Maybe it Tickles

by jer832 [Reviews - 3]

  • Teen
  • None
  • Fluff, Het, Humor, PWP, Standalone, Vignette

Author's Notes:
Written to a the following picture prompt at the very adult comm bad_wolf_rising on lj

 photo 3bd7b7c8-7542-48ac-b2c3-bfb2e5b0469f_zpspbajvrfr.jpg

The lyrics quoted are from the song "Who Put the Bomp (in the Bomp Bomp Bomp)"  by Barry Mann and Gerry Goffin


Maybe It Tickles


As they entered the TARDIS, Rose spotted him eyeing the captain's chair and her, and sniggering silently. She took off with a shout of "I'll start the tea." He closed the TARDIS doors, sent them into the vortex, and followed her to the kitchen. Two mugs were on the counter and Rose was taking the milk out of the refrigerator when he got there. She gazed thoughtfully between the box of chocolate digestives and a banana fudge cake then turned to him. He smiled. She rolled her eyes, returned the milk to the fridge, and moved the cups out of the way.

He pressed her against the refrigerator, securing her legs between his thighs, and dragged her wrists above her head with one hand. Leaning over her, he burrowed his stubbly chin into her throat and she squealed.

"Nope doesn't tickle doesn't … doesntdoesntdoesnt." Rose squealed again and broke down in giggles.

He gave her an evil laugh–It was something he'd picked up from the Master a while ago and had been dying to try out. He dragged his impressive two—days-in-a-dungeon stubble against her throat and the soft nearly flawless skin that her little low-cut tank top didn't have it in itself to hide. She stopped thrashing and carrying on long enough to look him in the eye and make some highly inventive threats, and he wondered if he was keeping her less from slipping to the floor and more from launching a counter-attack this time; Rose Tyler was nothing if not cagey. He tightened his hold on her wrists and raked one fingernail through her armpit lightly, barely grazing the skin. She shrieked.

"Doctor! {squealgiggle} Oooh just you wait 'til next time you're hanging by your heels an' they've took your jacket an' jumper an' {gigglegiggleshriek} Stop that! An' they got you tied up an' you know they're gonna make you the marshmallow in a bloody giant s'mores if ya don't talk an' you– {squeal} okayokayokay it tickles yeah, it tickles something awful and I SWEAR next time the TARDIS WILL get my mum and {squealsgigglehriek} No! It tickles! an' {gigglegiggle} Doctor stop it! You're drivin' me crazy you twit and the tea is getting cold!!"

He didn't want to stop. Rose was so darned cute when he was driving her crazy.

And by then driving her crazy had become something of a habit.

Sometimes, when he knew they'd not be leaving the TARDIS for a few days he wouldn't shave on purpose. Rose had begun to eye him suspiciously whenever he walked into a room unshaven, and when he found some excuse to tease her she'd tease him back with a certain smug knowing look. Or maybe she'd ignore him, which was better because then he'd saunter over to her and grab her and tip her over some piece of furniture, or push her up against a wall or appliance. He'd plant his fingers into her sides and burrow his chin into her throat or nuzzle the sweetly fragrant warmth where her neck and shoulder met, and he'd tickle her into a writhing mass of giggles hiccupping around impressive vows of dark retribution that would be meted out in detail at the most embarrassing, inappropriate, and physically awkward moment she could find.

If he truly wanted, though, he could render her temporarily speechless. With an accuracy that honestly impressed him, he could home in on a fantastically sensitive area under her ear with the tip of his nose just so. Then all it took to torture her senseless was the lightest touch and riffles of his warm breath over her skin into her hair. After a bit of that Rose would shudder, and very soon after that she'd cry uncle.

Of course, her being Rose Tyler, sometimes she'd get to him him first, jumping him at the damnedest times and places and knocking him down and tickling him until the only way he could get her to stop was to flip them and hold her down–no mean feat, not always successful, and once or twice rather painful.


He woke from a catnap on the comfortable old sofa in his library and a delightful dream he couldn't quite remember to find Rose sitting on his stomach watching him.

"Doctor, why do Time Lords know so much about tickling, and how is it that you can hit the most sensitive parts of a stupid ape's body with such accuracy?"

"Ah. Interesting question." He decided to answer her because she had asked him so nicely, and her body was flushed and warm from a bath, and the white peach soap and Pikaki conditioner she'd used were reinforcing her natural musky sweetness in a deliciously subtle way, and it was all almost addicting, and his sweatpants had slipped down his hipbones and she was dangerously close to learning certain more esoteric Time Lord secrets than his ability to nail some sweet spots on her neck. "It's good practice to keep my companions' reflexes well-honed during the long quiet stretches we enjoy."

"We do?"

"Yes. Don't we?"

"Yeah." Rose smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Yeah."

She nodded. "I s'pose everyone's reflexes could all do with some specialized honing, yeah."

"Oi! Stop that, Rose! It tickles… I said stop!…"

Rose gave him a fair approximation of his rendition of the Master's laugh, though it had never sounded so enticing. She kissed the tip of his nose and climbed off him carefully. "Go back to sleep," she told him, patting his thigh lightly. "Sweet dreams, Doctor."

His companion left him with his mouth stuck open and his mind frantically trying to reboot his dream and remember if he talked in his sleep.


"Doctor, do you think it's strange that you can tickle me with your chin but mine doesn't tickle you?"

He threw Rose a sharp look but she didn't seem to be readying an offensive. For the last couple of hours they'd been chilling in the library following an adventure that had gone particularly easily. He was at one end of the big leather sofa reading a book on the spread of handcrafted Swiss timepieces throughout the Coma Supercluster, though the author seemed to have confused watches and cheese in this last chapter. Rose sprawled on the rest of it with her feet in his lap. Her eyes were still set on the Douglas Adams Treasury on her lap, and he thought maybe, just maybe she was thinking about how different aliens could be.

"It takes more than a chin, Rose Tyler. You have to have the knack and the weapon of choice."

She put down the book and looked up at him. "The weapon of choice?"

He still couldn't tell if Rose was putting him on. She'd grown up without a father, and he couldn't see Jackie letting any teenage boy get away with pouncing on her daughter, holding her down, and tickling her like he did… at least not more than once. He wasn't about to provoke painful memories, or acknowledge that woman's atypically good sense, or remind Rose that their innocent little games could be construed as something that could bring down on him a Jackie Tyler slap.

"Most humanoid males evolved with some kind of facial hair, especially species that developed and flourished in cold climates. Effective tickling takes a short spikey growth of hair. It takes what's come to be known throughout your galaxy as a five o'clock shadow, Rose, and that's something you don't have."

"'Course I do," Rose said. "Everyone who shaves does. In fact, us female apes got more stubble than you because we shave more area than you." Rose slid one side of her short skirt up past her knee, just enough to show him most of a thigh and a bit of hip, but nothing more as she dragged her palm over her skin. "See."

As he leaned over to look at what was to him a smooth shapely leg, Rose scooted down the sofa and rubbed an unshaved shin over the exposed patch of skin between his t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Yeow–stop that!" The Doctor ordered, jumping back. He grabbed Rose's misbehaving gam. "Your foot is cold, and you could've caught my —" He choked up at Rose's innocently raised eyebrows and not so innocent grin.

"–caught my stomach, the very sensitive skin of my stomach."

"Oh, you mean these Time Lord love handles." Rose rubbed her legs against his skin and he shrieked.

"Stop it, your toes are like ice and it stings! And it tickles! And it stings like sandpaper and… and it was you who called this truce to finish "Dirk Gently" and besides, your toes are like ice!"

"You already said that," Rose pointed out sweetly as she inched her toes up inside his t-shirt.

"Bears repeating," he kind of shouted,"the truth always bears repeating." Rose made a rude noise as he removed her feet from inside his t-shirt. He angled his bum up off the sofa and pulled his sweats back up… more than up, he dragged the waistband way past his hip bones, covered up his navel good and proper.

Rose smiled. He yanked her legs up by the ankles, pitched her onto her back, and began tickling the soles of her feet. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Time Lord!"

Next thing he knew, Rose's bum was fully on his lap, her hands were gamboling under his shirt, what felt like significantly more than ten fingers were tickling his ribs, and her legs … Legs that were agile, flexible, strong, with a stubble he suspected she'd cultivated for just this moment tortured his back and sides like a Brillo pad on a non-stick pan. He had to defend himself, but he also had to be very careful to work around Rose's little skirt, that is to say work around, not work around.  And definitely in no way under– not work, not see, and categorically in absolutely no way feel… UNDER.  No, he dared not disturb Rose's skirt in any way, not with misbehaving hands or misbehaving eyes. So he did the only proper thing left to do, which was to go after the extremely ticklish skin of Rose's armpits.

He was winning handsomely when Rose caught him with a sneak frontal attack. Her big toe snagged the waistband of his sweatpants, snapped the elastic down smartly, and captured his navel.

"Oi! Coldfreezingcold! Sensitive and fragile down there!" He bucked hard, snatched up a handful of his sweats and a fistful of errant Tyler foot, and got her toe out of his navel. He also did a fairly competent job of turning an oncoming grin into a meaning-business glare. "Rose Tyler," he admonished, "that was a very unladylike though I admit impressively agile thing to do." Rose snorted.

"You can't beat me, Doctor," She grinned. "I have far more hair to keep shaved and a very bendy body. And I am much more clever. I'll tease you until you laugh yourself into an accident."

"Is that a declaration of war, Ms. Tyler? I don't intend to take it lying down."


Rose's replying salvo was to flip him off the sofa. He landed on his stomach on the area rug. Rose yanked his sweatpants up, giving him a major wedgie. Adding insult to injury, or maybe the other way around, the little girl he'd taken into his fantastic time ship and shown the wonders of the universe, asking for no more recompense than a bit of respect and admiration of his genius and no wandering off, climbed onto him, rasped her stubbly legs across the backs of his smooth legs, breached his t-shirt with her fingers and tickled him mercilessly and all the way up, until he cried uncle.

"Rug burn, rug burn," he panted. He flipped Rose beneath him, pinned her arms against her sides and smoothed down her skirt, fixed his wedgie, and sat back onto her unshaved but absolutely gorgeous legs. He gave her an evil grin that the Master would have been very proud to wear, and scraped his scratchy five o'clock face over her belly. Rose shrieked even louder than he had.

He got in her face and crowed his triumph.

His triumph lasted until Rose got a leg free, hooked it around his waist, caught his waistband with her toes, and pushed his sweatpants down. With a shriek he released her arms, desperate to drag the sweats back up before Rose learned he wasn't wearing pants. But before he could save his sweats and his dignity, she pinched his bum. He gripped his sweats, rolled off her, and glared.

Rose Tyler stood over him with a grin that the Master would have killed to own.

"Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp?" she sang down at him. "Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong? Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop….who put the dip in the dip da dip da dip?" She walked out of the library still singing.

He lay on the floor for a long time, first getting his equilibrium back and then thinking all about tactics and happenstances and chance and good fortune, and how Rose's clean, peach-and-Pikaki-scented hair, human-warm silken skin, impertinent bum and leggy caress had done him in more thoroughly, surely, than his five o'clock shadow and tickling ever could Rose.


He waylaid Rose as she came out of her shower room.

A big fluffy pink towel encircled her almost fully twice around, covered her from armpits to ankles, and hugged her curves like a fluffy pink towel shouldn't know how to do. Her skin glowed and she smelled like heaven if it exists must smell. He reached for her.

His fingers moved like breath over her shoulders and the back of her neck, down her arms and back up. They stilled in the hollow of her throat. He felt his pulse throbbing in his fingertips and her pulse racing beneath them. His fingers reprised their circuit, hovering lightly against her clavicles once they were back.

"It didn't tickle," Rose whispered. "It doesn't tickle." He shook his head and buried his face in her hair.

He breathed her lightly, letting his breath riffle warmth through her hair, and she shuddered. He locked eyes with her as his finger scraped under the top edging of her towel. "Are you going to giggle and shriek?" he asked.

Rose shook her head. "Not at the moment."

"Good. What about wriggling and writhing and pushing in an unladylike though impressively agile way against my poor undefended navel and other sensitive bits?"

"Seems kinda likely, dontcha think?"

"Yes, yeah."

She smiled up at him. He leaned in and breathed her again. Addicted, definitely. He'd tell her later.

As he backed her up to her bed, he kissed her throat and shoulders. Her fingers scratched lightly inside his tee. He loosened the top edge of her towel, replaced it with a line of kisses then watched as the towel slid off her body. She scrunched his t-shirt up into his armpits and flicked her tongue through the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. She kissed his nipples, his stomach, his navel; eased his sweatpants onto his hips and kissed his hipbones, kissed his navel again. Then she modified her circuit. There's tickling and there's tickling, and Rose was always clever about improvising.  Her lips and the tip of her tongue eased up his body so lightly he felt it everywhere. Then she kissed his chest again. He turned her to face the bed and finished undressing with a huge smile.

Rose Tyler from the back was a work of art and a mathematical delight.

When his cooler skin touched hers, Rose shivered. Then she sank back against him. He crossed his arms over her chest to keep her. His hands were large enough that each one spanned one of Rose's shoulders from her neck to the outer edge; his fingers took great delight in caressing all the warm silky skin beneath them while his thumbs played with some damp little curls at the nape of her neck that were desperately in need of his attentions. He parked his chin on top of her head and further indulged the tactile facet of his Rose Tyler addiction. A hand drifted over Rose's body, tenderly, playfully, exploring the feel of her naked. Skimming the curves of her buttocks and hips, and pacing off the rise and swell of her breasts, he discovered that Rose's pleasing convexity was not just visually and tactilely arousing but aesthetically sublime.

Rose's fingers pressed into his hips and she pushed back firmly, urging all of her against all of him. He hardened even more than he already had been, and she smiled up at him with eyes brighter than he'd ever seen them. He bent and rubbed his cheek along hers.

"No five o'clock shadow."

Nope." His nose brushed the fantastically sensitive area beneath her ear lightly … lighty… then nestled into the sweet warmth of her throat.

"Doesn't tickle," she whispered.

"Mh-mhm." He met her lips, kissed her, and lowered their bodies onto the bed.