So it hadn’t been his finest idea. These wet clothes were making this new human body quite cold and uncomfortable, and as he hobbled back into their flat, he was already shucking the clothing from his body.
He was behind the kitchen counter, pulling at his trousers and sleeves, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of the damp wool.
“What on Earth?” he heard from across the room. He turned slowly as he wrapped himself in a blanket. Rose stood by the sofa in tiny little cotton shorts and camisole, her hair in a messy bun and her hands grasping a mug of tea.
“Where have you been?” she continued. ”You were supposed to be back from dad’s an hour ago.”
“Rain,” he responded.
“Yes, I see that. I believe you took the car there, though.”
He huffed and averted his eyes, embarrassed with his situation and the part of his body that had taken keen interest in Rose’s scant clothing.
He muttered something indistinguishable.
“What was that, Doctor?” She was teasing now.
“Singing,” he said slightly louder.
“Were you…were you singing in the rain?” He could tell she was fighting back a deluge of giggles.
The Doctor nodded.
“Not as splendid as you thought it might be?” Rose set her mug on the table and walked slowly towards him.
“Mostly cold,” he replied, finally looking up. She was much closer now. There was just so much skin, so little her grey camisole left to the imagination.
“And you need to warm up?”
“Thought I might have some tea,” he started to say. ”Any hot water left?”
She ignored him.
“It was very silly of you to sing in the rain, Doctor. Very silly indeed. Were you watching mum’s movies? I hope you didn’t watch Casablanca. I was hoping we could watch that one together. Bit different in this universe. No Humphrey Bogart.”
The look in her eyes told him that she really didn’t give a damn about Casablanca or Humphrey Bogart. She parted the blanket he held around his shoulders.
“Are those…are those quills?” she asked looking at the pattern on his boxers, her tone gone from seductive and husky to amused and bewildered.
“Wha? Oh, yes. They are.”
“I love them,” she responded, the tips of her fingers finding the inside of the damp waistband.
“Do you?” His voice shot up an octave as her hand got closer to where he really wanted it to be.
“I do. But you know what?”
“No.” For once—although he was a man of much knowledge and cleverness—he currently could not manage to process much of anything right now, with Rose right here, like this, so close, and so very warm.
“I think I’d like them even better off.”