One Night {1/1}
It happened that one night because she was lonely, and he was her friend. Her lovely, good-looking, fun, popular, super-genius friend. It wasn’t fair, was it, to have to add to that ongoing list of good traits the impossible-to-erase fact that he was also fantastic in bed. (Ten/Rose, Friends to Lovers AU, M, though not explicit.)
—–
It was the morning after.
“I value our friendship,” he said as he pulled on his trousers, one leg at a time. “I don’t want things to change, just because we-”
Her chest tightened. A sick feeling, a ‘you-should-have-seen-this-coming’ feeling, yeah, that feeling, rose from the bottom of her stomach to the back of her throat.
“I’m the same!” Rose interjected sharply, ignoring the dull ache at the back of her eyes. “I mean, I feel the same way. You’re… you’re important to me.”
“Right,” he said, shifting from one sock covered foot to another. He looked uncomfortable and awkward, which was how she felt. Gamely he smiled, running a hand through his wildly mussed brown hair. Her fingers twitched of their own accord, remembered the feel of petting it. “Right. That’s good.”
“Yeah. It’s-” She swallowed hard, to control the quiver that threatened to creep into her voice. “It’s better this way, yeah? If we just put this behind us-”
He paused in the middle of zipping up his trousers, mouth falling slightly open. “What?”
She hurried to beat him to the finish line. It would hurt too much to hear the words coming from him. And the hurt would show on her face, and he’d know, and their relation would be irrevocably changed. Not that it would ever be the same now, but at least she could retain some dignity.
“We’re better off as friends, don’t you think?”
—–
He smiled, letting her lean drowsily against his chest, so solid, so warm, and played with her fingers as the taxi zoomed away into the darkness. Her doorstep beckoned like the last page of a book, and she didn’t want the night to end.
—–
It happened that one night because she was lonely, and he was her friend. Her lovely, good-looking, fun, popular, super-genius friend. It wasn’t fair, was it, to have to add to that ongoing list of good traits the impossible-to-erase fact that he was also fantastic in bed.
Her past experiences - conquests, as Amy liked to call them - did not compare.
Jimmy didn’t bear thinking of. Mickey was a thing of the past, her first real love, but sometimes you outgrow first loves, as hard as you try to hold onto them. Adam had been selfish. Jack hadn’t really been interested, though she thought he did care in his own way. Just not in the way she wanted him to.
Through all of it, only the Doctor, only John Smith, had been true. A friend who never let her down, who always returned calls and listened to her cry on the anniversary of her Dad’s death over the phone for four hours. The friend. The very best.
She had, briefly, in the beginning, when they were first introduced by mutual friends, considered asking him out. But then she’d still had an on-again, off-again thing going with Mickey and it didn’t seem fair to start something with someone so lovely if she wasn’t entirely free.
Her reticence led to him having a slew of girlfriends, pretty blue-eyed blondes, all of them smart girls with posh cars and possibly distant links to royalty in their family trees and Rose had figured oh well. He was too good of a friend to waste on romance, anyway.
And then that night. The pub quiz, the fight with her mum, the altogether too many drinks downed with the intent purpose of drowning her sorrows.
The feel of his hands on her bare back, his warm mouth on her neck. The glide of skin on skin. His long, lean body, arched over hers. His hair, soft between her fingertips. The way her name sounded when he groaned it into the nonexistent space between their joined flesh, as though he had been waiting to say it that way for years.
A colossal mistake, and every second of it seared into her memory.
—–
Several weeks later, after what Rose considered the most tragic denouement of her life - the night she told her best mate she never wanted to see him naked ever again - he strolled back into her life as though nothing had happened.
“You alright?” His voice was low, a little wet from the whiskey he’d nursed since arriving at the pub, and she found it difficult to look at him, much less speak. A little throb pulsed at the base of her throat, rising from a palpable knot in the pit of her stomach.
There wasn’t much space in the booth between them. The pub was lively for a weekday night, and his proximity made her feel both ecstatic and cornered.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say. “Good. You?”
“Great. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t… feel… you know. Because of what happened. We’re still- okay?”
“Yes,” Rose answered without missing a beat, forcing herself to smile. “We’re perfectly okay!”
He returned the smile, but it seemed slightly stiff and awkward. He didn’t believe her, she thought.
For good measure, she added, “I’m glad. I really want us to stay friends.”
“Right,” he replied, and nodded several times in succession. “Me too.”
That marked the end of the discussion, and Rose spent the next few minutes speaking distractedly to Jack. She was searching for excuses, for any sort of opportunity to escape, but he beat her to it and made an exit almost without notice.
“Where’s the Doc going?” Jack asked, eyebrow raised. “Hey, Doc! You’re not leaving already?”
“Early lecture,” John replied.
Rose looked up to see him standing in the hallway, putting on his coat. She felt her stomach twist, looked away, and only caught half of his goodbyes.
—–
His palm felt warm on her back, and she trembled a little at the softness of his touch, the appreciating gaze. A secret dream, always pushed down, hidden away, unacted upon. What would she do if he rejected her?
Rose, Rose, Rose. Her name sang sweetly on his lips, a pleasure in and of itself.
—–
Another week passed. She felt his absence sharply, like an ache behind her breastbone, but kept herself preoccupied. It wasn’t going to be easy, getting over the loss of her best mate, but she’d pull through.
Jack cajoled and threatened and begged, making his outrage at her disappearing act well-known. She made excuses about work and being busy, but knew her friend was getting suspicious, and if she didn’t show up this time, he’d start snooping and figure out what had happened. Rose caved, agreeing to meet the gang at the pub that weekend, and told herself it had everything to do with keeping Jack happy and not at all because she was hoping with her entire heart to see John again.
Trying to sound as casual as possible, Rose asked, “John’s not here?”
“Said he’d be late,” Jack replied, plucking the cherry out of her drink and helping himself to it.
“Oh,” she said, disappointed, and slipped out of her chair. Wondering if perhaps he might not show after all - that’s for the best, really - she walked headfirst into someone along the way to the loo.
“Oof!” Rose backed up, rubbing her nose. The hard plane she’d bumped it into was covered in fuzzy brown wool. It was a man’s chest, and it belonged to-
“Sorry, sorry!” John grasped her shoulders and asked in concern, “You okay?”
“Wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said, embarrassed and elated all at once. He was here. Finally. “My bad. Oh. Hi.”
He wasn’t alone.
“Hi,” said the pretty woman beside him, “Friend of yours?”
Rose smiled - she hoped she smiled, anyway - and nodded as the woman introduced herself. She had no idea what her name was. She didn’t hear any of it. There was just a buzzing in her ears, the sound of disappointment and hurt rushing through her veins.
“I was just heading out,” she said, still smiling, her face sore from the effort of keeping her expression positive. “I’ve gotta go, I have to…” She flailed her hand a bit, and shrugged, avoiding John’s questioning gaze. “See you later.”
Darting around them, quickly, she exited the doors and felt herself deflate. He’d said so, hadn’t he?
I value our friendship.
She went home and took a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. That was that, then.
—–
He never took his eyes off her. She peeled her clothes away, piece by piece, shivering with anticipation. The pints she’d downed earlier had long since ceased having any effect on her system, but she felt drunk on bliss and his unblinking attention.
Rose, Rose, Rose. You’re so beautiful.
—–
Avoidance was key.
She wouldn’t have said, before this, that she spent a lot of time in John’s company. But the reality was that she’d taken it for granted and hadn’t ever contemplated the idea that one day she wouldn’t want to see him all the time.
Now here he was, tall and windswept and shedding his coat as he came into Jack’s living room for movie night - eyes sweeping across the room and settling upon her rather conspicuous frame. She’d been in the midst of turning on the dvd player, but was now rooted to the spot, her gaze meeting his as soon as he entered.
“Hi,” she said, mouth suddenly dry.
“Hello, Rose,” he replied, eyes softening.
Her heart did a weird flip flop in her chest, and she made herself look away.
Whatever foolish warmth she felt heating up her cheeks was immediately dispelled by a new arrival.
Another one.
Not the same woman.
This one was brunette, petite, and extremely well dressed. Jack was practically drooling. She sat down next to John, beaming, and giggled up at him throughout the film.
Rose hadn’t thought to dress up for the occasion, but there was really no reason to. It was movie night. Jeans and a zip-up hoodie were a perfectly acceptable outfit for such an outing. Jack was wearing a bloody onesie, for god’s sake!
She felt like a bull in a china shop, seething miserably beneath her calm exterior. She couldn’t wait to leave, and paid no attention to anything that happened in the film whatsoever.
—–
His hand touched her face and throat, following fingertips with reverent kisses. He spanned her ribcage with both palms, squeezing and caressing each breast with tenderness.
Rose, Rose, Rose. He said her name like a prayer.
—–
The last place she expected to see him was at Cesare’s. There was no way of pretending she hadn’t recognized him. The waiter led them right past where he stood by the entrance, looking at the menu with a frown of concentration.
Their eyes met, and he nodded without a word as she trod unsteadily past in her heels and red dress. Rose tried to focus on her date, overdid it with bright smiles and giggling, and hoped Jimmy didn’t notice or simply chalked it up to first-date nerves.
She didn’t expect John to still be there when she excused herself to go to the loo. He seemed to be waiting - for me?
“You look lovely,” was what he said when she came out of the ladies’ room, smoothing down her skirt.
“Ta.” She couldn’t think of anything else to add.
“I’m waiting for takeout. Normally they don’t do that, but I know the owner.”
She’d tried not to think about the fact that his flat was approximately three blocks away from the restaurant she’d chosen for tonight.
“Having a good time?”
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Lovely.” For whatever reason, she felt compelled to inform him, “Blind date, actually. Shareen set us up.”
For a second, he said nothing. And then, “Ah. He’s to your liking, then?”
“What do you mean?”
He flicked a shoulder. “Well. It’s been more than half an hour since you got here, and you don’t seem to be in a hurry to ditch him. So. I just figured you… like him.”
“I do,” said Rose, and returned to her date.
She didn’t bring Jimmy home. He tried, naturally, he was that sort of bloke, but Rose wasn’t interested. She sensed he would be nothing more than a one-night stand, and she’d already had one of those - look how badly that had turned out.
What she wanted was to go home, kick off her stupid heels, and soak in the tub for a good hour or two. What she didn’t expect was to walk up to her flat and find John loitering on the front step, pacing back and forth.
“Just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said without preamble as she came to a stop before him. “You are alright?”
Bewilderment, and hope, and confusion all blossomed in her chest. What was he playing at?
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
Silence fell between them, agonizingly drawn out, until Rose couldn’t take it anymore. If he’d come all this way just to stare at her, well, she rather thought he’d had his fill.
“Thanks,” she said shortly, and slid her key into the lock. “Goodnight.”
A hand shot out, palm flat against the wood of the door, holding it still-
“I don’t want to be friends.”
The words pierced the air, and left her feeling like gunpowder. He immediately stepped backwards, removing his hand from the door and thrust it shakily into his own hair.
She turned her head slowly, astonished by the outburst. Fear and anger churned her stomach.
“Don’t you?” Rose asked, quietly.
“Sorry, I-” he muttered, grimacing. “That’s not- oh, Christ. I’m fucking this up, I knew I would.”
“What is this, John?”
He inhaled, and dropped his arm.
“I thought I could do it,” he said hoarsely, taking another step back. “Honestly, I thought I could. I mean, I’d been doing it for years. Keeping my distance. Just being your friend, even if all I would ever be was your friend, it was enough for me to simply be in your life. But then that night happened, I couldn’t believe it, I finally got to have you, you finally wanted me back-”
“-I wanted you back,” Rose repeated disbelievingly, but John wasn’t done yet.
“-Only for you to take it back in the morning.” He clenched his fists and his jaw went hard and stiff. She hated that look. It hurt. “I… I have to ask. Was it so unbearable?”
“Unbearable?”
She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yes. Us. Together. Was it so very bad?” He paused, searching for the right words. His shoulders were rigid and tense, ready to pull away in the wake of disappointment. “What made you change your mind? What… what did I do wrong?”
“It wasn’t bad at all,” said Rose quietly, her heart drumming in her chest. She took several steps towards him, slowly, reaching out to touch his chest with her hand. “It was wonderful, actually.”
“Why, then?” His words were blunt, to the point. Under her palm, she felt his heart beating, hard, as fast as hers.
“I have no idea,” said Rose honestly, unable to decide if she wanted to laugh or to cry. “I thought you didn’t want me that way.”
His eyes flared. “How is that even possible?”
“You said you didn’t want things to change. You said, ‘I value our friendship’. I thought that meant you didn’t… want to be more. That it was a one-off.”
John went very quiet and still. He lifted a hand to his hair and raked his fingers through it. Then he lowered that hand to cover her hand still on his chest, and gripped it, carefully. “You thought wrong. Definitely more. Not that I don’t love being your friend, because I do. But I’ve always wanted more.”
A pause followed, in which they stared at one another.
“More?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip, suddenly frightened by how much she wanted this. That old fear, of turning her abstract hopes into concrete reality and ruining it. “That’s-”
He leaned in and cradled her head in his big hands, lips coaxing hers apart. The taste of him was so sorely missed she couldn’t believe she’d gone without it for so long. There had only been one night, but he was so deeply ingrained into her memory she thought she’d never forget for as long as she lived. His tongue slid into her mouth, thrusting decadently. Rose moaned against his gorgeous lips, molding herself to him. The fingers tangled in her hair tightened, and his other hand slid from the small of her back down to her bottom. Rose sighed, a giddiness in her chest threatening to rise and spill from her eyes.
He kissed her lingeringly, and followed up with a gentle nip at her bottom lip. “Friends can kiss, you know.”
She felt breathless. “You’re sure?”
“Better check,” he said, and kissed her again.
*