Author's Note: Okay, I tried to avoid it, but I couldn't. Smutty content in this chapter, so rating has gone up to an M. Consider this your warning :D

Six: Confronting the ID (and losing)

Indulge
verb
1 . To give free rein to; to take unrestrained pleasure in; gratify.
2 . To yield to the desire of; to treat with excessive leniency, generosity, or consideration.

The Doctor paced the living room impatiently, running a hand through his hair. This was ridiculous, it was utterly ridiculous. He should leave, he should just up and go and be done with all this childish nonsense that was supposed to be beneath him. The conversation with Tur'tai kept looping in his mind, and he was pleased Rose had gone to bed: at the very least at least he didn't have to deal with her actual presence.

No, all he had to deal with now was knowing that how he was feeling wasn't going to get any better. In fact, that it was going to get worse. He had no idea how, exactly, it could get worse – as it was he was almost in pain if they spent too much time in close proximity – but he was sure that worse would mean doing very stupid and foolish things that he didn't want to do.

Or rather, things he didn't want to do right now.

Even that was a thought fuelled by the energies, the Doctor knew. Even his own thinking process was tainted with the edges of lust, and it made the actual act of thinking very difficult indeed.

"I'm going to die," the Doctor groaned aloud, then wondered if it were technically possible. He hoped it was, because given the choice, he really would rather die – or perhaps just regenerate – than do anything stupid with Rose.

Perhaps, he decided, he should go out for a walk. A nice long walk in the cool night air, away from Rose, might do him some good. It might even, heaven forbid, clear his head.

But then he cast a glance to the bedroom door, and a protectiveness he couldn't quite explain came over him. If he left he would be leaving Rose vulnerable. He didn't really trust the people here as it was, so perhaps he had better go in and tell her... just tell her he was going for a walk, that he needed to check something on the TARDIS. Hopefully she would be half asleep and wouldn't notice the blatant lie.

He knocked gently on the door, but there wasn't an answer. So, without thinking much on it, he opened the door and walked in.

He instantly knew it was a mistake. For starters, pheromones hit him like a brick wall. Rose was a woman, so that wasn't unusual in itself. What was unusual was how strong they were, how they seemed to drift through the air and trap him up, enticing him to step gently into the room an close the door behind him, throwing the room into darkness. So much for his walk, then.

His vision almost become clouded he felt so overwhelmed, and he had to swallow for confidence while he remembered how to breathe.

"Rose?" he asked shakily.

The noise he got in response, a sort of half-moan half-grunt, made him wonder just how asleep he was.

Reminding himself that she was his companion and it was his job to care for her in a completely platonic way, he crossed the room and crouched down next to Rose. Moonlight filtered in from behind curtains, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could slowly make out the defining features of her face.

"Rose," he said again, whispering this time, and she stirred. Her eyes were closed, but she almost looked as though she were concentrating, like she was having a bad dream.

The Doctor paused, a thought he wasn't sure he liked occurring to him. It was usually very unlike him to want to violate her privacy, but something strong in his conscious was tugging at him and telling him she needed him. The only other time he'd really tried anything like this was with Reinette, but... somehow this felt entirely different.

He hesitated, casting a glance of Rose's features once more. Her face began to tighten slightly, as though in pain, and when she moaned in discomfort he decided that if she were having a nightmare of any kind, the least he could do would be to calm her so she could get a decent night's sleep. He raised a hand slowly to her temple, still not one hundred percent sure about the idea, but knowing there was no way he would be able to pull out now.

Licking his lips nervously, he touched his fingers to her skin, exhaling loudly as he slid into her mind.

Sensations instantly rocketed through his body, and they weren't the sort of sensations he usually put down to nightmares. He had to hold in a groan as, from nowhere, he had a sudden, strong desire to do very bad things to Rose indeed.

This was new, and it also wasn't good. Up until now he could have managed. The tension was tighter than a stretched elastic band and his clothes often felt restrictive, but at least previously it had just been a concoction of feelings. Now he was getting images flashing through his mind of exactly the sorts of things he wanted to do to Rose, right down to the last fingertip.

He closed his eyes, wishing that he could just pull out of her mind but knowing he was far too hooked to do so. She stirred beneath his fingers and moaned again, and he realised how very stupid, and very naïve, he had been. Had he had enough of his brain left to think, he might have wondered why Rose had been dreaming about him in ways he never imagined she would... but as it was he was subjected to feeling wave after wave of a kind of intense pleasure he hadn't felt in years.

The images in his mind suddenly became crystal clear, tearing him away from reality and into dreams, and he was no longer crouching next to Rose, but lying next to her, blowing hot trails of air across her neck. Across her very naked and very exposed neck, which was no different to the rest of her.

Oh... balls, he might have thought, had he not been totally taken by the temptation of rapture.

"I've wanted to do this ever since we got here," he said but didn't, and a new kind of excitement thrummed through him when Rose opened her eyes. Her irises were a swirling mass of aroused colour, her lashes thick in the darkness.

"Yeah?" she breathed huskily, and the Doctor's hand – quite by itself – moved to rest above her belly.

"Oh, yes," he clarified, raising his hand so just his fingertips teased her skin. He began to drift his hand slowly up and down her torso, enjoying the way she arched her body up into his touch. "Well, since before then, really. Sometimes it's been so very difficult not to think about you, Rose..."

His hand drifted lightly up to the rise of her breasts, circling the sensitive area. As Rose let out a shuddered breath, the Doctor realised that this must be her fantasy, not his. Which would make sense, this was her dream (and what a dream it was), and no matter how intoxicated he was by it, it was her subconscious controlling him, not his.

Which, had he the strength to think about it, would probably have made him feel a bit better about the fact his fingers were currently running softly over her steadily-tightening nipples, back and forth from one to the other, with the air of a man who had all the time in the world.

"Shoulda – done this a long – time ago," Rose said through broken breaths as he began to move his middle and index fingers in a rhythmic, circular pattern over her right nipple.

The Doctor chuckled, his breath blowing across her face. "And you would have loved it, I suppose," he murmured slowly, adding more pressure to his fingers, "if you'd woken up in the middle of the night to find me exploring you. Imagine that, Rose, to be woken up to the feel of a hand working its way down your body..."

Matching his hand to the movements he was describing, he smirked when Rose moaned quietly. Apparently, the him in her mind was rather good at what he did.

"Please," she begged in a whisper, and her hand came up to control his, encouraging it further down to the curls between her legs.

He didn't fight her, enjoying the masses of sensations that touching Rose in this way was giving him. Part of him, somewhere in the exterior world, was aware of how wrong this should be. But with her warmth and her smell surrounding him, making him dizzy with desire, there was no way he could go back before he had seen to Rose.

Without any further coaxing, he slid his fingers down, running them gently over her entrance and then all the way up to her clit. He repeated this movement a few times, gentle strokes to match the rhythm Rose was beginning to make against his hand. He then settled his fingers right at the top of her folds and, slowly, began to rotate his finger.

Rose moaned loudly, her head falling right back into the pillow and her mouth opening just a touch. The Doctor watched her, fascinated, as she continued to react to his movements. He added slightly more pressure and sped up, immensely taken with the noises he got as reward.

Moving his hand slightly, he let his thumb take over the work from his fingers as he pushed his hands further down.

"I never knew you were so susceptible," he joked smoothly as he slid a finger inside her, almost moaning himself at the way it disappeared into her warm wetness. A second finger shortly followed the first, pushing up deep into her, and by complex movement of his hand he set up a rhythm that Rose's body could match.

He increased the pace, smiling as Rose's breathing started to become erratic, and he whispered encouragement quietly into her ear.

The next moan was strangled, drawn out, and he took advantage of the sudden tensing in her body to circle his thumb perfectly around her clit in hard strokes, sliding his fingers gently in and out of her while he did so.

"My girl," he purred while she moved to the rhythm of his hand, and in the final few thrusts of his thumb, Rose came with an array of shattering cries. The Doctor hushed her gently, bringing her down slowly from the brink of orgasm by slowing the movements of his hand until, finally, she lay still, panting heavily.

He drew his hand out of her slowly, wetness coating his fingers, and suddenly the scenario disappeared.

The Doctor was crouching in the cool room, his hand lowered from Rose's temple and his hearts racing. What in the name of all things pure had he just done? Sweat coated his forehead, but a strong shiver suddenly went through him at the realisation of what Rose and he had just been through.

Nothing, technically, it was her dream – whether he had been consciously in it or not wouldn't have changed things. Or at least, for her it wouldn't have changed things. For him it changed rather a lot, and the dreaded sense of fear that came with thinking that that's how Rose saw him...

He got to his feet abruptly, clenching and unclenching his fists. Right, he decided, that was it. Enough was enough, and he would allow it to go no further than that – and that was already too far. He was not some sort of crazed sex-driven monster, even if Rose's subconscious, and the rest of the planet, thought he was. He was a Time Lord, for pity's sake, and when he "danced", he meant it.

If – and that was a very big 'if' – anything happened with Rose, it would be a natural progression of themselves, nothing extra thrown in to complicate things. He, the Doctor, the man who made worlds crumble, was definitely more than a quick shag in a hotel bedroom.

...The fact that he was even thinking in these terms made him want to hide himself far away in the deep dark corners of the TARDIS, reading great big boring books and causing harm to nobody. As it was, he had to settle for leaving the bedroom in quietened anger and spending the rest of the night in the sitting room, staring into the fire and wondering exactly how he was going to get through the next two days.

Regeneration, he decided, was fast becoming his best option for escape. And, under absolutely no circumstances, was he to be let anywhere near Rose while she was sleeping again. Trouble was, after tonight, he had the most horrible feeling that things were going to get worse and worse.