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misscamDoctor Who Research Project Fanfic Contest
Author: Camilla Sandman /![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misscam
Title: The Consequences of Kissing
Challenge Element: Numero uno - Kiss, losing control after.
Rating: Mature. Some light bondage and other adult activities.
Summary: In retrospect, letting her kiss him was a very, very bad idea. The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, and a kiss can start something off. [Ten/Rose]
Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.
Author's Note: Prompt 023 for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50lyricsfanfic (there’s things I’ve done I can’t erase, every night we fall from grace - Keep the Faith - Bon Jovi). Paper for the Doctor Who Research Project on time_and_chips. Thanks to lotus79 for beta. No real spoilers for particular episodes of series two.
Table of Prompts
II
Initiation
In retrospect, letting her kiss him was a very, very bad idea.
Not because it's unpleasant, far from it. Her lips are soft, her fingers in his hair warm, her tongue against his almost ticklish. She smells of sun and human perfume, and tastes of sun and human flesh. He likes it. He likes her.
If he was human, he would probably have shagged her ages ago. But he is not. She is. And he knows all too well it's a clash of different ideas and perceptions and meanings of shagging, knows it even if he tends to forget in the heat of life.
Snog a human, they get ideas. Snog a Time Lord, they get different ideas.
The two don't neccessarily match up.
Rose brushes her tongue against the sides of his mouth, and he knows she's under no mind control he can brush off. He's not really saving her life, either, he's just letting her kiss him and getting a feel for what it's like.
He likes it. He likes her.
He's getting very, very bad ideas.
"Don't do that again," Rose says against his ear, and steps back. He can feel people looking at them, including Weronica-with-a-w, who was ever so delightful to talk to. He gives her a little wave, and she gives him a glare, and he has a feeling this is another different idea. He gets surer of it when Rose takes his hand and yanks him with her, and he feels a little like property laid claim to. Kissing is just another way of planting the flag.
He still shouldn't have let her do it. In the retrospect he's already seeing.
The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, and a kiss can start something off.
II
Reverberation
There's danger. They escape it. So far, it's any other day of TARDIS travel, any other day of life trying to staying alive. But when they stumble into the TARDIS, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time, he finds himself watching her. He can see the tip of her tongue dart across her lips and remember the feel of it, see her chest rise and fall and wonder how that would feel pressed against his own.
He has an idea of what it would be like, but he doesn't know. He likes to know.
He kisses her, hard, heartbeats still pounding in his ears and breath still ragged and uneven. Adrenaline doesn't come with an off switch, but it does come with alternative uses. He can feel it in her too as she curves her body to parallel the surface he's pressing her against, can feel it as a flush in her skin and a light tremor in her fingers at the back of his neck.
He tastes the faint salt of perspiration on her lips, drawing his tongue across before she parts her lips and he feels her tongue too. Always eager to match him, and he always eager to let her.
She's there, she's willing, and she's Rose, neither of which he's ever deemed a strong enough reason for all the trouble it would bring, but which might do as an excuse for losing control. If he was looking for one, and perhaps he always is. Excuses are convenient. They allow him to do as he pleases and still fight away guilt.
Rose moans and squirms a little when he cups a breast, feeling the warmth of skin even through the layers of cloth. Feeling her heartbeats too, pounding wildly against his palm. Reverberating in his own skin. A strange feeling. He likes it.
"Doctor," Rose whispers, voice wistful. She's getting ideas, he can tell, and he withdraws sharply, almost making her topple over with the sudden lack of pressure. She looks confused, and perhaps he should feel guilty at that. Instead he just firmly thrusts his hands in his pockets and smiles.
"I didn't know a Taffnakian fly could fly that fast!" he says, and goes on about fly flying qualities, the moodiness of gravity, how much he'd like to have wings, the problems of finding something to wear with wings, on and on until Rose is laughing and he's laughing with her, and it's any other day of Rose and the Doctor.
Except he's wondering what it would feel like to have her heartbeat reverberate against his lips, and how her skin would feel against his tongue.
He has an idea.
II
Foreplay
Rose has a bedroom in the TARDIS, but he's never quite felt it's hers. It has some of her things, a few souvenirs of time travel, a bed and clothes scattered all over, and she does sleep there. But Rose's bedroom is still in Jackie's flat, and he supposes it's better that way.
He's not sure what Rose supposes, but whenever he peeks into her room to see if she's up for a laugh, he always wonders.
She's not up for a laugh today. She's sleeping, hair spread across her pillow, a foot carelessly dangling outside the bed. He watches her for a moment, marvelling at how much time humans lose sleeping and drooling into a pillow.
Rose isn't drooling, but she is snoring slightly and a lock of hair has fallen across her forehead. He walks over quietly, brushing her hair away, and easing her foot back under the covers. She mutters something inaudible, perhaps lost in a dream. He hopes it's good. They stay longer then.
"Doctor?" Rose says, and he looks up to see her look at him, eyes a little clouded and sleepy. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he says, and means it. He likes her. She still looks a little confused, so he kisses her forehead. And her temples. And her eyelids. And her nose. And her cheeks. And her lips, and then control seems gone and she's yanking him by his tie down on the bed on top of her, covers between them. He manages to pop up on his elbows to ease some weight off her, but it's hard to think about her comfort when she's so readily wrecking his with rather delightful torture. She's lifted a foot up from beneath the covers, rubbing against his thigh, and he lets his hand trace the naked skin. It feels a little clamy from sleep still, but he can feel the flush spread as he traces patterns across it with his fingers.
Rose's skin. He likes it.
He likes more of it as she manages to wriggle free of the covers, and there's just the t-shirt she wears underneath, and underwear beneath it. He wonders why humans are so fascinated by underwear. He's never felt much use for it. Well, except in that one incarnation.
Rose is discovering just that as she dips a hand inside his trousers, copping a feel, and he almost falls off the bed. He can feel her smile wickedly against his lips, and he tries to regain some dignity by letting his own fingers do a little exploration. She bites down hard on his bottom lip, but he doesn't let that deter him. He just breaks free of the kiss, and brings his head down between her thighs instead.
She makes some very interesting noises, he finds. There's the rather loud intake of breath, the exhales that sounds like sighs, the little moans that sound like half a plea, half a demand. And then there's his name, repeated and repeated until her body goes tense and her eyes look almost glassy. He watches, a finger still inside her as she comes, her body arching until it's as if all strength leaves it, and she falls back against the mattress.
He smiles at her then, and wonders what it would be like to shag her and feel her come then.
He thinks he's going to find out.
II
Claim
He doesn't quite remember just how he ends up buried deep inside her, trousers still pretty much on and her skirt only hiked up to her stomach. He does remember sneaking about the now alien-puppy infested Tower of London with her. He remembers very clearly luring all the puppies back to their ship with a very large bone, and watching the ship speed back into space on the auto-pilot he had fixed up. He vaguely remembers hugging Rose and laughing at her remark that he too, looked like a puppy.
He thinks he stuck his tongue out like one. He might even have licked her. After that, things get a little blurred.
There are sensations he recalls - the feel of her nipples hardening against his fingers, all the blood rushing down his body as she took him in her mouth, the roughness of bricks against his palm as he steadied himself against the wall and thrustinto her, the movement of her breasts as she slid down a little and he pushed her up again.
He doesn't remember kissing her.
She whimpers, and he groans. He's a little savage and a little rough, and it surprises him. He likes it. He likes it very much when she arches against him this time and he's so hard he's straining and her face is so strangely silly and beautiful at once and then, then he kisses her very, very gently and feels her breathless sigh.
He wonders if Rose feels this as his claim on her, as if kissing her means he'll never let her go.
He hopes not.
II
Punishment
There's always a darker side to everything. A night to a day, a shadow to light, a fight to a making-up.
Rose does something stupid, as she sometimes does. He knows humans are wont to, and likes them anyway, but Rose is Rose. She's seen so much she should know, even if she is young and innocent and he does like to keep it a bit that way. She shouldn't do stupid. He doesn't do stupid.
Much, anyway.
"You could've died!" he rages at her. "That much radiation is deadly to humans! I told you to stay! Why do you never stay?"
"I'm not your dog!" she flings back. "I'm your..."
He moves very fast, pinning her against the outside wall of the TARDIS before she can voice inconvenient words, kissing her with so much force he can hear her head thump against wood. It has to hurt, but she only kisses him back, and they fall over and into the grass, her fingers clutching his tie so hard he almost feels choked. She's somehow managed to get on top of him, straddling him, back arched as she kisses him and he can feel her spine as he traces the feel of it.
He thinks vaguely about how she'd look in a collar and leash.
She grunts a little and he closes his eyes, feeling the sun burn against his eyelids and her mouth warm against his, and her lips grow more gentle as anger metamorphoses into something else for her. So many emotions to sample, and humans seem so keen on doing only a few at a time.
He feels everything. It's just a matter of what he taps into.
So when he shifts her underneath him and locks her hands over her head and fucks her on a bed of crushed flowers, he's still angry and Rose, Rose is just human and young and thinks shagging is just a show of affection.
He wonders if she'll ever learn otherwise.
He thinks he might be the one to teach her.
II
Ties
He is a bit surprised to wake up and find his hands tied to Rose's bedpost with his own tie. His jacket is off, and his shirt unbuttoned, but Rose is merely sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, regarding him.
"Um," he says.
Rose merely tilts her head.
"Ehm," he tries. "Um. What happened?"
"You passed out from the gas," she says calmly. "I found a way out of the mine and a cart to wheel you back here in. Then I put you in my bed and tied you up."
He reflects on this a bit, straining a bit against his bonds at the same time. They feel rather solid. "Well done. Um. That last part... Why, exactly?"
"Don't you like it?"
He thinks a bit more. "Yes....?"
She flips over on her knees and approaches him on all fours, looking a bit like a predator and he supposes he looks like the prey. He certainly feels like it.
"You tricked me," she says evenly. "You went into that mine alone."
"Yes," he admits, breathing a little unevenly when she lets her finger circle his left nipple, then his right.
"You treated me as less than equal," she continues, voice so even he wishes she would rage and scream at him instead.
"Yes," he admits again, and she bends down, her hair tickling his skin and her tongue tracing the path her finger just took. "I... Oh, shit."
"I don't like it," she says against his skin, and he can't see her face. "Are you going to do it again?"
He wants to lie, but her tongue is darting across his skin again, and it's Rose and maybe he should at least give her a truth. "Yes. I'm going to keep doing it until the day you're not travelling with me again. It has to be like that. Those are my rules."
"Your rules. Your life," she says, and looks up, eyes dark. "What's mine?"
Me, he doesn't say, because that would be a lie.
"This?" she asks, putting a palm on the skin above his heart.
"This?" she says again, leaning forward and kissing him. He tries to keep her lips on his and silence her, but she pulls back and he can't follow. "This?"
She puts a hand on his balled fist, and he relaxes a little, feeling his palm sting a little from where he's dug his fingers into it.
"This?" she says, her hand dipping inside his trousers and taking a very firm grip. He tries not to yelp.
"Rose," he manages. "Oh, Rose, it's not... I don't... I have to..."
He likes her. He's just always going to love being the Doctor just a little more.
She shakes her head. "If you're going to be selfish, so will I."
He watches her yank her own top off, snap the bra off without ceremony, wriggle out of her jeans and rip the knickers off without much care at all. He's itching to touch her, but he can only watch her explore his skin with torturous slowness. Can only breathe as she takes his trousers off him, and lowers herself on him, cheeks burning as she does. Can only mutter her name as she rides him, hard, driven and purposely, reminding him of another time and another woman with her mind made up. Can only plead as she lowers her head to his and he's so, so close.
"Mine," she says, and her kiss is demanding and taking and locking him to her.
He comes with a very rude exclamation, and he wonders just who he is cursing.
He thinks he might not know.
II
Affection
He doesn't always tell Rose, but there are days he does take her somewhere he isn't really looking for trouble. Honestly.
Well, almost.
The sky is blue, the two suns of New Venus are blazing down, and he's lying on a towel on the beach, shoes off, watching Rose dip into the waves. It's quiet, as humans haven't yet discovered it (or named it New Venus, in fact), but he can feel the hum of distant future and what is coming. He always can.
He can still enjoy the now.
A lazy wind ruffles his hair slightly, and he closes his eyes, thinking. Always thinking. Even when he hears Rose's soft footsteps in the sand and feels her finger tickle the sole of his foot. He only opens his eyes when he feels water drip on him.
She's sitting on the towel next to him, hair dripping wet and eyes full of mischief. He beams at her, and she beams back, reminding him of a smile she gave him a long time ago under a London sky. Some things have changed. Some haven't.
He still likes her smile. He still likes her.
He kisses her lazily, not really caring that she is wet and making him so too. Everything comes with a price. Her too. A higher one now, perhaps.
He wonders when he will be paying it.
He hopes it will always be tomorrow, because today ever ends.
II
Remembrance
He comes back to New Venus one day, somewhat by accident and somewhat not. The beach is still the same, the suns are still as warm, the sky is still as blue. He's still the Doctor, but things have changed too. They always do.
No Rose. Not for him anymore. Inevitable, as all things are.
If he closes his eyes, he can remember kissing her, remember her lips tasting of salt and breath, remember the softness of her mouth and the hardness of her teeth, remember whispering her name with affection. Always the price. So he keeps his eyes open, staring at the glint of sunshine on the ocean.
The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, even the bad ones. Even the messy, painful, dark and complicated ones.
It's always a beautiful day, he thinks, even when it isn't. There's always a new one waiting beyond the horizon, waiting to start and waiting to end. Today never stays the same day.
It's still a beautiful morning. Still a beautiful life. Still so much wonderful trouble to seek.
He's just going to stand right here for a while, not remembering.
FIN
Author: Camilla Sandman /
misscamTitle: The Consequences of Kissing
Challenge Element: Numero uno - Kiss, losing control after.
Rating: Mature. Some light bondage and other adult activities.
Summary: In retrospect, letting her kiss him was a very, very bad idea. The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, and a kiss can start something off. [Ten/Rose]
Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.
Author's Note: Prompt 023 for
50lyricsfanfic (there’s things I’ve done I can’t erase, every night we fall from grace - Keep the Faith - Bon Jovi). Paper for the Doctor Who Research Project on time_and_chips. Thanks to lotus79 for beta. No real spoilers for particular episodes of series two.Table of Prompts
II
Initiation
In retrospect, letting her kiss him was a very, very bad idea.
Not because it's unpleasant, far from it. Her lips are soft, her fingers in his hair warm, her tongue against his almost ticklish. She smells of sun and human perfume, and tastes of sun and human flesh. He likes it. He likes her.
If he was human, he would probably have shagged her ages ago. But he is not. She is. And he knows all too well it's a clash of different ideas and perceptions and meanings of shagging, knows it even if he tends to forget in the heat of life.
Snog a human, they get ideas. Snog a Time Lord, they get different ideas.
The two don't neccessarily match up.
Rose brushes her tongue against the sides of his mouth, and he knows she's under no mind control he can brush off. He's not really saving her life, either, he's just letting her kiss him and getting a feel for what it's like.
He likes it. He likes her.
He's getting very, very bad ideas.
"Don't do that again," Rose says against his ear, and steps back. He can feel people looking at them, including Weronica-with-a-w, who was ever so delightful to talk to. He gives her a little wave, and she gives him a glare, and he has a feeling this is another different idea. He gets surer of it when Rose takes his hand and yanks him with her, and he feels a little like property laid claim to. Kissing is just another way of planting the flag.
He still shouldn't have let her do it. In the retrospect he's already seeing.
The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, and a kiss can start something off.
II
Reverberation
There's danger. They escape it. So far, it's any other day of TARDIS travel, any other day of life trying to staying alive. But when they stumble into the TARDIS, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time, he finds himself watching her. He can see the tip of her tongue dart across her lips and remember the feel of it, see her chest rise and fall and wonder how that would feel pressed against his own.
He has an idea of what it would be like, but he doesn't know. He likes to know.
He kisses her, hard, heartbeats still pounding in his ears and breath still ragged and uneven. Adrenaline doesn't come with an off switch, but it does come with alternative uses. He can feel it in her too as she curves her body to parallel the surface he's pressing her against, can feel it as a flush in her skin and a light tremor in her fingers at the back of his neck.
He tastes the faint salt of perspiration on her lips, drawing his tongue across before she parts her lips and he feels her tongue too. Always eager to match him, and he always eager to let her.
She's there, she's willing, and she's Rose, neither of which he's ever deemed a strong enough reason for all the trouble it would bring, but which might do as an excuse for losing control. If he was looking for one, and perhaps he always is. Excuses are convenient. They allow him to do as he pleases and still fight away guilt.
Rose moans and squirms a little when he cups a breast, feeling the warmth of skin even through the layers of cloth. Feeling her heartbeats too, pounding wildly against his palm. Reverberating in his own skin. A strange feeling. He likes it.
"Doctor," Rose whispers, voice wistful. She's getting ideas, he can tell, and he withdraws sharply, almost making her topple over with the sudden lack of pressure. She looks confused, and perhaps he should feel guilty at that. Instead he just firmly thrusts his hands in his pockets and smiles.
"I didn't know a Taffnakian fly could fly that fast!" he says, and goes on about fly flying qualities, the moodiness of gravity, how much he'd like to have wings, the problems of finding something to wear with wings, on and on until Rose is laughing and he's laughing with her, and it's any other day of Rose and the Doctor.
Except he's wondering what it would feel like to have her heartbeat reverberate against his lips, and how her skin would feel against his tongue.
He has an idea.
II
Foreplay
Rose has a bedroom in the TARDIS, but he's never quite felt it's hers. It has some of her things, a few souvenirs of time travel, a bed and clothes scattered all over, and she does sleep there. But Rose's bedroom is still in Jackie's flat, and he supposes it's better that way.
He's not sure what Rose supposes, but whenever he peeks into her room to see if she's up for a laugh, he always wonders.
She's not up for a laugh today. She's sleeping, hair spread across her pillow, a foot carelessly dangling outside the bed. He watches her for a moment, marvelling at how much time humans lose sleeping and drooling into a pillow.
Rose isn't drooling, but she is snoring slightly and a lock of hair has fallen across her forehead. He walks over quietly, brushing her hair away, and easing her foot back under the covers. She mutters something inaudible, perhaps lost in a dream. He hopes it's good. They stay longer then.
"Doctor?" Rose says, and he looks up to see her look at him, eyes a little clouded and sleepy. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he says, and means it. He likes her. She still looks a little confused, so he kisses her forehead. And her temples. And her eyelids. And her nose. And her cheeks. And her lips, and then control seems gone and she's yanking him by his tie down on the bed on top of her, covers between them. He manages to pop up on his elbows to ease some weight off her, but it's hard to think about her comfort when she's so readily wrecking his with rather delightful torture. She's lifted a foot up from beneath the covers, rubbing against his thigh, and he lets his hand trace the naked skin. It feels a little clamy from sleep still, but he can feel the flush spread as he traces patterns across it with his fingers.
Rose's skin. He likes it.
He likes more of it as she manages to wriggle free of the covers, and there's just the t-shirt she wears underneath, and underwear beneath it. He wonders why humans are so fascinated by underwear. He's never felt much use for it. Well, except in that one incarnation.
Rose is discovering just that as she dips a hand inside his trousers, copping a feel, and he almost falls off the bed. He can feel her smile wickedly against his lips, and he tries to regain some dignity by letting his own fingers do a little exploration. She bites down hard on his bottom lip, but he doesn't let that deter him. He just breaks free of the kiss, and brings his head down between her thighs instead.
She makes some very interesting noises, he finds. There's the rather loud intake of breath, the exhales that sounds like sighs, the little moans that sound like half a plea, half a demand. And then there's his name, repeated and repeated until her body goes tense and her eyes look almost glassy. He watches, a finger still inside her as she comes, her body arching until it's as if all strength leaves it, and she falls back against the mattress.
He smiles at her then, and wonders what it would be like to shag her and feel her come then.
He thinks he's going to find out.
II
Claim
He doesn't quite remember just how he ends up buried deep inside her, trousers still pretty much on and her skirt only hiked up to her stomach. He does remember sneaking about the now alien-puppy infested Tower of London with her. He remembers very clearly luring all the puppies back to their ship with a very large bone, and watching the ship speed back into space on the auto-pilot he had fixed up. He vaguely remembers hugging Rose and laughing at her remark that he too, looked like a puppy.
He thinks he stuck his tongue out like one. He might even have licked her. After that, things get a little blurred.
There are sensations he recalls - the feel of her nipples hardening against his fingers, all the blood rushing down his body as she took him in her mouth, the roughness of bricks against his palm as he steadied himself against the wall and thrustinto her, the movement of her breasts as she slid down a little and he pushed her up again.
He doesn't remember kissing her.
She whimpers, and he groans. He's a little savage and a little rough, and it surprises him. He likes it. He likes it very much when she arches against him this time and he's so hard he's straining and her face is so strangely silly and beautiful at once and then, then he kisses her very, very gently and feels her breathless sigh.
He wonders if Rose feels this as his claim on her, as if kissing her means he'll never let her go.
He hopes not.
II
Punishment
There's always a darker side to everything. A night to a day, a shadow to light, a fight to a making-up.
Rose does something stupid, as she sometimes does. He knows humans are wont to, and likes them anyway, but Rose is Rose. She's seen so much she should know, even if she is young and innocent and he does like to keep it a bit that way. She shouldn't do stupid. He doesn't do stupid.
Much, anyway.
"You could've died!" he rages at her. "That much radiation is deadly to humans! I told you to stay! Why do you never stay?"
"I'm not your dog!" she flings back. "I'm your..."
He moves very fast, pinning her against the outside wall of the TARDIS before she can voice inconvenient words, kissing her with so much force he can hear her head thump against wood. It has to hurt, but she only kisses him back, and they fall over and into the grass, her fingers clutching his tie so hard he almost feels choked. She's somehow managed to get on top of him, straddling him, back arched as she kisses him and he can feel her spine as he traces the feel of it.
He thinks vaguely about how she'd look in a collar and leash.
She grunts a little and he closes his eyes, feeling the sun burn against his eyelids and her mouth warm against his, and her lips grow more gentle as anger metamorphoses into something else for her. So many emotions to sample, and humans seem so keen on doing only a few at a time.
He feels everything. It's just a matter of what he taps into.
So when he shifts her underneath him and locks her hands over her head and fucks her on a bed of crushed flowers, he's still angry and Rose, Rose is just human and young and thinks shagging is just a show of affection.
He wonders if she'll ever learn otherwise.
He thinks he might be the one to teach her.
II
Ties
He is a bit surprised to wake up and find his hands tied to Rose's bedpost with his own tie. His jacket is off, and his shirt unbuttoned, but Rose is merely sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, regarding him.
"Um," he says.
Rose merely tilts her head.
"Ehm," he tries. "Um. What happened?"
"You passed out from the gas," she says calmly. "I found a way out of the mine and a cart to wheel you back here in. Then I put you in my bed and tied you up."
He reflects on this a bit, straining a bit against his bonds at the same time. They feel rather solid. "Well done. Um. That last part... Why, exactly?"
"Don't you like it?"
He thinks a bit more. "Yes....?"
She flips over on her knees and approaches him on all fours, looking a bit like a predator and he supposes he looks like the prey. He certainly feels like it.
"You tricked me," she says evenly. "You went into that mine alone."
"Yes," he admits, breathing a little unevenly when she lets her finger circle his left nipple, then his right.
"You treated me as less than equal," she continues, voice so even he wishes she would rage and scream at him instead.
"Yes," he admits again, and she bends down, her hair tickling his skin and her tongue tracing the path her finger just took. "I... Oh, shit."
"I don't like it," she says against his skin, and he can't see her face. "Are you going to do it again?"
He wants to lie, but her tongue is darting across his skin again, and it's Rose and maybe he should at least give her a truth. "Yes. I'm going to keep doing it until the day you're not travelling with me again. It has to be like that. Those are my rules."
"Your rules. Your life," she says, and looks up, eyes dark. "What's mine?"
Me, he doesn't say, because that would be a lie.
"This?" she asks, putting a palm on the skin above his heart.
"This?" she says again, leaning forward and kissing him. He tries to keep her lips on his and silence her, but she pulls back and he can't follow. "This?"
She puts a hand on his balled fist, and he relaxes a little, feeling his palm sting a little from where he's dug his fingers into it.
"This?" she says, her hand dipping inside his trousers and taking a very firm grip. He tries not to yelp.
"Rose," he manages. "Oh, Rose, it's not... I don't... I have to..."
He likes her. He's just always going to love being the Doctor just a little more.
She shakes her head. "If you're going to be selfish, so will I."
He watches her yank her own top off, snap the bra off without ceremony, wriggle out of her jeans and rip the knickers off without much care at all. He's itching to touch her, but he can only watch her explore his skin with torturous slowness. Can only breathe as she takes his trousers off him, and lowers herself on him, cheeks burning as she does. Can only mutter her name as she rides him, hard, driven and purposely, reminding him of another time and another woman with her mind made up. Can only plead as she lowers her head to his and he's so, so close.
"Mine," she says, and her kiss is demanding and taking and locking him to her.
He comes with a very rude exclamation, and he wonders just who he is cursing.
He thinks he might not know.
II
Affection
He doesn't always tell Rose, but there are days he does take her somewhere he isn't really looking for trouble. Honestly.
Well, almost.
The sky is blue, the two suns of New Venus are blazing down, and he's lying on a towel on the beach, shoes off, watching Rose dip into the waves. It's quiet, as humans haven't yet discovered it (or named it New Venus, in fact), but he can feel the hum of distant future and what is coming. He always can.
He can still enjoy the now.
A lazy wind ruffles his hair slightly, and he closes his eyes, thinking. Always thinking. Even when he hears Rose's soft footsteps in the sand and feels her finger tickle the sole of his foot. He only opens his eyes when he feels water drip on him.
She's sitting on the towel next to him, hair dripping wet and eyes full of mischief. He beams at her, and she beams back, reminding him of a smile she gave him a long time ago under a London sky. Some things have changed. Some haven't.
He still likes her smile. He still likes her.
He kisses her lazily, not really caring that she is wet and making him so too. Everything comes with a price. Her too. A higher one now, perhaps.
He wonders when he will be paying it.
He hopes it will always be tomorrow, because today ever ends.
II
Remembrance
He comes back to New Venus one day, somewhat by accident and somewhat not. The beach is still the same, the suns are still as warm, the sky is still as blue. He's still the Doctor, but things have changed too. They always do.
No Rose. Not for him anymore. Inevitable, as all things are.
If he closes his eyes, he can remember kissing her, remember her lips tasting of salt and breath, remember the softness of her mouth and the hardness of her teeth, remember whispering her name with affection. Always the price. So he keeps his eyes open, staring at the glint of sunshine on the ocean.
The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, even the bad ones. Even the messy, painful, dark and complicated ones.
It's always a beautiful day, he thinks, even when it isn't. There's always a new one waiting beyond the horizon, waiting to start and waiting to end. Today never stays the same day.
It's still a beautiful morning. Still a beautiful life. Still so much wonderful trouble to seek.
He's just going to stand right here for a while, not remembering.
FIN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 10:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 11:29 am (UTC)Though I am inclined to agree.
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Date: 2006-06-12 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 11:30 am (UTC)I keep telling you to watch the show, darnit. It is shiiiiiiny.
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Date: 2006-06-12 11:35 am (UTC)I will try, I will try! Aside from the fact that the David Tennant guy is very, very pretty, the show has not interested me at allllll.
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Date: 2006-06-12 11:58 am (UTC)But I have lured in people who didn't think they'd even like it and still did. You can never know, though of course, tastes do vary. Nothing will ever be liked by everyone.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:37 pm (UTC)The Doctor can regenerate when dying, so Christopher Eccleston becomes David Tennant. There was much wailing among fangirls. THen quite a few of them realised David's a tasty dish as well.
Teh pretteh does heal wounds.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:52 pm (UTC)He's done it many times in the classic series - which is why Christopher Eccleston is the Ninth Doctor, or Nine, and David Tennant the Tenth/Ten.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 11:10 am (UTC)And it's very them, Ten and that oral fixation of his (and how he decides to use it, heh), and casual flirting and slight detachment from it all, and Rose and her possessiveness and reading in things that aren't there.
And the ending is rather sad, I'll admit, even as he tries to be hopeful about things.
Yes, I like it a lot.
And just one last thing:
He wonders why humans are so fascinated by underwear. He's never felt much use for it. Well, except in that one incarnation.
Did you just imply that only one incarnation of the Doctor wore underwear. Oh dear. *tries to prevent mind going where it is going*
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Date: 2006-06-12 11:32 am (UTC)Glad you liked :)
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Date: 2006-06-21 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 12:22 pm (UTC)Smutty, but not quite vanilla (oh, I do appreciate this particular use of Ten's tie); presenting a three-dimensional, believable relationship with affection and, well, hot sex, but with sharp edges, too; and incredibly sad at the end.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:33 pm (UTC)Thanks :)
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:29 pm (UTC)0_0
I love it!
Very nice...I love how you made it so essentially Who yet hopeful and sad all at the same time. And, of course, tying up the Doctor with his own tie for sexual purposes just wins everything.
Oh, and nice icon. ;-)
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:36 pm (UTC)Oh, and nice icon. ;-)
:P Smartarse.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:47 pm (UTC)Smartarse
Well, yeah.
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Date: 2006-06-12 12:53 pm (UTC)Good thing for you I like an arse smart.
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Date: 2006-06-12 01:00 pm (UTC)Please? For the sake of my dad and all other internet-wary Whovians, please cast your eye towards submitting?
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Date: 2006-06-13 10:42 am (UTC)But thanks for the encouragement, and I guess one can never know what might happen.
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Date: 2006-06-13 11:31 am (UTC)Anything you do manage to publish, I'll buy. In the meantime, and I print out some of your stories to bring to my dad? I talk you up a lot to him, and he's eager to see what the fuss is.
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Date: 2006-06-12 01:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 10:43 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2006-06-12 03:36 pm (UTC)bondageplot in it. Veeery nice ^^no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 10:44 am (UTC)bondageplot!:) Thanks.
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Date: 2006-06-12 03:48 pm (UTC)So many lines made me go back and read them again before continuing. This, in particular:
He feels everything. It's just a matter of what he taps into.
So when he shifts her underneath him and locks her hands over her head and fucks her on a bed of crushed flowers, he's still angry and Rose, Rose is just human and young and thinks shagging is just a show of affection.
He wonders if she'll ever learn otherwise.
He thinks he might be the one to teach her.
Oh. Ow. Ouch! Yet so true.
And that final section... god, it hurt, and yet it's so true and inevitable for him. And he will always remember. And it will always hurt.
If this is on Teaspoon, it's getting added to favourites the second I see it.
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Date: 2006-06-13 10:45 am (UTC)I seem to suck at writing pure porn, really. I always seem to want to add other stuff. But ah well, as long as people enjoy it, no worries there.
Thanks!
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Date: 2006-06-12 11:07 pm (UTC)I was just curious if you'd come up for a reason why she isn't with him anymore.
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Date: 2006-06-13 10:47 am (UTC)I have a few ideas, but I keep changing my mind, so I don't have any good Why Rose Leaves theory to share, basically.
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Date: 2006-06-13 05:22 am (UTC)Great fic, the way you use sex (and steamy sex, I might add), as a way of characterization. Very truthful, very doomed, very them in the end. Lovely. :)
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Date: 2006-06-13 10:48 am (UTC)Thank you :)
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Date: 2006-06-14 09:25 pm (UTC)RelationshipCounseller at YTDAW
Date: 2006-06-19 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-03 02:50 pm (UTC)