![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: A TARDIS Christmas (I saw Mummy kissing Santa Claus)
Song Title/Artist: I saw mummy kissing Santa Claus
Characters/Pairing: Rose/10
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sniff.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Notes: Can be viewed as part of my Raptures Universe, if you want.
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Rose has a request…
Lyrics: I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus/Underneath the mistletoe last night/ She didn’t see me creep/Down the stairs to have a peep/ She thought that I was tucked up/ In my bedroom, fast asleep/ Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus/ Underneath his beard so snowy white/ Oh, what a laugh it would have been/ If Daddy had only seen/ Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.
‘Doctor…’
Rose gazed at the Doctor with a doleful expression, bringing one hand to rest above the still small mound of her belly in a manner that was entirely contrived. The Doctor’s eyes followed her hand, his look becoming soft, his face almost reverent, at the gentle reminder of her present state. Despite his intense desire to remain resistant, he found himself drawn to her side, his fingers splaying as his hand came to rest below hers, his fingertips caressing, through her baggy jumper, the firm bump.
‘You should be resting,’ he murmured, his free hand lifting to tangle in the lock of hair that had liberated itself from her sloppy ponytail to curl against her cheek. ‘You’re tired,’ he stated, as his thumb brushed at the dark circle beneath one eye, a frown marring his contented expression.
‘They’re hard work at the moment,’ Rose acknowledged, ‘they’re excited.’
‘They should know better,’ the Doctor grumbled and Rose grinned.
‘They’re children.’
‘They’re Gallifreyan,’ he countered and Rose shook her head.
‘Even one quarter Gallifrayan’s with a genius for a father get excited at Christmas!’ Her voice was soft and fond, her smile broadening at his resultant pout – it was an old argument and one she delighted in, reminding him that, for all his superior genes, their children had more than a little of her in them. He did not disappoint.
‘Inferior human genes,’ he muttered, dropping the silky strand of hair in favour of the small of her back, and tugging her closer.
‘Grumpy old man,’ she retorted, sliding her hands beneath his jacket and curling them in his shirt.
He slid one hand down her back to her rump and smacked her gently and she chuckled, entirely unrepentant.
‘Marzipan sweets,’ she whispered, tauntingly and he huffed, his smile betraying the fact that there were things about Christmas that he got ridiculously excited about too. His head slipped to her shoulder, his lips drifting against her pulse point, breathing in the delicious scent of her fecund form, time and potentiality swirling in her veins like an aphrodisiac. As his tongue flicked out to taste her, she twisted free, dodging his reaching hands as she skipped to their bed. For a few faltering steps, he followed her, unfurling lust driving him to trail after her like some primitive primate, then, as she reached for the suit she wanted him to wear, higher functioning regained ground and he staggered to a somewhat drunken halt.
‘Rose,’ he whined.
‘It’s traditional,’ Rose responded.
‘It’s undignified,’ he whined.
‘Do you want our children to discover Father Christmas isn’t real?’ she asked accusingly.
‘I don’t see how my wearing that…’ he caught her eye, seeing the tears welling that, in her present hormonal state, threatened far too readily, ‘Of course not!’ he finished, deciding that his lecture on the origins of the Father Christmas myth was not a sensible one and any suggestion that their children were far too sensible to believe in Santa Claus an unwise tack to take.
At ant rate, he knew it was not true – Nasya Suzette, although four years old, was still firmly convinced that Santa was real and that, by the dint of magic, he filled her stocking every year. This Christmas, she’d even gone so far as to insist he land the TARDIS in exactly the same spot on the Powell Estate as the previous year, lest Santa not know where to find them. Peter Jack, though only eighteen months, had backed his sister up vociferously, wailing in horror at the prospect of Santa missing them, despite the fact he had been careful to be a very good boy all year.
‘Well then,’ Rose concluded, lifting the suit clear of the bed and presenting it to him.
Looking for all the world like he was about to be subject to some sort of terrible torture, the Doctor accepted the offering and, with a grumpy huff, began to pull it on. As he buttoned the jacket, Rose lifted the rest of the outfit towards him. Dutifully, albeit with a sulky pout, he donned the rest of the costume.
‘I look ridiculous!’ he grumbled. Rose, however, beamed.
Eyes bright, this time with happy tears, Rose moved towards him, reaching to run her hands through his soft hair – his soft, white hair – his soft, white, curling, fake beard and moustache that lay on his red velvet clad chest.
‘You look wonderful,’ she grinned, her hands reaching to smooth down the floppy red hat, complete with fluffy white pom pom, that sat on his unruly haired head.
‘Happy Christmas, Santa,’ she whispered against his lips.
Santa grinned, savouring the taste of his delightful wife as her tongue slid into his mouth; perhaps, when he’d delivered the presents to their inquisitive children, Rose could show him just how grateful she was. There was, after all, a very cute little Mrs Santa costume in the wardrobe that was just her size.
End
Song Title/Artist: I saw mummy kissing Santa Claus
Characters/Pairing: Rose/10
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sniff.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Notes: Can be viewed as part of my Raptures Universe, if you want.
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Rose has a request…
Lyrics: I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus/Underneath the mistletoe last night/ She didn’t see me creep/Down the stairs to have a peep/ She thought that I was tucked up/ In my bedroom, fast asleep/ Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus/ Underneath his beard so snowy white/ Oh, what a laugh it would have been/ If Daddy had only seen/ Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.
‘Doctor…’
Rose gazed at the Doctor with a doleful expression, bringing one hand to rest above the still small mound of her belly in a manner that was entirely contrived. The Doctor’s eyes followed her hand, his look becoming soft, his face almost reverent, at the gentle reminder of her present state. Despite his intense desire to remain resistant, he found himself drawn to her side, his fingers splaying as his hand came to rest below hers, his fingertips caressing, through her baggy jumper, the firm bump.
‘You should be resting,’ he murmured, his free hand lifting to tangle in the lock of hair that had liberated itself from her sloppy ponytail to curl against her cheek. ‘You’re tired,’ he stated, as his thumb brushed at the dark circle beneath one eye, a frown marring his contented expression.
‘They’re hard work at the moment,’ Rose acknowledged, ‘they’re excited.’
‘They should know better,’ the Doctor grumbled and Rose grinned.
‘They’re children.’
‘They’re Gallifreyan,’ he countered and Rose shook her head.
‘Even one quarter Gallifrayan’s with a genius for a father get excited at Christmas!’ Her voice was soft and fond, her smile broadening at his resultant pout – it was an old argument and one she delighted in, reminding him that, for all his superior genes, their children had more than a little of her in them. He did not disappoint.
‘Inferior human genes,’ he muttered, dropping the silky strand of hair in favour of the small of her back, and tugging her closer.
‘Grumpy old man,’ she retorted, sliding her hands beneath his jacket and curling them in his shirt.
He slid one hand down her back to her rump and smacked her gently and she chuckled, entirely unrepentant.
‘Marzipan sweets,’ she whispered, tauntingly and he huffed, his smile betraying the fact that there were things about Christmas that he got ridiculously excited about too. His head slipped to her shoulder, his lips drifting against her pulse point, breathing in the delicious scent of her fecund form, time and potentiality swirling in her veins like an aphrodisiac. As his tongue flicked out to taste her, she twisted free, dodging his reaching hands as she skipped to their bed. For a few faltering steps, he followed her, unfurling lust driving him to trail after her like some primitive primate, then, as she reached for the suit she wanted him to wear, higher functioning regained ground and he staggered to a somewhat drunken halt.
‘Rose,’ he whined.
‘It’s traditional,’ Rose responded.
‘It’s undignified,’ he whined.
‘Do you want our children to discover Father Christmas isn’t real?’ she asked accusingly.
‘I don’t see how my wearing that…’ he caught her eye, seeing the tears welling that, in her present hormonal state, threatened far too readily, ‘Of course not!’ he finished, deciding that his lecture on the origins of the Father Christmas myth was not a sensible one and any suggestion that their children were far too sensible to believe in Santa Claus an unwise tack to take.
At ant rate, he knew it was not true – Nasya Suzette, although four years old, was still firmly convinced that Santa was real and that, by the dint of magic, he filled her stocking every year. This Christmas, she’d even gone so far as to insist he land the TARDIS in exactly the same spot on the Powell Estate as the previous year, lest Santa not know where to find them. Peter Jack, though only eighteen months, had backed his sister up vociferously, wailing in horror at the prospect of Santa missing them, despite the fact he had been careful to be a very good boy all year.
‘Well then,’ Rose concluded, lifting the suit clear of the bed and presenting it to him.
Looking for all the world like he was about to be subject to some sort of terrible torture, the Doctor accepted the offering and, with a grumpy huff, began to pull it on. As he buttoned the jacket, Rose lifted the rest of the outfit towards him. Dutifully, albeit with a sulky pout, he donned the rest of the costume.
‘I look ridiculous!’ he grumbled. Rose, however, beamed.
Eyes bright, this time with happy tears, Rose moved towards him, reaching to run her hands through his soft hair – his soft, white hair – his soft, white, curling, fake beard and moustache that lay on his red velvet clad chest.
‘You look wonderful,’ she grinned, her hands reaching to smooth down the floppy red hat, complete with fluffy white pom pom, that sat on his unruly haired head.
‘Happy Christmas, Santa,’ she whispered against his lips.
Santa grinned, savouring the taste of his delightful wife as her tongue slid into his mouth; perhaps, when he’d delivered the presents to their inquisitive children, Rose could show him just how grateful she was. There was, after all, a very cute little Mrs Santa costume in the wardrobe that was just her size.
End
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Just not very often!!
From:
no subject
Now, if you can please knock some creativity into my brain, it would be much appreciated.
From:
no subject
I hereby order you (if you want) to provide a 200 word christmas cracker for me, to make up for the fact I am seeing Hamlet with DT this evening. Now - prompts for you to use - stockings, baubles, pine needles and Baileys.
xxx
From:
no subject
(Also, your icon? Truly Guh-worthy).
From:
no subject
Another yummy DT piccie icon, for your drooling pleasure ;-)
From:
no subject
(Also? Yum to the icon.)
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Sort of - Nasya means miracle, which seemed rather apt, but I chose it, rather than the other names with the same meaning, because of the similarity to Nyssa.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I just stopped before I was forced to write something terrible happening to them. It was hard, but I forced myself to do it.
Of course, now I feel an urge to maim and kill to make up for the fluff overdose!!