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regenderate-fic · 15 days

Text

Quid Pro Quo

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Rating: General Word Count: 2,653 Other Tags: Egg Tenth Doctor, Transfem Tenth Doctor, Sharing Clothes, Making Out, Intimacy, Drag, Pre-Episode: Fear Her

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Summary: Rose and the Doctor have an exchange.

NOTES: inspired by this art by nipuni! original concept was that art -> this image pipeline

the intention here is 100% very much to be writing the tenth doctor as an egg ie. as a trans girl who doesn't know she's a girl yet. i've used he/him pronouns because it's from ten's pov and at this point in time ten's internal monologue is using he/him pronouns but i would like everyone to know where this fic stands on the subject. happy tomorrow is transfem ten(too) tuesday. (and the drag tag is entirely for rose in the doctor's clothes. it is drag To Me.)

also this takes place right before fear her in my mind <3

“What do you think?” Rose was standing at the foot of her bed, her arms spread wide. She also, as it happened, was wearing the Doctor’s blue button-up, his tie loosely tied around her neck. “Can I pull it off?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. He’d been lying on her bed in his undershirt, idly flicking through one of the Earth gossip magazines Rose brought back from her visits home as he waited for her to be out of the shower. He’d learned a lot about early 21st century celebrity culture, but he had been so absorbed in that that he hadn't noticed Rose, freshly showered, coming out of the bathroom and putting on his shirt.

“Er—” He floundered. The truth was, she could pull it off. The shirt was endearingly too big for her: just the tips of her fingers were poking out of the sleeves, and the hem came down to her mid thigh. There was a rakish quality to the tie, too. The Doctor had to admit—it was cute. But before he could say that, Rose held up a hand.

“Wait—don't answer that.” She picked up his jacket from the chair where he'd left it and pulled it on. “Now?”

“D’you want my trousers, too, while you're at it?” The Doctor was trying to give off an air of annoyance, but truthfully it was hard to be annoyed with Rose. Especially not when she was grinning at him like that.

“Only if you can spare them,” she said.

As she focused on buttoning the jacket, he unzipped his trousers and peeled them off his legs. He balled them up and tossed them at her.

It struck him, as he watched Rose’s attempts at getting his trousers to stay up around her waist, that this was somehow the most exposed he'd been around her. They’d spent nearly every waking moment together for—well, it was nearly impossible to tell how long, what with the time travel and all, but it had been a good while—and Rose had never seen the Doctor’s legs. He wondered whether he ought to be self-conscious. And then he realized if he was wondering, he probably was self-conscious. Why was he self-conscious? All right, yes, he preferred to be covered up, but there was no real reason for it. And anyway, he knew Rose wouldn't mind. She'd seen him in far more compromising circumstances, all things considered, and she still liked him well enough to let him sit in her bedroom while she showered. Still, he found himself pulling his legs closer to his body, and by the time Rose had found a belt and used it to cinch his trousers at her waist, he was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed.

“Hang on,” she said, looking down at herself. “Where's the coat? If I'm doing this right, I need the coat.”

“It's in the console room, I'm afraid.”

Rose grinned. “Wait here, then.” She was out the door in a second, a blur of brown and blue and blonde. Obedient, the Doctor leaned back against the pillows to wait.

It was only a few minutes before Rose was back, the Doctor’s coat flapping around her heels. She struck a pose. “Now do I pull it off?”

The Doctor looked. “Hang on, are you wearing my shoes?” They were barely visible under the trousers, but still, he would've remembered if Rose had owned Converse.

She rolled her eyes. “Had to get the full ensemble, didn't I?”

“Hm.” The Doctor looked at her properly. Yes, his clothes were too big for her—but he had a feeling they wouldn't have fit her half as well if they’d been tailored. “Yes, well, I suppose you look all right.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Just all right?”

“Fine, fine, you wear it well.”

Rose beamed. She plunged a hand into the pockets—bigger on the inside, those pockets were, and nigh impossible to navigate, except Rose had figured out where the important things were kept—and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. “Now I’m really the Doctor,” she said. “Suppose I’d better start acting like it, too.” Her back straightened, and she put on what he quickly recognized was a caricature of his tone. “Now, I think you'll find, if you just overload the—flux capacitor—”

“That's from Back to the Future,” the Doctor interrupted. “Won't find it on the TARDIS.”

“Ah, but that's a common misconception,” Rose replied, still in character. “The flux capacitor is actually the most important part of the TARDIS—”

“Not how that works—”

“—and any relationship between that name and any films from the 1980’s probably has something to do with a very wet day I spent with—whoever wrote that screenplay—”

“Ah, yes, well, you're not too far off the mark there—”

He could swear he saw a smirk. But Rose didn't break character. “And, besides, they got everything else about the time travel wrong, despite my—my best efforts—so there's not much point discussing it further.” She stepped towards the Doctor. “Anyway, what have we here?” She waved the sonic at him and, with a flourish, pretended she was reading it. “Hold on…” She fished in his pocket again and came back with his glasses, which she perched on the bridge of her nose. “Ah, yes.” She picked up the Doctor’s hand and angled it this way and that. “If I'm right…” Her eyes met his, and a second later the tip of her tongue flicked across his skin. He fought the urge to yank his hand away, and meanwhile she pulled back, saying, “Ah, yes. Just as I suspected. Time Lord through and through.”

The Doctor shook his head. His hand still tingled from where she'd been holding it. That, and the spot where she'd licked him was uncomfortably colder than the rest of his skin. “Too clever for your own good, you are.” He tilted his head to the side. “Anyway, if you're the Doctor, who am I supposed to be?”

Rose hummed. “Too bad my clothes won't fit, or you could be Rose.” She looked around. “Except… there's always my makeup.”

The Doctor started. “There's—what?”

Rose was already grabbing things off her vanity. Before the Doctor could protest, she'd shed the long coat and tucked his glasses back into their pocket so she could clamber onto the bed and swing one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Right, now, hold still.” All of a sudden, Rose’s face was very close to his. Not that he was complaining—quite the opposite—but it still took him a moment to adjust to the proximity, the warm weight of her legs around his waist, her big eyes centimeters from his. “Don't think you’d enjoy loads of foundation—hang on, close your eyes.”

Without thinking, the Doctor obliged. He did his best not to flinch when he felt a soft pad on his eyelid—eyeshadow, he was reasonably sure.

The Doctor couldn't really say how it had happened, but at some point, while Rose was applying the eyeshadow, he'd wound up lying on his back against the pillows, and Rose was hovering over him, tilting her head this way and that as she evaluated her work.

“Hold still,” she said, this time weilding an eyeliner pencil, and the Doctor was quick to oblige, lest he lose an eye to what was essentially a whim. Rose was gentle, though, pulling the pencil carefully along his eyelid. “Keep your eyes closed,” she said, and the Doctor felt something—a mascara wand?—brushing against his eyelashes.

When Rose finally pulled away and the Doctor finally opened his eyes, she smiled with satisfaction. “Right, now blush—” She picked up another little plastic case and popped it open. The Doctor watched, this time, as she dipped a brush into the case and swept it over his cheeks. “You've got good bone structure,” she commented, half-distracted still.

“Er—thanks?” What made bone structure ‘good’? Still, it didn't matter, he could take a compliment.

Rose snapped the blush closed. “How do you feel about lipstick?” she asked. “I don't wear it all the time—but this is a special occasion—”

“How do you figure that?”

He felt her shrug in the way her body shifted over him. “Don't know. Not every day you let me do your makeup.”

The Doctor frowned. “You've never asked.”

“Didn't think of it ‘til now.”

“So, it's not that I don't let you do this,” he said. “You didn't think of it.”

“Oh, yeah? You’d let all this happen again?”

The Doctor considered for a moment. Frankly, there was a lot he'd do if it meant Rose would straddle him like this, but he wasn't going to say that. “I don't mind it,” he finally said. “‘Course, I have yet to see a final product—”

“All in good time,” Rose promised. “Now stop talking so I can do the lipstick.”

“All right, all right.” The Doctor held still as Rose came in again with a tube of bright red lipstick.

“Okay, now do this—” She pressed her lips together.

The Doctor mimicked her, and she smiled.

“Brilliant.” She leaned in to inspect her work. “You're hot, as a woman.”

The Doctor’s mouth had gone very dry. “What, I wasn't hot before?”

Rose smiled. She was still leaning over him, now, propped up on her elbows with her face hovering above his. “Didn't say that, did I?”

This all felt surreal. They flirted all the time, of course, but this was different. More direct, more intimate, with the added layer of vulnerability that came with sitting in his underwear and letting someone else get close to his eyes with something stick-shaped and vaguely pointy. If he tried, the Doctor could map out all the steps that had gotten them to this point, but he still couldn't quite figure out why they’d all happened, nor was he quite sure why their natural conclusion had been this, Rose Tyler leaning over him and telling him he made for a hot woman.

He struggled to find a response. “Er—”

But before he could say anything, Rose’s head tilted forward, her eyes suddenly impossibly close to his, and he found himself completely incapable of speech. She smiled like she knew, and then before he could recover his facilities her lips were on his, and he knew he was done for. All the time he'd spent trying to avoid this—telling himself he couldn't cross that line—and he'd been fooling himself. All it had taken was the barest nudge, and the line had dissolved. There wasn’t a thought in his mind of pushing her away, not now Rose’s knees were pressing into his waist, not now her tongue was running along his bottom lip, not now his whole body was on fire with the thrill of it all. He didn't want to think what was happening to the lipstick she had so carefully applied—but, then again, she didn't seem offended, and after all it wasn't like he couldn't reapply if he felt like it later.

His hands had found their way to her back, and he pressed her warm weight close against him, the knot of his—or, he supposed it was her—tie pressing into his chest. He scrambled to undo it, all while Rose did her absolute best to keep him distracted. Her tongue had made its way into his mouth, and now it was running along the back of his teeth, which was an altogether pleasant sensation, as it turned out.

He finally got the tie undone, and his hands rested on Rose’s waist. He cursed himself for wearing so many layers—sure, he liked the suit, but he’d never considered how it would perform in this situation. Although, really, how could he have predicted this situation? He’d give himself a pass on the grounds that he never, not in a million years, would have expected any of this. Even if he wished he could be feeling the soft give of Rose’s waist through one of her T-shirts instead of layers of stiff fabric.

As if she could read his mind, one of Rose’s hands went to the buttons of the jacket. Clumsily, she managed to undo them, and the Doctor slid the jacket off her shoulders and tossed it to the side. It still wasn’t enough—she wasn’t close enough—and in the strange, surreal bubble of the evening, he had just enough confidence to tug at the hem of the shirt and slip his hands under, skimming them along the skin of Rose’s back—and yes, this was much better. Rose, for her part, had started kissing down his jaw to his neck, and when her teeth scraped at his pulse point, he gasped. He felt her smile against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile too. He’d wanted this for so long—but he’d never dreamed it would feel like this.

Rose moved back up to his mouth, and he kissed her with everything he had. One of her hands was brushing through his hair now, tugging gently at the roots. His breaths were coming hard and fast—no thanks to his respiratory bypass, which seemed to have gone offline—his skin seemed to sing with the joy of being touched—and then something shifted, and he and Rose both were moving more slowly, her hand tracing the back of his ear, his breaths slowing, until finally Rose pulled back and grinned. She brushed her thumb across the Doctor’s lower lip.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve made a bit of a mess of your lipstick.”

The Doctor breathed out a laugh. “No need to apologize,” he said.

Rose’s grin grew.

The Doctor woke up the next morning in Rose’s bed, still in his undershirt and not much else. Rose was fast asleep next to him, still in his button-up, although she seemed to have kicked off his trousers. She seemed to stir when he brushed a hand through her hair, but it didn’t last—she burrowed her head further into her pillow, and he chuckled to himself as he stretched.

He gathered up his trousers and jacket and retreated to the wardrobe. It wasn’t until he caught sight of his face in the mirror that he remembered he hadn’t done anything to wash off the makeup from the night before. He leaned in. Even after sleeping in it, he had to admit he didn’t look half bad—maybe Rose had had a point when she’d said he was hot this way. Not that the Doctor typically spent a lot of time thinking about whether or not he was hot in really any capacity, but, well, even he noticed that the now-smudged eyeliner gave his eyes a bit of definition, and even though half the blush must’ve rubbed off, he sort of liked the way it framed his face.

Still. His eyes were a bit irritated, and his lips felt dry and chapped. He found a pack of makeup wipes in a drawer next to the mirror, and before long his face was bare again. He glanced in the mirror—yes, that was what he expected, just the same as always—and then busied himself about finding a shirt. Perhaps he wouldn’t bother with all the layers today. He didn’t quite feel like dealing with all those buttons. He shed his undershirt and replaced it with a blue henley, and then he shrugged his jacket on over his shoulders. It managed to not be too wrinkled. His trousers had lost some of their crease, but they were presentable enough. He spent a couple minutes on his hair, and then he went out to the console room to wait for Rose.

She appeared about ten minutes later, freshly dressed in her own clothes and with a shy smile on her face. He returned it with a grin.

“All right, Rose Tyler, where are we going today?”

Rose practically skipped to stand next to him. “Dealer’s choice?”

He took her hand. “Right. I know just the place.”

#fanfiction #my fic #tenth doctor #rose tyler #tenrose #trans tenth doctor #transfem tenth doctor #sharing clothes #fear her #short #doctor who

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