"Silent Night, indeed," he whispers, staring out over the lights of London, twinkling in the dark. It's Christmas Eve, and despite being here for four months, he's still not used to the differences between this world and the Earth he remembers from Life Before; the life that his all too human body never actually experienced yet remembers clearly. Like these strange late night streetlights that glow blue instead of the yellow-white of Old London.

He's finding that he's using the Old prefix a lot these days. Old London, Old Earth. Old Universe.

Old him. As opposed to New him, who looks identical to Old him, despite having only one heart, a normal human respiratory system, and a shelf life of potentially up to one hundred years or so. Well, sixty odd at this point, perhaps. His forged birth certificate places him at just shy of forty.

His first birthday will be his supposed fortieth. Now that's depressing. Wasn't that supposed to be the dreaded over the hill birthday? Or was that fifty?

He quickly tips back his glass, catching the last drops of the earthy red liquid on his tongue. It tickles his taste buds in a complex, unfamiliar pattern. He should be able to recognize what type of wine this is simply by the chemical breakdown, but the human limits on his senses prevent it. Regardless, he likes it, and likes the airy feeling that's now surrounded him after four glasses.

"Doctor?"

He turns toward the sound of Rose's voice, and gapes.

She leans against the doorframe, her right knee curving her body into a seductive silhouette against the soft light from the corridor behind her. She wears nothing - except for the long red scarf he gave her earlier this evening as a teaser Christmas gift.

"Come to bed." And then she disappears, the sound of her footsteps diminishing into silence as she retreats down the corridor.

For a moment, he stands motionless in the darkened living room stunned. Despite two years of traveling with her – and now four months of living with her – she continues to surprise him in the most incredible, personal ways. Once, he would have scoffed at any man who said the love of his life could turn him to liquid with just a look. That was before he met Rose. Even Before, when they were still on the TARDIS, he'd feel shaky when she looked at him across the console, her eyes glittering with excitement each time he'd launched them to a new adventure. She loved him, loved his life, and loved her life with him. Her joy filled his heart, made him whole, yet managed to strip him of all of the pompousness of being a Time Lord, down to the simple man beneath.

Finally willing himself to move, he trips on the corner of the rug near the hall, stumbling with a couple of loudly thumping steps before regaining his balance.

"Right then," he mutters. He reaches the bedroom doorway, and pauses when he hears the rustle of the bedclothes. Smirking, he counts silently to ten before entering the room.

She's lying in bed, curled onto her side as if she's asleep. He chuckles quietly as he tiptoes across the floor, his desire rising with every step. She knows exactly how much this flirtatious "innocence" game attracts him, and knows exactly how to get his attention every time.

Slipping under the covers, he rolls his eyes when she doesn't move an inch. Little does she know that her lack of movement clues him in every time to the fact she's not asleep. On the nights where she retires before him, she always grumbles a bit in her sleep and moves close to his body heat as he crawls under the covers. Here, she lies perfectly still, barely breathing as she waits for his touch.

He skims his fingers lightly over her exposed shoulder, biting back a laugh when he feels her shiver at his touch. Yet she still insists on pretending she's asleep. Taking this as a challenge, the Doctor broadens his ministrations, running his hand down her body, then back up again, his pressure firmer. He knows once his hand reaches that spot, just…there…

Rose moans softly, arching into his touch, and he reacts by even further deepening his movements, pulling her body toward him, kissing her firmly. They both sigh into the connection, shuddering from the spark of sexual energy that rushes through them both.

The Doctor cannot understand why they didn't do this sooner, why he'd been so afraid to express his feelings on the TARDIS. No longer able to justify his past behavior, he's embraced everything about Rose – the smell of her hair, the soft noises of contentment as he licks and nips all of the secret pleasure spots on her body. His past self had been so stupid to deny himself this…

Her breathing rate has increased; he can feel her ribcage expand under his touch as he slides down the bed, positioning himself to kiss the small of her back. If memory serves, this should…

"Ooooh…." Rose tucks her leg up, finally abandoning her ruse.

iYep, memory serves/i, he smirks.

He pushes up to a crouch and leans over her, leaning his head on the curve of her waist, still trailing a wayward finger across her skin. He can't help touching her – his new senses are so different than they were before – so limited in their capacity, yet so intimate and treasured due to said limitations.

"Hello," he says, then flashes her his proud, beaming smile.

When Rose responds with an equally bright one of his own, his heart thumps. Her smile is timeless – the same as it was for his previous incarnation, the same as it was when they leaned against the grass on New Earth, the same as it was when he saw her running toward him in that wreckage-strewn street in Chiswick.

"Hello," she whispers.

He pulls a wedged tail of scarf up from between them and tickles her nose with the fringe. "I like this fashion choice."

"Thought you might."

"Very… how should I say… easy?"

She pushes back from him and gives him a mocking swipe. "You're saying I'm easy, then?"

"No, not at all," he replies airily. "I'm well aware of your not-so-easy sexual history, thanks to the many bottles of wine we've tossed in the recycling bin."

"Oh, so now I'm a drunk, too."

"I didn't say that!" he protests.

Laughing, she pulls him closer for a kiss. It's not chaste, and almost immediately the Doctor responds by pressing firmer, deeper, opening her mouth to taste her, feeling the vibration of a moan in her throat. When the need for air breaks them apart, her cheeks are flushed.

"For someone not easy, you must have a natural knack for dirty kissing, Rose." He waggles his eyebrows.

She shakes her head in amusement and sighs, then rolls to stretch out on her back and allows her knees to fall open.

"Ah, I see," he chuckles. "Nope. Not easy at all, then."

"I'll have you know I'm the model of a proper modern woman," she scoffs, rolling her knees back together and wrapping herself dramatically in the scarf. "I think you're misinterpreting my current state of dress…"

"Well, you are dressed rather… provocatively. If you'd rather I go…" He feigns a pout as he moves away from her.

"No!" she cries, grabbing him and pulling him down on top of her. She kisses him soundly, taking in a deep, shaky breath through her nose, her fingers trembling as she runs them down his sides, circling slowly around his hipbones before drifting them toward the center, meeting each other, stroking the growing length beneath his trousers.

He shivers at her touch, feathery-light yet somehow piercing him with intense warmth that rockets through his entire body. The sensation forces him to pull away from her, gasping. He's not going to last long if she's able to keep finding focus points. Deciding to take control, he places a series of slow, strong kisses along the front of her shoulder, just above the line formed by her collar bone. She responds first with a sigh, then with a low moan as he swirls his tongue against her skin.

She used the flavoured lotion tonight. Supposedly it's raspberry, but it's really only the smell that changes between the different ones she bought. Orange tastes like lime tastes like raspberry. Even the smells aren't real, but recognizable as Fake Strawberry and Fake Lime. And perhaps they should discuss that some time when he's not rolling his tongue around the hard nub of her nipple.

iKnock it off/i he warns himself, pushing away from her to quickly solve his state of overdress, his eyes catching hers as she watches him hungrily.

"Can't ruin this now, can we?" he murmurs, untangling Rose from the scarf, and flinging it across the room.

He drifts over her body with kisses, finding the little spots that make her gasp or sigh or stretch out languidly. An inch to the left of her navel seems to be a particularly good spot, resulting in a slurred mumble of approval. He drifts further down, lying across the bed now, tracing a soft line with his tongue until he reaches her most private spots, smooth and soft beneath his touch.

With one broad, wide swipe of his tongue, Rose opens beneath him, and he begins to explore her, finding even smaller, more intense focus points that spark exciting reactions – a mew of pleasure, a roll of her hips toward his tongue, an occasional sigh praising him or a deity she doesn't specifically believe in, yet finds reason to praise now. A stray hand reaches down, wrapping around and stroking his length, setting a steady, gentle rhythm. He scoots his lower body closer to her, pressing into her hand, matching her speed. As her reactions become quicker, his ministrations intensify. He uses her cues, rolling with her, helping her toward the ecstasy to which she's lost herself.

She comes, not crashing and jerking as he's seen in the past, but in a gliding series of waves, her breath catching in her throat as she welcomes it. As she drifts back down, he slows his movements, knowing she'll be hypersensitive now, and glances up to her face. This is Rose at her most beautiful, her least guarded state. .Her eyes are closed, a small, dreamy smile on her face, and every ounce of experience, age, and stress are evaporated away.

He props himself up on one elbow and continues to watch her in wonder. How could he be this lucky, being allowed by Rose to see her like this? He realises the level of trust she must have in him, loving her more for that gift, and wonders if she knows he trusts her implicitly, too, although he worries she feels he doesn't allow her in.

He tries to wait patiently for her to begin to move, but she appears far too content to just lie there, basking. Finally, his instincts to keep moving kick in, and he traces his index finger in lazy circles around her navel.

"Yes?" she asks, a small smirk stealing across her lips.

"Better?"

"Oh yes."

He pushes up to his knees and creeps up the bed, stealing a kiss as he nudges her knees apart and positions himself above her. "That's good. Don't want to disappoint."

"Mmmm," she hums into another kiss. "I don't think you need to worry about that."

He beams proudly at her, and then pushes home, gasping at the myriad sensations that sweep over him immediately. He wants to remain still, resting inside her, but the urge to move is too strong. He quickly finds a rhythm, all of his senses hyperaware of Rose – the faded smell of her perfume mixing with the musky scent of sex, the salty taste of the skin on her brow the tickles of her fingers over his back, forcing him to thrust deeper, faster… and oh, that delicious heat…

The burn washes over him, and he is lost – gasping with every stroke, moving faster as he feels her push back against him, encouraging him, moving with him until finally his head is floating and he is crying out in sheer bliss as he finds release.

And for just a small moment when everything else goes dark and still, he touches Time, just as he always could Before, feeling the spin of the Earth, awed by its speed and power. And then the world crashes back around him. Exhausted, he places small kisses on Rose's neck, feeling the pound of her pulse beneath his lips before he collapses next to her, wrapping her in his arms as the world slowly stops spinning.

Much later, he kisses her softly on the cheek, waiting as she stirs and stretches.

"You know, a long time ago I had a much longer scarf. "

"Oh yeah? Ever use it for…"

"Something like this? Erm, no. No exactly."

"Want to try?" she teases, turning toward him with a wry smile.

He chuckles as she rolls him to his back

Perhaps not such a Silent Night, then.