rose wouldn't like the idea of the Time Lord she loved stuck in another Universe and dying on his own, so he hid it as best as he could. While he saw golden dust sparkle behind his eyes and felt the burning rush of radiation sear through his skin like a white-hot knife, he took her to Paris. A beautiful city, the city of lights, the city of love, the city of 'I'm hiding my former self's regeneration from my soul mate'. But what else could he do? He stopped eating apples. For some reason, unknown to his Universe and the loose connection in his head, they just didn't appeal to him anymore.

She knew he was hiding something from her. In their poky little room on the edge of the Rue de Rivoli, overlooking the Seine, she confronted him.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing," he replied, studiously looking at the grey view out of their window.

"Bull," she said, folding her arms adamantly and thumping herself down onto the bed.

He turned a little to face her. "I hardly see what male cattle have to do with anything, Rose," he said, confused.

She sighed exasperatedly, but he could tell that she was stifling a giggle. "You've been here for two years now, Doctor, you really should pay more attention to human slang…"

He grunted. "Brain's not quite as expansive as it used to be…" He let the sentence trail off, fully aware of what was going on in that brain at that exact moment.

"Oh, I know, I know…'Brain the size of a planet and nobody listens to me'…Thank you, Marvin."

"Sorry," he muttered, turning back to the window.

There was a creak as the bed springs dipped and suddenly she was next to him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his hip. He froze and she felt it. Her withdrawal was like a flinch.

"What? What's changed? You don't want me anymore, is that it?"

"No!" he protested, holding his arms out to her. She ignored him. "Rose, come on, I love you, you know that!"

"Well maybe love isn't enough anymore! Maybe I'm tired of being shut out of your head! I had enough of trying to psycho-analyse you back when you were…" Her voice trailed off and he knew she was thinking of the version of him that didn't exist anymore.

There was a knock on the floor from the room below and an irritated voice shouted indiscernible abuse in French. No TARDIS to translate, after all. Rose threw herself down onto the bed and lay silently, facing the door. He tried to ignore her ragged breathing as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed. He stared at the wall and tried to pretend that Angry Rose didn't get him going just a little bit; his self-preservation instinct had kicked in and was telling him that now wasn't the best time to be inappropriate. After a while, Rose sat up again. She didn't move across to him, she just left the cold expanse of duvet between them and stood up, not saying a word before grabbing her coat and slamming the door behind her. He sighed and let his head drop into his open palms.

…

Rose's feet pounded against the pavement as she cursed the humidity for contributing to her tear-induced headache. He could be so…infuriatingwhen he was trying to be Mystery Man. It irritated her to no end, but at the same time, she still kind of loved him for it; the idea that, even though he was all human now, there was still that automatic Time Lord reaction that kicked in sometimes. It reminded her that he wasn't a total stranger. Not that he really could be classed as a stranger anymore since they definitely knew each other now. Her mate Shareen would have said that she ran after him like a bitch on heat, but Rose preferred to think of them like magnets. Polar opposites, moving together in a rhythm that only made sense to them. She loved him, but he drove her up the wall sometimes.

She kept on walking until she had no idea where she was anymore or how long she had been walking for; all she knew was that her feet were killing her and she had no idea how to get back to the Doctor. She had been turning the conversation over and over in her head – the silence, the argument, the apples – until she finally realised why he had been evasive; he, the Doctor, the Time Lord she had fallen in love with, was dead, or a new new new man, or whatever. She was sad for him, remembering how many people had loved him, how much she had loved him, but she knew that whatever happened, the new version of him would change someone's life and make him or her fall in love with him too. It was just what he did; he was a big ball of bouncing energy and love. How could anyone resist that?

She found the stall just as the first grey droplets began to fall from the sky. The apples were a glossy red, and she could see the sticky caramel glistening in the faint sparkle of the watery Parisian sun. The sign next to them proclaimed that they were 'Pommes d'amour' and although she had flunked French in school, she knew enough to translate it; 'Apples of Love'. Toffee apples. Suddenly she was five years old again and wandering around a travelling fairground with Jackie, transported back to the shimmering lights dancing across the dead grass of their estate's park, tinny musak floating across the cool night air. For a second she forgot where she was, until there was a hand on her shoulder and his temperate breath ghosted across her cheek, warming the raindrops that had nestled themselves into her skin.

"Get that one," he whispered, pointing to the apple closest to her. It was smaller than most of the others but it was shaped a little like a love-heart and the toffee covering it swirled around the ruby red skin like a supernova. She felt her heart explode with love at the symbolism of this particular piece of sugared fruit and turned in his arms, grinning at him.

"Where did you come from?"

"Weeeellll, you see, Rose, when a Mummy Time Lord and a Daddy Time Lord love each other very much, they get certain urges…" She hit him playfully on the arm.

"I'm serious!"

"Oh, me too. Deadly." He stuck out his tongue, she rolled her eyes. "Alright, well you weren't that difficult to find, really."

"Of course I wasn't…it wasn't like I'd activated my cloaking device or anything!" she giggled.

He frowned but his eyes were dancing. "Don't be silly, Rose. The cloaking device has been rubbish in every incarnation…I remember Kirk complaining about it, I remember Picard complaining about it, and I'm fairly certain that at some point in her less recognised career, Sisko complained about it too."

"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with dating a Trekkie," she teased, before turning around to pay for the apple.

"You? You're the one who mentioned the cloaking device in the first place!" he laughed.

"Touché," she conceded, taking a bite of the apple and licking the sugary toffee off her front teeth slowly, careful to clean off all of the sticky caramel.

The Doctor's arms tightened around her as the first bolt of lightening lit up the sky like magnesium and a low rumble of thunder followed. "Do that again," he whispered, his voice strained.

The rain became heavier, soaking into their clothes and skin but they just stood and stared at each other. Her eyes widened and darkened at the sound of his voice and the intense look on his face. "What, this?" she asked, innocence dripping from her mouth as she took another bite.

The Doctor groaned. "Eve," he accused.

She smiled and looked down. "So that would make you the serpent, then…" His lips reached hers faster than he could have replied with something witty. It wouldn't have mattered; he couldn't find the wherewithal to form words anyway. The trees behind them in the Bois de Bologne suddenly seemed very inviting…

…

The bark was rough against her back as he shoved her up against it. His tongue traced a path down her neck and along to the hollow of her collarbone, licking up all the droplets of rain water that trickled in rivulets along her skin as the lightening crackled across the sky.

She fought for breath under his calculated licks and wandering hands. "Shagging under a tree in a thunderstorm? Isn't that a little dangerous?" she asked, fisting her hands into his tousled hair and pulling him closer. "You know, 'Electricity 101' and all that jazz…"

"Well I don't think I have the patience to find a car and break into it so we'll have to cope without the Faraday Cage just this once," he growled, nipping the top of her breast with his teeth before sliding his hands down to the hem of her shirt and peeling it away from her. She lifted her arms, letting the material slide skittishly over her head, still desperately clinging to her skin. Dipping her head, she kissed along the collar of his shirt before ripping it off him and watching the soaked strips of material float to the ground with satisfaction before he wiped all thoughts from her mind as his warm lips latched onto a nipple through the fabric of her bra. He fiddled with the clasp before breaking it, pulling the offending garment off her and throwing it away from them and returning his lips to her neglected breast.

The whole experience tasted of sweat, rain, and desperation. They were gluttons for each other, intent on consuming every inch of each other; tasting, licking, biting, sucking, taking…claiming. It was how they marked their territory; a series of bruises and bite imprints on over-sensitive skin. Somewhere in all their passion, they lost the sense of tenderness that came with their usual loving kisses and warm embraces; although the love was definitely there, it was overshadowed by the sheer hunger that drove them on, delving into new realms of discovery and pleasure.

It didn't take long for her shorts and his jeans to join the top he had already ripped and the tatters of his once favourite shirt in the churning mud. The ground was sodden and muddy as the last of the storm retreated back into the sky, leaving the fresh scent of clear air to filter through the fat grey droplets that were still falling from leaden clouds. Her newly-exposed knickers weren't the sort of underwear that they'd write poetry about or feature in a porn film, but he didn't notice as he tore them off her with his teeth and, all too suddenly, his tongue was on her, laving at her clit, tasting her as she panted for air above him and pulled his head back until he sat back on his heels in the mud, completely naked except for his dark blue boxers, looking up at her expectantly with liquid onyx eyes.

In her state of aroused frenzy, she could just about manage two guttural words; "Off. Now."

He obliged, standing up and letting her shaking hands slide the mud-soaked underwear down his legs to land in a puddle of sodden grass. He stepped out of them and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers for the lightest of kisses, his tongue poking out – in that teasing way that he did so well and so often – to gently coax her lips into parting before he slid both his tongue and his cock inside her. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer as his hand that wasn't occupied with her cascading blonde waves of hair pulled her leg around him. The angle of his frenzied thrust changed, becoming deeper and more primal, inveigling her gasping breaths out into the sultry Parisian air until they became breathy screams, building up to a crescendo that sent her over the edge as soon as the pad of his finger settled over the pulsating bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She came with a half-strangled cry as stars exploded into a plethora of accentuated colours behind her eyes and he peppered her face with light, frantic kisses as he searched desperately for his own release. A few more deep, uncontrolled thrusts and she felt warmth gush inside her body as he slumped against her, his head on her shoulder, nuzzling her skin through a mixture of sweat and sweltering summer rain.

…

As they lay in bed later, glittering sunlight filtered through the open window, illuminating the pile of ruined clothes that they had walked back in, the duvet, which had landed in a hap-hazard clump on the floor, and his long, slim fingers tracing the shadows left by the trail of light across her body. The path of his fingers left tingling goosebumps along her newly washed skin and she revelled in the sensation of his skin tickling across hers, and she stretched like a sated cat, basking in the warmth of the sunlight. Such was her relaxed state that it was her who spoke first.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

The Doctor hesitated only for a second. "Yeah." His own grief at this loss was conveyed in that one word; another new face, another new man, another memory to bury.

Silence filled the room for a moment, punctuated by the roar of a motorbike outside in the street. She turned over, laying on her back and entwining her fingers with his. "I love you…you know that, right?"

"Always." He grinned; the flash of a smile that would be forgotten for everyone but her.

He bent his head and kissed her as deeply as he could, mixing all his grief and love together and pouring it into her soul. She took it all and gave her own back; they were equals in a way they had never been when she had been with him.

They never did find out what had happened to that apple. Somehow, it just didn't matter.