A familiar sight: the Doctor stretched out on the floor of the TARDIS' console room with his head stuck in the floor, talking to the vessel. Rose knew that the TARDIS had "a heart," and that it had the power to get inside her head, but she was not convinced that talking to it ever helped. It was like talking to a plant. All it did was make the Doctor feel better.

Then again, perhaps it was just a surge of that awful, immature sentiment that had been harping at her lately, that most human of human emotions: jealousy. Lately, she had begun to resent anyone to whom the Doctor spoke, who was not her. She bit her lip every time he touched anyone who wasn't her. It was the attention, the occupation of his mind. She now felt that was her place, and none other's. Of course she knew that it was ridiculous to expect the undivided attention of a 900-year-old, universe-saving, millennia-hopping Time Lord, but rationality rarely played a role in one's desires.

But he was so frustrating! What right did he have walking around in that suit, with those eyes, that hair, those freckles and oh, that mouth, if he was going to be all asexual? How could he move the way he did and put on those glasses and squint and then go to his own bedroom at the end of the day? How could he not follow her into the dark and touch her all over and whisper nasty things in her ear? It was just the decent thing to do! Simple politeness would dictate that he pull her into a tight space and push his hand up her skirt…

Oh, she was doing it again. And she was doing it to herself. She knew it wasn't his fault. She knew that he probably had no idea what she did in her bedroom at night when she was alone. He probably would be very surprised to find out about the surge of lust that would overcome her each time she lay down, and that to get to sleep, she had to give herself relief. He didn't know that she ran her hands down her body, fingers over and around and inside, pretending they were his fingers, his tongue. He'd probably be mortified if he knew.

She also knew that now, wandering into the console room and seeing him stretched out on the floor wasn't the greatest time to have these thoughts. She allowed herself one quick glance, and then tried to put it out of her mind.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, referring to the TARDIS.

"Nothing now," he said, sitting up, closing the hole in the floor. "It's fixed."

"Is it that thing you tried to do when we were on Regnad 5?"

"Yep," he answered, getting to his feet. "I tried to get the TARDIS to come to us by using the sonic, but the remote circuit was on the blink. Good job I noticed it, because if we ever got ourselves into a real pickle, we'd need that circuit. But no matter – it's sorted. What do you want for lunch?"

"How does that even work? How can you work the controls remotely? I've never seen you do anything else remotely with the sonic."

"Well, the sonic and the TARDIS are connected. Really, the sonic and the TARDIS and I are connected – it's like a triangle. That's how I know which settings to use and what's happening."

"Whoa, really?" she asked. "I never knew that. Is that how it does its mind-control thing?

"Nothing can control anyone's mind entirely, Rose – nothing good anyway. Yes, the brain plays a part in the circuitries of activations and responses, but thoughts, desires, fantasies… those are usually the individual's own manufacturing."

"What about the translating?"

"That's just a variation on the perception filter that disguises the TARDIS. It's not really mind-control."

"Cool."

"Brilliant, eh? Now. Lunch."

"Oh, er, waffles and chips?"

"Waffles and chips? Are you serious?"

"Yes! It's best with blueberry syrup, and if you dip the chips in the syrup… mmm, you'll love it."

"All right, if you say so. Lead the way."

Rose turned to go, and the Doctor used that opportunity to exhale. Her simple little moan of 'mmm you'll love it' had caused him to flush all over, and now he would be obliged to watch her put long, greasy chips dripping with syrup into her mouth. And she was a girl who enjoyed her food. There would be oohing and aahing and moans of 'so good' and eyes drawn to the ceiling…

Damn it. Why hadn't he taken the opportunity to suggest something a bit less gluttonous? How about a nice garden salad? Oh, who was he kidding? She always got bleu cheese dressing on her mouth and then tried to clean it off with her tongue. Mealtimes were definitely getting harder. Literally.

And as he followed her to the kitchen, he memorised, again, the way her thighs curved up gracefully and disappeared under the denim skirt she was wearing. He tried to guess what colour knickers she might have on. He liked to fancy that she wore pink under her clothes – pink and yellow.

The night was dark. The planet Peels Passal had no moon, and they were parked in an unlit, uninhabited area.

The Doctor lay propped up in bed turning the sonic screwdriver around and around in his hands. From where he lay, he sonicked the lights off. And then back on again. He sonicked some music out of the complicated entertainment system in the corner, listened absently for one minute, and then switched it off again. He sonicked the door locked, then unlocked again.

He examined the sonic, felt it yield its secrets. He had explained to Rose today for the first time the triangular relationship that he shared with his two most trusted instruments. What he didn't mention was that because she had travelled with him for so many months, she was now connected to the TARDIS in the same way. The TARDIS knew her, it loved her and hurt for her. It had a special "Rose" component, just as it had once had a special "Sarah Jane" component and a special "Tegan" component, and one for Adric and Nyssa and Romana…

Therefore, the sonic did as well.

And he couldn't help himself. Each night, he promised himelf he would stop, that it wasn't fair. But lunch had been brutal. How could she have such nerve as to eat chips in front of him, and what was she thinking dipping her fingers in syrup?

He felt entitled.

He set the dials on the sonic just right, and then listened to the resonating buzz. As his finger slid up and down over the intricate controls, he closed his eyes and his cock hardened. He reached into his pyjama bottoms with his free hand and stroked.

Rose had never liked her bedroom to be completely dark. She hadn't outgrown her childhood need to have a night-light. After brushing her teeth and climbing into the pink drawstring shorts and tank top she slept in, she switched on the little light next to her bed, and turned off the lamp.

She pulled back the blankets and lay down on the bed, but did not crawl beneath the covers. She knew that she would wake up cold in the middle of the night and cover herself then, but ever since she was a child, she had felt claustrophobic trying to fall asleep under blankets.

And then the nightly routine began. She lay, staring at the ceiling, trying to will her mind away from where it always tended to go. But when she closed her eyes, her mind was awash with disjointed images of strong, trim legs in brown pin-stripes… apexed by a big, needy bulge. A pair of smart specs, brown eyes behind them staring into her, suggesting and insisting.

She could not pull herself out from under the fantasy, and once again, she found herself a slave to it. Suddenly, she could feel that bulge pressing against her thigh, and her hand went to the spot where she felt it should press her. She massaged her thigh as her attention went back to what the eyes were saying. They wanted in. They slid down over the rest of her, and she ran her hands down her body, feeling where his gaze would go. They saw her nipples hardening and straining against the tight pink tank, and as he would see it, she felt it.

In her mind, his tongue teased them erect, and she moaned, her fingers taking the real journey. She pinched them, imagined biting, and a surge of wet want shot through her. The hand stroking her thigh instictively went between her legs. She was hot and wet, and her fingers could feel the moisture through the flimsy fabric. She moved them in circles, slowly, her entire body writhing, twisting and falling to accommodate the pinching and stroking, and the mad tableau of sounds and images flying across her mind.

A whisper came from deep inside her mind. His husky, desperate voice saying her name, then again, more slowly. The sound of a zip, and the image of a long, hard member exposed to the air. To the walls and the furniture, she whispered sensually, "I want it." She continued stroking her self through her shorts, and she slid two fingers between her full lips and into her mouth. She moaned loudly as she sucked them, pushing them slowly into and out of her mouth. Behind her eyes, there was thrusting, spectacled eyes shut tight in the throes of pleasure, and more growling gasps of "Rose, Rose…"

Desperate for more contact, she shoved her hand inside her shorts, feeling the slippery flesh throb and yield to her touch. Her fingers moved over her clit, sliding faster and faster, and quite suddenly, she found herself on the edge. Stricken, she yanked her fingers from her mouth and grasped the sheets beside her as her body convulsed. She gave a short scream as her hips lifted up off the mattress, and her busy hand seemed to push a violent orgasmic blade through her. As she recovered, she turned over on her side and grasped her hand tightly between her legs as she continued to tremble and convulse. At long last, the orgasm subsided, and she pulled her hand out.

She lay on her side, gasping, panting. She was sweating, her blonde hair hanging in her face and sticking to her forehead, the valley between her breasts beaded with moisture. This one had been more intense than the others – the problem was getting worse. But at least it was over for the night – she could go to sleep now, and not be tortured by her body again until the morning when she saw him.

But sleep was not forthcoming, and it seemed that an innocent calm was not in her near future. More images stratched at her mind, and now matter how much she tried to resist them, scratches eventually break the surface. Her body inflamed again with impressions of flesh and naked desire – no more pin-striped or glass barriers.

She held her wrists over her head as she imagined them pinned down. Her body writhed, and she moaned as an imaginary tongue slid down her neck, and across her collarbone. Her nipples twitched with false anticipation, so she reached down and ripped her tank top over her head in one quick motion. This time, her entire hands squeezed at both breasts as the nipples strained at her palms. She rolled to one side and then the other, and then she could hold her tongue no more. Again, to the air, to the walls, she panted, "I need it inside me."

She reached over to her left and opened the night-table drawer. She had packed this little darling the last time she'd been home, mostly because she was afraid her mum might find it. But now, she found she needed it. Twelve inches of hard plastic with a smooth round end and three speeds. Its batteries were dead, but she didn't need them – she just needed to be filled. She threw her shorts off, and began by easing the thing into her wet opening, but she couldn't stand the suspense. She rammed it in as far as it would go, and grunted with the euphoria.

She went right to work shoving it in and out and rubbing her hard little bud as she did. On each inward thrust, she gave a throaty little gasp, and every now and then, the barely discernible whisper of "Doctor…" would escape through her fevered lips. She drove it to her core over and over, and felt a second orgasm rising.

The thrusting in her mind was, in turn, nearly finished as a guttural whisper inside told her it was almost time. Her clit reached a pinnacle of hardness, and one final stroke sent a swell of intensity through her. Disjointed images of liquid flowing into and around her gave way to a second climax, and it seemed to wash over and through her body, causing her to float, gasp, and then relax.

Before her body was even relaxed, she sighed with exasperation. This was bloody ridiculous. This had to stop. She stood up, dizzy, and pulled her pink shorts and tank back on.

Across the TARDIS, the sonic buzzed bright blue on its second-highest setting in this mode. His breathing was ragged and his hand pulled harder and harder at his cock. When the moment came, he pushed the controls up as high as they would go, and imagining what was happening remotely, he came with a healthy spurt over his hand. The intensity of it sent his mind spinning, and it was several minutes before his body, breathing and mind were calm again.

But then, memories of their lunch together came back to him, and he felt himself stirring once more. Normally, this didn't happen, but lately he'd noticed his feelings, his lusts growing more intense. He considered the sonic, and looked at it as though it was it was his co-conspirator. He needed its help again.

Once more, he began on a low setting, stroking himself gently, mind concentrating on what the sonic was doing, the response it must be elliciting. He deftly changed the controls and pushed them higher and higher, closing his eyes and imagining. He suspended the sonic once more at the penultimate level, and stroked hard. It took longer this time since he had just come, but eventually, he was ready, and he adjusted the sonic, knowing the threshold that was crossed, the explosion that had occurred. For the second time, he let go, and coated his hand with his cream.

With his member still hard, still exposed, he lay his head back. Linoleum. Potato crisps. Queen Victoria. Any thoughts to pull him away from this. Soon, he would calm down, get up, clean up the mess, and then go to sleep. Tomorrow night, he would lock the sonic in a safe in the console, and not go through this. From now on...

An interruption. A loud bang. He looked.

Rose had thrown the door open, and stood in shadowy light, both hands on the doorjamb. Her nippled strained against her pink outfit, her hair was soaked with sweat and hung in her face, her eyes drilled holes into him and her lips were parted.

"We have to talk," she hissed.

But there was nothing to discuss.