Blackpool/Doctor Who | Lying There at the Tips of Your Toes, Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler, adult.
For mylittlepwny at the Vag Fest, prompt: 5 times Peter Carlisle masturbated after meeting Rose Tyler, and one time he didn't have to.
Peter made a clumsy attempt to clean the brown river he'd created with wafer thin napkins but kept his eyes trained across the diner as she crossed her legs underneath the table, dark stockinged thighs rubbing together, almost deliberately teasing him with the friction., 1,542 words, complete.
Coffee flooded over the days latest news, dripping off the table and leaving spots on his already stained trousers. The hot liquid stung where it soaked through the fabric to his skin but he hardly noticed the pain what with the creature that caught his eye.
She must have come in when he wasn't looking, because he would have noticed her right off. Looking up from his paper, he wound up spilling his half full black, two sugars when she appeared like an angel sitting in the corner. A half eaten doughnut sat forgotten on a paper plate beside stacks of paperwork that kept her attention.
Peter made a clumsy attempt to clean the brown river he'd created with wafer thin napkins but kept his eyes trained across the diner as she crossed her legs underneath the table, dark stockinged thighs rubbing together, almost deliberately teasing him with the friction. His greedy eyes journeyed down to where she played with one high heel, sliding her foot in and out of it in a horribly distracting manner.
"Sir, do you need help? S'alright, I got kids. I've seen a mess or two."
The waitress and her full frame cut off his view, and once the bloody table shone like new, he looked up to see her seat empty.
Curling toes and long, charcoal legs haunted his thoughts that night as he stroked his cock at his desk and came across his thigh, still dotted with red spots from hot coffee.
Her legs stayed hidden in black trousers the next day, but her blouse was cut lower.
An untouched pastry, something with raspberry, sat on his plate as he pretended to read his reports while losing himself in the dark cave her neckline created. Soft blonde locks fell over her shoulders and he watched as her slender fingers pushed the strands behind her ear.
She dipped her spoon into her tea, (milk and one sugar, he noted), and stirred it with slow, long circles. His eyes shut and he could see her above him, grinning with sweat across her forehead, nipples hard and hips working him in the same liquid circles. Eyes opened in time to see her suck the milky tea off her spoon, lips catching on the metal as she pulled it out of her mouth. She downed the rest of the cup in three gulps, neck taunt and throat muscles working beneath. His trousers tightened and made him shift in his seat.
He let himself stare as she stretched, arms above her head, shirt pulled tight across her breasts, riding just high enough out of her trousers to tease him with a flash of her stomach. Lip worried between her teeth, she gathered her things and left a tip before standing and walking past him without so much as a glance in his direction.
It took just three hard strokes to get himself off, standing with his trousers and pants around his knees in the mens loo, head full of everything her as he struggled not to groan out loud.
"You've been watching me."
His hands shook as he lowered his paper and found her sitting across from him, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows arching towards the ceiling.
"I'm not daft, I've seen you watching. I don't know what you think you're playing at, Peter Carlisle, but stop it."
Her lips were crimson today. They curved deliciously around his name, like she was pursing her lips around a lolli.
"How do you know my name?"
"None of your business, but I work with some very important people." Her lips began to twitch into a red curve, a grin. "And the waitress told me."
"I've been told. But seriously, stop being such a creep." She stood up to leave and stalled, looking back over her shoulder like she had something else to say. Suddenly he felt like he was being stared at from the inside out, surveyed and deemed wrong, and he swallowed, his dry throat working around nothing but air. "What's your name?"
She frowned, and shook her head. But she said, "Rose", before walking out the door with the bell chiming long after she'd left.
"Rose", he repeated on a hot breath, legs quivering beneath his sheets as he remembered the way her mouth moved around his name.
He found her on the boardwalk.
"I'm not following you, promise. You might be following me." His coat bellowed out behind him as he grinned at her, keeping in step as she walked over the wooden planks, high heels sounding like the headboard of a bed hitting a wall.
"I've heard things about you." She didn't look at him, only kept her gaze ahead, the wind separating them with a shiny yellow veil of her hair.
"So you've been asking." His grin widened as he pushed a ball of candy floss between his lips, letting it dissolve on his tongue and melt into the churning of his stomach. "Want some? I always get too much."
She rolled her eyes towards the pink beehive on a stick and shook her head. "You're a bit crooked."
He laughed, loud and from the lungs, and scared a nearby pigeon to fly away. Rose stopped and watched it beat its wings into the air.
"I'm more bent than crooked. Do you have plans tonight?"
"I need your help."
"I'll take that as a no."
He pressed his forehead into cool tile as hot rivulets of water ran down his back, remembering how she'd finally taken a bit of pink sweet and popped it into her mouth, beautifully pinker tongue snaking out to pull it in. His knees shook to hold his weight as he jerked off faster, whispering nonsense to the porcelain about her lips.
"Proper, extraterrestrial, aliens?"
"Alright. What perfume are you wearing tonight?"
"Peter!" Rose pushed at him, and he dramatically fell onto the couch cushions like he'd been shot. "Stop sniffing me, this needs to get done." She motioned towards the pile of papers, photos, and files on his coffee table that he'd basically stolen from the station in order to help this girl he barely knew. But fuck if she didn't smell good.
He laid back on the couch in silence for a while, watching her mark notes and underline in yellow highlighter. She had a habit of biting her bottom lip and making him hard. He watched, enthralled, as her hand drifted across her chest to undo one blouse button and play with it, threatening to snap the thinning thread it clung to. Peter coughed and righted himself, shifting against the seat and nudging her with an elbow.
"So how long have you been doing this, this, stuff?"
She sighed and rested back against the couch. "A while."
"You do it alone?"
"Yes." She answered quickly, and then shook her head. "No, I mean, I like to work by myself. But I work for a whole team."
Peter leaned back and rested his head close to hers. "Why don't you have a partner?"
Rose's chin squared and she set her eyes straight into him. "I don't need anyone." Her voice was too quiet to convince him.
"Rose." Her eyes began to shine, her dark lids working faster to dry them. His hand found hers, his thumb stroking along the soft flesh of her palm. "Stay here tonight."
His headboard against the wall sounded like her heels on the boardwalk. The sound of her shaking breaths washed over him like ocean waves as she used her hips to stir him around, until he was dizzy with her. Her skin melted on his tongue like sticky sweet sugar and he kept tasting her, licking and sucking until she kicked his sheets loose with her orgasm. He ripped her blouse and later that loose button would be swept out from under his bed and taunt him with the memories of that night. The hot, sweet floral scent of her made a home in his lungs and it made him high, the musk of her rubbed on his chest, his pillow, his stomach. At a point, he kissed a tear from the corner of her eye and let his fingers sooth her to sob only louder, louder.
He was hopeless. She was perfect. "Rose Tyler, I love you." His voice shook and she gasped, digging her nails into his back and falling apart in his arms. She laughed into his chest until she cried, and he held her until the morning, the orange heat flooding the room but not making him change his mind.
"Oh, why'd you have to say that." She said with the weak lips of a forced smile, and he watched her hands shake as she buttoned her blouse as far as it would go.
Her table stayed empty. She never showed up on the boardwalk. Her cell told him she didn't exist, and he never did find the alien fighting, (or was it saving?) team she'd spoken of.
He breathed in the last of her, face pushed into his pillow, as he came hard onto his sheets. He finally washed them afterward.
The button he kept.