It was actually possible to be laughed into bed, thought Rose. She was definitely in bed, and she was definitely in bed with the Doctor, because she could see him out of the corner of her eye, arms folded, legs crossed, not happy. Neither of them was doing the laughing.

They had stopped off on this planet on the way to somewhere else, she was sure of that. Everywhere was just on the way to somewhere else if you thought about it hard enough. This particular pitstop on the time travel highway had a long and complicated name and the Doctor had got bored with repeating it to her before she had remembered it. But then, she couldn't remember the name of the place they were supposed to be going to either and that had been a lot shorter. She thought that she should probably stop asking and save them both the effort.

They were here because he wanted to pick up some more psychic paper, have a look for some hideously obscure book or other and because they had run out of milk again. In the middle of the ever changing panoply of time and space the need for tea was a reliable constant. They hadn't got round to the tea yet though. On stepping out of the TARDIS she had found herself in the middle of a forest, the massive boles of the trees surrounding her like pillars, stretching high above to a canopy she couldn't see. It was quite dark, and she had had to take his hand to make sure she didn't get lost along the non existent trail he appeared to be following. They hadn't talked much. He seemed preoccupied and she was getting bored.

That was before they had been attacked by a horde of bright orange monkey creatures, no taller than her waist but carrying guns three times their size. They peeled themselves off from the trees faster than she could blink and within an instant she and the Doctor were surrounded. He seemed vaguely surprised, almost curious, as he made introductions, explained the purpose of their visit, repeated the usual assurances about meaning no harm. The monkey people had laughed at him.

It was a warm, full bodied laughter, musical almost, with different tones and cadences added as more and more of the little people spoke. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard so much laughter. Translated by the TARDIS though, what they were saying wasn't funny. She was left in no doubt that their presence wasn't welcome, that they were intruding on some sanctified space, had broken a ritual taboo and would be dealt with accordingly. The Doctor had stood silent throughout the debate, his brows creased in a frown and he hadn't even tried to argue. Unresisting, they had both been searched, had lost everything they carried to the dexterous hands of their captors, before being bound and encouraged through the forest with the vigorous application of a very large gun to the back.

The trees began to thin out and they entered a small clearing, dominated by a timber built house, thatched with branches. They were forced up the steps and inside to the accompaniment of more of the melodic laugher, which this time gave them to understand that they had a few more hours of liberty before they were taken out and shot. Freed of their bonds, the door behind them was closed, barred with what sounded like several small trees and they were left alone.

The Doctor had immediately crossed to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room and thrown himself on it with some disgust. As prisons went, she thought, this wasn't all bad. In fact, she had been in worse hotels. The room was relatively large, square, the walls roughly plastered and whitewashed and the wooden floor smooth and shining underfoot. Although there were no windows two small openings high up in one wall provided enough breeze to stop the room feeling uncomfortable. Hundreds of tiny candles had been placed on the floor along three of the walls, their glittering reflections picked up in the polished boards. Against the other wall was a huge bed, the headboard comprised of turned wood in sinuous waves, contrasting with the simplicity of the white sheets below.

The Doctor was lying, half propped up against the pillows, his leather clad arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed, right foot tapping the air in impatience. He was glaring at her.

She raised her arms skyward, 'How can this possibly be my fault?' she asked.

'I'm sure it will be in the end,' he growled at her.

She shook her head in resignation and perched on the end of the bed. 'At least take your shoes off,' she asked, beginning to unlace her trainers.

His boots hit the floor one after the other in mute annoyance. 'I'm sleeping on the left,' he demanded as she boosted herself backwards until she was resting against the pillows next to him.

She had never been in bed with the Doctor before. It was a new, and definitely embarrassing situation, but one that sent a tingle of guilty excitement through her nevertheless. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She wondered if he snored, if he was the sort to steal all the covers in the middle of the night. She wondered if there was a man alive who didn't steal the covers in the middle of the night. She opened her mouth.

'Don't even think about it,' he said.

Crossing her own arms across her chest she didn't miss a beat. 'So how do we get out of here?' she asked.

'No idea,' he answered, 'lost the sonic screwdriver. Got any suggestions?'

She considered, 'Dig the floor up, burn the hut down, wait until they let us out and run for it.'

He turned his head, gave her a withering look. 'Don't have a crowbar. Or a deathwish. We'll just have to wait,' and he closed his eyes. Opened one a crack and stared at her, 'No snoring.'

She turned her head fully, wasting one of her most venomous expressions on his tight shut eyes, serene face. She didn't want to wait, she was too restless. She sat up, shifted her pillows, lay back, turned on one side, then the other, coming to rest facing him. She occupied herself for a couple of minutes imagining what he would look like with a beard, with long hair, with a handlebar moustache, before he told her to stop staring at him — still with his eyes closed.

When she couldn't stand the silence any more she poked him in the arm. 'Doctor?'

'Rose,' he answered with an edge of exasperation.

'Let's play a game, I'm bored.'

'Alright,' he said, eyes still closed. 'I spy with my little eye...'

She slapped his arm. 'No, something else. Tell me a secret. Tell me something I don't know.'

He smiled faintly, didn't open his eyes. 'Alright, I'm head over heels in love with you and it's all I can do to stop myself ravishing you where you lie.'

She slapped his arm again. 'Not funny. How about truth or dare?'

He shrugged, indifferent.

'Right — tell me about what really happened on Satellite Five, and I don't mean that dodgy story where you skim over the ending.'

That made him look at her, turning over so that they were lying face to face. His eyebrows lifted, 'Dare,' he said.

'If you insist' — she liked a challenge — 'I dare you to do a strip tease, and I want the whole thing right — no getting coy when we get to the underwear.'

His eyebrows had risen so far they were practically lost in his hair. 'Truth, then,' he said, and she noted a delicious colour in his cheeks. 'You came back in the TARDIS, you destroyed the Daleks and developed a case of raging megalomania before I took the power away and put it back where it belonged.'

'Yes, yes,' she said, 'I know all that, but the bit I don't get is — if I'm all powerful, if I've got the vortex running though my head — how did you get it off me in the first place? That's the bit you never said.'

He mumbled something.

'What? Sorry?

Another mumble.

'No, you're going to have to speak up.'

'Alright, alright, I kissed you,' he shouted, thoroughly annoyed at being made to say it.

'Ah,' she said, 'now I understand,' looking at him with a mixture of amusement and affection. He refused to meet her eyes, turning onto his back again. She was suddenly, obscenely happy at having dragged this secret out of him, and more pleased by the thought that he had wanted to kiss her than she would have admitted to. 'I wonder why I don't remember,' she mused.

'Wasn't one of my best,' he muttered darkly.

'Really?' she brightened. 'So there is something you're terrible at,' and she was about to go on before she realised that she couldn't move her lips. He had rolled over, taken her face between his hands and covered her mouth with his before she could react. She was so surprised by the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, the warmth of his tongue as it tested the slightly open curve of her mouth that she just lay there, still.

As soon as he started, he stopped, returned to the opposite side of the bed. 'Now, tell me that was terrible,' he asked. 'Actually, don't. That's not my question. What I want to know is — why do you think I'm being funny?'

They were back to truth or dare, she realised, bewildered by his mercurial changes of mood. 'Funny about what?' she asked.

'I said, I'm head over heels in love with you and I want to ravish you where you lie. I want to know why that's so funny.'

He was grinning at her, she noticed, and he was definitely playing, although this wasn't the sort of game she had expected from him. She felt an answering smile spread itself across her face, accompanied by a rush of warmth through her stomach. This was a game she understood, and there were far worse thing to be doing in a couple of spare hours before getting shot dead.

She raised her chin. 'Dare,' she said, fixing him with a level stare.

'Right, you asked for it — and you did, really, ask for it. I want a striptease, with whatever you said about the underwear.'

'Fine with me,' she said, flinging herself off the bed, 'just tell me when you want me to stop.'

'I won't want you to stop,' he answered, with a challenge of his own.

'Middle of the bed then, please,' she ordered, pulling off her socks and taking her hair down.

He moved to the middle, plainly confused. Circling round to the end, she braced her hands on either side of his feet and began to crawl slowly, gradually, up over him, arms and legs straddled across his body, not touching him with anything apart from the occasional brush of hair, keeping her eyes fixed on his all the way. She could see the beginnings of embarrassment in his face, as well as his determination not to back down. She stopped when her hips were directly over his, straightened up, her thighs spread across him but hovering just a fraction above his trousers. She had his undivided attention now. She hoped he was regretting the dare, because she had absolutely no intention of stopping.

She placed both hands on her waist, inched them up her stomach, cupping her breasts, running them up her throat as she tilted her head back and then slowly returned her fingers to the zip of her top. He seemed to be having trouble focusing, his eyes flicking towards her and away, as she gently lowered the zipper, pushing the fabric back over one shoulder, two, before dropping it behind her entirely. She bent back down over him, hands on either side of his head, clad only in her bra, her hair falling in a river on either side of their faces as she breathed gently into his mouth. She began to retreat back down his body on her hands and knees, her breasts nearly, nearly touching his chest until her mouth was level with the fly of his jeans. She looked up at him then, a sultry smile pinned to her face and she saw how fast he was breathing, how his eyes were locked on her mouth. She reached behind her and began to unhook her bra.

He yanked his hands up to his eyes. 'Alright — you win,' he said raggedly. 'Stop.'

She laughed, and climbed off him, returning to her position next to him on the bed.

He turned to face her. 'Nice bra,' he commented, 'aren't you going to cover it up?'

'I've got the matching set on', she answered, 'and no, seeing as you like it, I don't think I will.' She saw him swallow and suppressed a laugh. 'So, you lose,' she said, 'it's my turn again.'

The unexpected pleasure of being trapped in a room with him, with nothing but a bed and candlelight for company, and nowhere else to be was eating away at her inhibitions. She had always been aware at the back of her mind that there had been something between them, a sparkling attraction mixed with hints of something deeper, more submerged. Now it was surfacing.

'My question is — are you serious? You actually love me and you want to…' she jerked her head suggestively.

He sighed, sat up next to her, removed his coat at last and threw it on the floor. Lying back down he put his hands behind his head. 'You know that's two questions don't you? And I'm not telling you if I'm serious because I'm taking the dare.'

She snorted, 'You'll only have to tell me when you fail.'

'I'm not going to fail, Rose.'

'Oh yes? In that case,' and she took a deep breath, nervous and excited about the thought that had insinuated its way into her head. 'Your dare is to make me…' and she jerked her head again, 'you know. Without touching.'