step on the sparks
Title: step on the sparks
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: Lindsay (nylana)
Rating: Adult
Genre: Angst, Smut
Word Count: 1,005
Characters: Rose/Nine
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He that is not jealous is not in love.
A/N: Written for Challenge 47 at then_theres_us; title comes from "Firecracker" by Lisa Loeb and summary is a quote attributed to Saint Augustine.
He smells wood burning, mixed with phosphorus and just a hint of sulfur.
Matches. She's lighting matches.
He's been in what she likes to call 'a mood' lately, irritable and easily provoked, snapping at her when she misplaced the sonic screwdriver, pushing her out of the way when she hit the wrong button on the console, sighing impatiently when she took too long to get ready earlier that day.
She's mad at him now for yelling at her after he tripped over her shoes for what seemed like the billionth time, though it was really only the fourth. She'd stormed from the console room with angry tears in her eyes and he'd let her go, too sullen and irritated to go after her.
He pretends he doesn't know why he's feeling this way, but deep down he does. It's the man with the dark hair and the blue eyes and the broad smile. It's Captain Jack Harkness, and the way he looks at her, and the way she looks at him.
It's jealousy, dark and bitter, rock hard and painful in the pit of his stomach.
He follows the scent of the matches back to her room where she's sitting on her bed in near darkness, the only light coming from the handful of candles she's lit. The dancing flames illuminate her face, the tracks from her tears shining dully in the flickering light. Her hair glows like fire, the individual strands shimmering and making him forget for a moment why he was ever upset about anything.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, sounding like he doesn't mean it even though he really does.
She looks at him and her eyes are dark and stormy.
"For what? Being an unbelievable prat?"
"Among other things," he says quietly.
She stares at him for a minute and then slides off the bed to stand in front of him.
"So what is it, then?" she asks, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "Is it some stupid human thing I've done?"
He can't answer because he can't admit to the way he feels every time he sees her and Jack together, won't admit to the decidedly unhealthy desire he gets to throw Jack out the doors of the TARDIS every time he strokes her skin or touches his fingers to her hair.
"Or do you just not want me anymore?" she continues, and there's the hurt, written in the downward curve of her lips and the upward turn of her eyebrows.
The hurt mixes with her anger, and he can feel the charge building around her; she seems to crackle with it and he thinks he can see the sparks flying from her eyes and the ends of her hair, accumulating between them on the floor. Unable to stand the tension any longer he moves forward, closing the gap between them, stepping on the sparks, and his lips crash against hers, his fingers diving into her hair.
His tongue sweeps over her mouth and her lips part, granting him entrance. She tastes like salt and sunlight, humanity and love, and his hands drop to her hips as he presses against her urgently.
Her hands rise to his shoulders, pushing his jacket off and he lets the heavy leather fall to the floor with a muffled thud. He reaches back blindly to shut the door and then he's pushing her towards the bed, pulling her t-shirt off over her head and flinging it to the floor as his hands disappear once more in her hair.
She grips the edge of his jumper and he raises his arms as she tugs it off over his head, her hands gripping his slender torso as she pulls him to her again.
The rest of their clothes vanish and he pushes her down on the bed, kneeling between her legs because he's never wanted to taste something so badly in his life.
His lips brush along her inner thighs, his hands rising to her hips, and he lifts his eyes to her face for just a moment. Her eyes are dark and wild, her lips swollen and her cheeks red and he knows with sudden certainty, and no small amount of relief, that she's not done this with Jack.
He feels himself grow harder and his hands slide down to her thighs, gripping them and spreading her legs wider. His mouth finds her and she gasps and moans with every lick and every suck, her thighs trembling under his hands, her short nails scratching against the sheets and his shoulder. He teases her with the tip of his tongue, flicking it over her sensitive nub until she's quivering underneath him, so close.
He climbs her body, pulling her legs up against his sides, and slides inside with one quick thrust. She comes almost immediately, her head falling back and her fingers digging into his arms, and he presses his lips eagerly to hers, swallowing her cries.
His hips move quickly, stoking the embers, reigniting the sparks, and her knees press against his ribs, her heels pushing against his lower back and urging him faster, harder, deeper.
Her fingers grip the sheets beside her head and her mouth falls open, her breath coming in quick pants. Her lips form his name, gasping it over and over until she comes again, clenching around him and dragging him over the edge with her.
He lowers himself carefully down and lays his head on her chest, listening to the rapid beat of her heart and the gentle whoosh of air flowing in and out of her lungs.
Her legs are tight around him, keeping him close and holding him inside like she's not quite ready to let him go.
His hand slides across the sheets, finding her arm and following it to her hand. He weaves his fingers through hers and raises himself up to kiss her lips.
"I will always want you," he whispers.
"Always?" she asks, and he thinks her eyes glow golden for a moment.
"Always."
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: Lindsay (nylana)
Rating: Adult
Genre: Angst, Smut
Word Count: 1,005
Characters: Rose/Nine
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He that is not jealous is not in love.
A/N: Written for Challenge 47 at then_theres_us; title comes from "Firecracker" by Lisa Loeb and summary is a quote attributed to Saint Augustine.
He smells wood burning, mixed with phosphorus and just a hint of sulfur.
Matches. She's lighting matches.
He's been in what she likes to call 'a mood' lately, irritable and easily provoked, snapping at her when she misplaced the sonic screwdriver, pushing her out of the way when she hit the wrong button on the console, sighing impatiently when she took too long to get ready earlier that day.
She's mad at him now for yelling at her after he tripped over her shoes for what seemed like the billionth time, though it was really only the fourth. She'd stormed from the console room with angry tears in her eyes and he'd let her go, too sullen and irritated to go after her.
He pretends he doesn't know why he's feeling this way, but deep down he does. It's the man with the dark hair and the blue eyes and the broad smile. It's Captain Jack Harkness, and the way he looks at her, and the way she looks at him.
It's jealousy, dark and bitter, rock hard and painful in the pit of his stomach.
He follows the scent of the matches back to her room where she's sitting on her bed in near darkness, the only light coming from the handful of candles she's lit. The dancing flames illuminate her face, the tracks from her tears shining dully in the flickering light. Her hair glows like fire, the individual strands shimmering and making him forget for a moment why he was ever upset about anything.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, sounding like he doesn't mean it even though he really does.
She looks at him and her eyes are dark and stormy.
"For what? Being an unbelievable prat?"
"Among other things," he says quietly.
She stares at him for a minute and then slides off the bed to stand in front of him.
"So what is it, then?" she asks, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "Is it some stupid human thing I've done?"
He can't answer because he can't admit to the way he feels every time he sees her and Jack together, won't admit to the decidedly unhealthy desire he gets to throw Jack out the doors of the TARDIS every time he strokes her skin or touches his fingers to her hair.
"Or do you just not want me anymore?" she continues, and there's the hurt, written in the downward curve of her lips and the upward turn of her eyebrows.
The hurt mixes with her anger, and he can feel the charge building around her; she seems to crackle with it and he thinks he can see the sparks flying from her eyes and the ends of her hair, accumulating between them on the floor. Unable to stand the tension any longer he moves forward, closing the gap between them, stepping on the sparks, and his lips crash against hers, his fingers diving into her hair.
His tongue sweeps over her mouth and her lips part, granting him entrance. She tastes like salt and sunlight, humanity and love, and his hands drop to her hips as he presses against her urgently.
Her hands rise to his shoulders, pushing his jacket off and he lets the heavy leather fall to the floor with a muffled thud. He reaches back blindly to shut the door and then he's pushing her towards the bed, pulling her t-shirt off over her head and flinging it to the floor as his hands disappear once more in her hair.
She grips the edge of his jumper and he raises his arms as she tugs it off over his head, her hands gripping his slender torso as she pulls him to her again.
The rest of their clothes vanish and he pushes her down on the bed, kneeling between her legs because he's never wanted to taste something so badly in his life.
His lips brush along her inner thighs, his hands rising to her hips, and he lifts his eyes to her face for just a moment. Her eyes are dark and wild, her lips swollen and her cheeks red and he knows with sudden certainty, and no small amount of relief, that she's not done this with Jack.
He feels himself grow harder and his hands slide down to her thighs, gripping them and spreading her legs wider. His mouth finds her and she gasps and moans with every lick and every suck, her thighs trembling under his hands, her short nails scratching against the sheets and his shoulder. He teases her with the tip of his tongue, flicking it over her sensitive nub until she's quivering underneath him, so close.
He climbs her body, pulling her legs up against his sides, and slides inside with one quick thrust. She comes almost immediately, her head falling back and her fingers digging into his arms, and he presses his lips eagerly to hers, swallowing her cries.
His hips move quickly, stoking the embers, reigniting the sparks, and her knees press against his ribs, her heels pushing against his lower back and urging him faster, harder, deeper.
Her fingers grip the sheets beside her head and her mouth falls open, her breath coming in quick pants. Her lips form his name, gasping it over and over until she comes again, clenching around him and dragging him over the edge with her.
He lowers himself carefully down and lays his head on her chest, listening to the rapid beat of her heart and the gentle whoosh of air flowing in and out of her lungs.
Her legs are tight around him, keeping him close and holding him inside like she's not quite ready to let him go.
His hand slides across the sheets, finding her arm and following it to her hand. He weaves his fingers through hers and raises himself up to kiss her lips.
"I will always want you," he whispers.
"Always?" she asks, and he thinks her eyes glow golden for a moment.
"Always."